Even the bartender vanished behind the counter.
A few lifted their hands in surrender.
Some were mouthing silent prayers.
The hardest-looking thugs—with their tattoos, fake gold teeth, and muscles thick as coiled ropes—were shaking, shoulders jerking, eyes glassed over with fear.
All of them waited, breathless, wondering if they were seconds away from a mass execution.
Meridian casually adjusted the cuffs on his midnight Dior dress shirt as he spoke.
“Stop mistaking your bullshit neighborhood torment for power. What you see now. This is power.”
Mirage backed toward the door first, his light eyes concealed beneath his hood, but never leaving the room. Grace reversed with him, his big body like a moving shield.
Ex followed slowly, slipping through the door as the cold rushed in.
Meridian stepped over broken glass, coagulating blood, and men with life draining from their eyes.
None of it fazed him. It was just another day at the office.
He was almost out of the door when he heard shuffling behind him.
He paused.
“If you stand up, black’ll be the last thing you see.”
No one moved.
Meridian climbed into the backseat of their Navigator idling at the curb and tapped the roof for the driver to peel off.
When they were a few blocks away and clear of the first responders, Meridian lit one of his cigarettes before he spoke again.
“Talk to me.”
Corvo didn’t waste time. “We hacked into the outside security cameras from a corner store across from The Crown Room. Scar went in at twenty forty-seven hours and exited with a group of three at twenty-one-oh-five.”
Eighteen minutes.
Sure didn’t take long for Scar’s so-called family to banish him.
“Traffic cams tracked this Drea’s vehicle to a suburb in Palos Hills. Our data points converged on one house owned by a Jessica Ventura…no gang affiliation. Address has already been uploaded.”
The mission had shifted from a manhunt to a targeted strike.
As their transport headed north, Ex asked, “Any update on the Greens?”
White Ravens
Gage
Gage woke to the smell of coffee and something burning.
For a few disoriented seconds, he thought he was back in the facility—inhaling the stink of scorched metal, and antiseptics—until the scents separated.
Strong coffee was brewing. Eggs with cheese, and fried bacon was being overcooked in a frying pan.
It had to be late morning because the dark behind his eyes was thinner. When the sun was at its peak, the black wasn’t as pressing. Shapes and shadows had a faint but noticeable difference.
