Neither of them slept.
Odette knew that because at 2 am she heard movement downstairs, boots on hardwood, low voices — Wolf's rumble and Damien's flatter tone, then a third voice she recognized as Steel's, clipped and short like everything he said. She sat at the top of the stairs in her sleep shorts and t-shirt, knees pulled to her chest, listening through the banister rails.
"—pulled every burner that's touched club business," Ethan's voice said, tinny through a speakerphone. "Nothing matches. Whoever sent that text isn't using club channels. It's a new number, never seen before, routed through three different relays before it hit her phone. That's not amateur work, Prez. That's somebody who knows what they're doing."
"Can you trace it?" Damien asked.
"Working on it," Ethan said. "Gi
