Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“Useful,” he says.
“Unforgiving,” I correct.
He laughs and slides off the stool with the economy of a man who never overcommits. “I will see you around,” he tells Juno, not me. To Megan, with a nod that assumes familiarity, “Merci, chérie.”
Megan’s smile is a weapon. “It’s Megan,” she says.
He goes. The door hushes on his exit. For a second the room simmers with all the conversations we didn’t want to overhear. Then the hum reasserts itself and the world acts normal around the hole a man like that leaves when he walks away.
“Bike,” I say into comms.
“On him,” Knight replies, already out the door. “Black sedan, matte, plate confirms NRS-0417. He’s not in a hurry.”
Gage: “Cams picking up the trail. He’s heading toward the river.”
Ozzy: “Smoker shows NEREUS-NAV-PRO moving. RSSI dropping. He’s out.”
Megan plants both hands on the bar and leans toward us. “If you’re going to keep doing this in my bar,” she says, “you bring me cake next time.”
“Render promised you cake,” I say.
“I promise you to watch your back in here,” she counters. “But don’t turn my floor into an op again without warning.”
“Understood,” I say, honestly.
She flicks the card Nico left with the disdain of a woman who’s seen too many men gift bad choices. “You want this?”
Juno finally touches the card like it’s evidence, not a present. “Yes.”
“Prints,” Gage reminds, already wearing gloves in my mind.
Megan smiles. “Have a good night.”
We tip like we’re paying rent and slide out into the night air. The sky is the color of promises it won’t keep. Knight’s voice steadies in my ear as he narrates the tail: “He’s taking Bay past the boatyards. Slowing at the Marina Club. Yep. Gate’s opening. He didn’t touch the call box—badge access. Parking under. He’s out.”
Render: “Marina network pinged a member card: Nicolas Armand. Time stamp matches.”
Gage: “Got him on the elevator cam feed. Level G to P2. Then gone. I can put him on the north stairwell on a two-minute delay.”
“Give me the slip,” I say.
“Nereus slip D4,” Juno answers before comms do, voice flat with purpose.
“Knight,” I order. “Park and breathe. Do not get made. Ozzy, hold the lot exit. If he leaves in the next fifteen, I want the car path.”
“Copy,” they chorus.
Juno and I stand under the Atlas sign bleeding gold onto the sidewalk. The night’s adrenaline recedes, leaving a clean, humming edge.
“You okay?” I ask, because I’m allowed one habit I won’t break.
She looks at me—really looks. “He’s smarter than I wanted him to be.”
“He thinks that’s all he needs,” I say. “Men who collect puzzles assume they’re the only ones with hands.”
A tiny, dangerous smile. “He liked me.”
“He underestimated you,” I correct. “Liking is optional. Underestimating is mandatory for people like him.”
She nods once. “Did you get enough?”
“Voiceprint, ring crest, device name. Card with a number that routes through a VoIP in Monaco. Call log with a ‘G.’ We have a stack,” I say. “Tomorrow we yank a thread.”
“Which one?” she asks.
“The one labeled Gray,” Render answers in my ear before I can. “Breakfast club can have a dinner date. I can lay a false invite if we want him in a place with three exits and a bad acoustic ceiling.”
“Do it,” I say. “And flood Huxley’s inbox with the packet that doesn’t get any of us indicted.”
Juno’s hand slips into mine like a reflex and then stops like she remembered something. She doesn’t pull away. Neither do I.
“I don’t want him to say bright girl to anyone ever again,” she whispers.
“Then we take his voice away,” I say. “We make it evidence.”
The comms chirp. Knight: “He’s on foot—north slips. Phone to ear, laughing at something. I’m not close enough to hear.”
Render: “I got him reflected in a porthole.”
Ozzy: “Lot exit still cold. I’m bored, send snacks.”
“Hold positions,” I say. To Juno, “We did good.”
She exhales like she’s been holding her breath since the moment he said her name. “We did… something,” she says. “Good enough to make tomorrow worth it.”
I nod once, and we walk—down the block, past the noodle shop that smells like home, under a mural of magenta fish in an ocean of blue that looks like it knows more than we do. We don’t rush the next thing. We let the night file itself in our bones.
My phone buzzes with a number that isn’t in my contacts. I route it to a sandbox and listen anyway. A man’s voice, muffled, ocean in the background. “You made a new friend tonight, bright girl.” Click.
I send the audio to the group with the note gift from a coward and flag the number for Gage to pull apart. Juno’s jaw sets. She doesn’t look afraid. She looks like someone who just put a pin in a map and can see the path from here to there.
“Tomorrow, bagels,” I say. “Then we make Gray late for his meeting.”