Michael hadn’t changed out of his bloodied clothes.
In the hospital hallway, he stood statue-still, watching Leo sleep through the glass. The boy was curled around his whale plush, a small patch over his scraped temple. Breathing. Alive.
Erica was in the room, sitting beside the bed, her hand resting protectively on his chest. Her knuckles were still swollen. She hadn’t cried.
Michael hadn’t either.
He turned as Ivan approached from the far end of the hallway, moving like a shadow through the sterile light.
“Update?” Michael asked, voice quiet.
Ivan handed him a burner phone.
“Warehouse was leased under a shell corp. Eastern European signatures—possibly Vory. We tracked the van through fuel purchase anomalies. One of the runners was sloppy.”
Michael’s jaw ticked.
“Start pulling st
