The clubhouse hums low and grim. Divine’s code still flashes across the upper windows, ghost-light spilling through the blinds. Inside, boots echo against the concrete. Everyone looks tired, wired, ready.
Allura’s waiting by the table when we walk in, hands flat, expression carved from stone. The copper rim of thetable gleams under the overhead light like blood under glass.
“Church,” she says. Her voice doesn’t rise. It doesn’t need to. “Now.”
The room fills fast. Boots, cuts, tension thick enough to chew. The copper-etched table gleams beneath the hanging light, every name around it catching the glow like scripture. Proof of who we are and what we’ve survived.
Allura stands at her seat, shoulders squared, black eyeliner sharp as a blade. “Lock the doors,” she orders. Raven and Sloane move instantly. The heavy thud of steel meeting frame seals us in.
French slides into her seat beside me, still half-dressed in a tank and grease-streaked jeans, eyes wild but alive. Divine takes the opposite side, tablet under one arm, exhaustion carved deep into her face. Calypso and Farris made it back just after us. She’s pale but upright, Annabelle asleep in the office down the hall.
Allura waits until the room settles, then speaks. “We lost the accounts. Every shell, every offshore tie, every cent. Divine and Carter stopped the infiltration, but the damage is done.” Her gaze cuts through us like smoke. “They didn’t just take our money, they took our name. They came for our purpose.”
Divine sets her tablet on the table, screensaver pulsing like a heartbeat. “I traced part of the signal before it died. It came from south of the border. Same subnet the Vultures used before they merged with the Cartel’s comm line. This wasn’t random, it was coordinated.”
Sloane mutters a curse. “So the Cartel’s back in bed with them.”
“Not just back,” Divine answers grimly. “They’re building something bigger. Moving people, weapons, and digital currency through shell charities, including the ones we fund.”
French drums her nails against the table. “So they used us as a front. Nice.”
“Not for long,” Raven says, voice low. “We burn them down.”
Allura nods. “That’s why we’re here. We’ve got two options. Fight or flee.” No one breathes. No one blinks.
Then French laughs, low and dangerous. “You already know the answer, Prez.”
Allura looks around the table. “Vote’s on the floor. Fight or flee. Hands up for fight.”
Every hand rises. Mine’s first.
Allura’s mouth lifts at one corner. “Unanimous. We fight.”
Sloane cracks her knuckles. “Finally, something that makes sense.”
Calypso leans forward, voice quiet but lethal. “Then let’s make it hurt.”
Allura nods. “We’ll need intel, we’ll need resources, and we’ll need leverage. Divine’s running dark servers to rebuild our system, Raven’s setting up new drop points, and the Royal Bastards are holding the evacuees at the farmhouse.” She pauses, gaze hardening. “But to draw them out, we need bait.”
The word drops like a blade. I know before anyone says it. “I’ll do it.”
Carter stiffens beside me. “Like hell you will.”
I meet his stare head-on. “They want me. They’ve got a price on my head. That makes me leverage. We can use it.”
“Allura,” Carter growls. “You can’t let her walk into a trap.”
Allura’s voice is steady. “She’s not walking in blind. She’ll have coverage.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Carter snaps. “She’s the target.”
I rise to my feet, palms braced on the table. “Exactly. You can’t fight shadows if you don’t give them something to chase. We let them see me. Let them think they’ve won, then we gut their operation from the inside out.”
French whistles low. “Girl’s got fire and suicide in equal measure.”
Sloane leans forward, eyes sharp. “You don’t get to die today,” she warns. “You hear me? You go in, you get what we need, and you come back breathing.”
“Copy that,” I say, voice steadier than it feels.
