"I expect you to run." He tilted his head. "But running got you this far, and look where you are. Alley. Night. Rain. No backup."
She turned her phone over in her palm. No signal. Of course. The alley had been dead air since she arrived. Jamming tech wasn't cheap, but the men she was running from had bottomless pockets. They owned judges, cops, and at least two colonels she knew of. Skyla had no one. Just a fake ID, a dying phone battery, and a scar on her ribs from the last time she got too close to the truth.
Skyla released him and stepped back. Her hand trembled—not from fear, but from the sheer weight of what she'd just heard. Victor Roque. Her father's killer. And he knew her name. skyla novea abella danger
She pressed the edge closer. A bead of blood welled up. "I'm losing patience."
Her contact was late. Twenty-three minutes late. That wasn't just a bad sign—it was a eulogy. "I expect you to run
Her jaw tightened. "You expect me to believe that?"
She turned and walked into the rain, the USB drive burning a hole in her pocket. The man didn't follow. He didn't need to. He'd delivered the message. No signal
"Yeah?"