I woke to the curve of her shoulder in the first gray of morning and the slow weight of my hand on her hip. For a minute I let the room be quiet. Her breathing had that steady cadence it only finds after a clean win. We don’t get many. I took it.
Her phone buzzed once against the nightstand. Four words on the screen: Warehouse. Nine. Bring light.
I tapped the message into my head, then pressed my mouth to her hair. “Wake up,” I said softly. “We have an appointment.”
Her eyes opened clear. “From who?”
“No signature. The kind of clue Renzo sends when he wants to be useful without being seen.”
She pushed up on her elbow, the sheet sliding to her waist. “Then we bring light.”
“Real light,” I said. “And a plan for when someone decides to shoot at it.”
The smile she gave me was small and
