Max had always known the betrayal would come. He just hadn't thought it would come so soon — and so cheap.
The second morning in the city. Mist over the waterfalls. The team spread out, working, settling in. And Max's eyes, as always, moved over the people on their own — and stopped on Mehta.
"Bullet."
"Yes."
"Mehta. South terrace. What's he doing."
A pause. From the roof, Bullet brought his optics around.
"Standing by a post. Pretending to look at the carving." Another pause. "Only his eyes aren't on the carving. They're on the houses. And on the people with necklaces. He's counting." Bullet's voice didn't change. "He's waiting for no one to be watching."
Max could have stopped it with a word. He could. But he needed to see — how deep it went, on whose orders, how far the one they'
