The light came back like a verdict.
Men flinched. The river blinked. Rybak’s grin died without ceremony when he saw the cut end of the trigger line in Rafael’s fist and Leone still breathing.
“New plan,” Rafael said, rising in one clean coil.
Two of the Pike’s men reached for guns that weren’t there. Emilia’s voice arrived first. “Don’t.” It wasn’t shouted. It didn’t need to be. It had the shape of an ending.
Rafael moved through them like someone who’d mapped their fear- heel, shoulder, wrist; a gun clattered, another skittered into the dark. A knife flashed and flashed out of usefulness. He didn’t show off. He ended options.
Rybak didn’t run. He stepped into the light as if it were a dare, hands open, eyes soft with the peculiar kindness of men who’ve done worse. “You sing well.”
“
