The city looked different at night.
Most people didn't notice it — the shift in temperature, the way sound changed, the way shadows bent. But I'd lived too many lives in this darkness to pretend it was silent. Cities talked at night. They whispered secrets and warnings. Tonight was no different.
But I wasn't listening for secrets.
I was hunting.
Our convoy rolled through the industrial district just before midnight, engines muted, lights dimmed. The warehouse sat near the edge of the river. It was an old brick structure that once held shipping cargo before being abandoned. Now it was used by people who wanted to disappear.
Fitting.
Two SUVs flanked mine. Inside each were men trained well enough to follow orders without asking for explanations. This wasn't a diplomacy mission. This was a retrieval. A warning shot. A message written in fear.
