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Timed.
Precise.
Ninety seconds.
That’s all it took.
My comm slams back to life.
“Aaron! They hit the grid—looped the cams—we lost visual!”
“Ninety seconds was enough,” I snap.
My grip tightens on the railing hard enough to feel the strain in my bones.
Too late.
I was right here.
And I left.
Then I see it.
On the table inside.
A phone.
Not hers.
Placed.
Deliberate.
I grab it, thumb hitting the screen.
One message.
You should have stayed in the box.
Something in me goes still.
Cold.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
I crush the phone in my hand.
Ronan’s voice cuts in, sharp. “We’ve got a vehicle—black van, no plates, heading east.”
“I’m coming.”
“You’re five minutes out.”
“Then I’ll make it three.”
I’m already moving.
