“Bingo.”
I stand up, pacing the small space behind my desk. “We need someone inside. Tonight.”
“Not me,” Mason says immediately. “You know I can't pass for anything but myself with this hair.” He gestures to his red locks that hang past his ears. “Even with a wig, it'd be too obvious. Too much to hide.”
He's right. Mason's distinctive hair would never fit neatly under a wig without looking unnatural. And in a world where one wrong detail gets you buried, unnatural is a death sentence.
“Then it's gotta be me,” I say, already knowing the answer.
Mason doesn't argue. “You know the risks. Your face...”
“I'll be unrecognizable,” I assure him. “We’ve got access to colored contacts, prosthetic nose pieces, and wigs that’ll cover my hair completely. With the right clothes, I'll just be another low-level runner.”
“Your dad...”
“Would have a heart attack if he knew,” I finish. “Which is why he won't. We do this tonight, and we do it clean.”
Mason studies me for a long moment. “You sure about this? Going in alone?”
“I trust you to have my back from the outside,” I say. “And I don't trust anyone else to get this right. You know that.”
He nods slowly. “Alright. But we plan this down to the second. In, out, no heroics.”
“Deal.”
We spend the next two hours mapping out every detail. The plan is simple: infiltrate tonight under the guise of a new runner, gather evidence, and get out. The actual raid will happen a few days later, once we have concrete connections and warrants in place. My infiltration is just reconnaissance.
“Remember,” Mason says as we finalize the details, “you're just there to be a lacky. Nothing more. Don't engage, don't explore, don't play hero.”
“I hear you,” I say, though we both know I've never been good at following that particular rule.
After a few days of arguing with Captain Grant that this is actually a good plan despite his reluctance to accept it.
By evening, I'm transformed in the precinct's bathroom. The man staring back at me in the mirror is a stranger with dark, stringy hair that hangs over a forehead covered by a prosthetic brow piece. My nose looks broader, and my jawline is different. The green contacts make my eyes look so different that along with everything else, I don’t even recognize myself. With the worn leather jacket and plain black shirt, I could be anyone.
“Ready?” Mason asks when I step out.
I nod once. “See you on the other side.”
Chapter 26
Alex
The place doesn’t look like much from the outside, but that’s the point. A low, rectangular warehouse tucked between two half-abandoned buildings. It’s paint is peeling and windows are blacked out from the inside. There’s no signage, and no reason for anyone to be here unless they already know why they’re coming. It blends in, same as everything else in this district. Around here, decay is a form of camouflage.
I’d have rather brought my bike here for a quick getaway in case I need one, but Mason figured an unmarked car would provide better coverage in case of a firefight.
I figured he had a point, a potentially lifesaving one, so I went with it.
Now I’m sitting in the driver’s seat and have been for a moment longer than necessary with the engine idling low as I watch the building through the windshield.
There are two guards at the front entrance. One’s smoking, checking his phone too much, and seems bored. The other stays still and alert; he’s watching the street, not the door. At least he isn’t an amateur.
I reach forward and kill the engine. The silence that follows is immediate and heavy.
Now to walk up and pretend like I belong there. This is the part where mistakes get you buried.
I step out of the car, rolling my shoulders once, loosening tension that I can’t afford to carry inside. My jacket hangs open, a worn brown leather showing a plain black shirt underneath. Nothing about me is screaming “cop,” even though there’s a hidden camera transmitting everything to the precinct that’s on my jacket disguised as the button on the chest pocket.
