–Damon–
One of the shipments has been captured.
Five hundred million euros—gone in a blink. Smuggled clean, routed through three shadows and two dead channels, and still… intercepted. The report glowed coldly on the screen, numbers stabbing at my temples. My jaw tightened as I scanned timestamps, coordinates, and names scrubbed into anonymity.
"Fuck," I muttered.
I froze.
Sky lifted his head, eyes still closed, lashes fluttering. He turned instinctively, a small body seeking warmth and certainty.
"Dada," he murmured, crawling toward me at the edge of the bed like a homing signal.
"Go back to sleep," I told him quietly, lowering my voice. "We have a big problem here, Sky."
"Oh." He cooed, unbothered, and climbed straight into my lap anyway.
I exhaled through my nose and pulled him close, the faint scent of milk and soap cutting through the metallic smell of stress. I tilted the tablet so he could see the report—maps, red markers, loss columns bleeding numbers.
