I hit the parking garage. The air outside was sharp and cold, biting against my skin.
Didn’t matter.
I pulled out my phone, still streaked with dried blood from the cage match.
Notification pinged.
One line.
Just one.
Package accepted.
I stared at the screen for a long second.
Didn’t smile.
Didn’t gloat.
Just let the confirmation settle into my bones like it belonged there.
Then I muttered under my breath?—
“Told you.”
And kept walking.
My phone wouldn’t shut the hell up.
Ping.
Ping.
Another.
Another.
I didn’t check it right away. I was almost home. I wanted to get to her. To see it for myself.
But I already knew.
I let it buzz a few more times before I grabbed it off the passenger seat.
The first message came from Harding.
What the hell did you do?
Then Greyson:
You’re fucked. Or about to be. Check X.
Ryder followed with:
Delgado’s gonna implode. This is delicious.
And finally, Wyatt:
Clean hit. Precision chaos. Well done.
