The morning sun, when it finally rose over Eastgate, was a pale, anemic thing. It found the crew not in triumph, but in a heavy, anxious silence. The night’s victories felt hollow. The rail yard was a smoking ruin, the financial hub a silent tomb, but the enemy was still out there. In the quiet of the safehouse, a different kind of war was being fought. The air was thick with the scent of fear and the unspoken knowledge that while a bond had been reforged between Capol and Pat, a new chasm had opened in the crew.
Five years ago, before Lorik returned, before the city had become a hunting ground, their lives had been a different kind of violent. A controlled, predictable kind. Their home wasn't a fortress of tension, but a place of light and easy camaraderie. Vince remembered one night in
