They executed the pivot with elegant cruelty. A scrape of metal. A staged stumble. A muzzle-flash where there was no gun. By the time the men regrouped, one was down with a dislocated shoulder, another coughing from a smoke pop that turned the air into a white lie. The talker ran first-always the talkers do-pocket warm with a ledger scrap that would lead him to a meeting Emilia had already scheduled… and already wired.
When the yard was empty again, the world rang with the hum of lights and the soft slap of water against pylons. Emilia checked her watch.
“Seventeen minutes,” she said.
“Plenty,” Rafael answered.
“For the trap to close,” she clarified.
“For you to tell me why you’re shaking,” he countered, eyes dropping to her hands before she could hide them. The tremor was barely ther
