Cassandra
The smell of gasoline and paper dust clung to my fingers, the two things I’d been drowning in all day—old manifests and the faint oil-slick scent of the truck yard. The kind of things most people would ignore. But I wasn’t most people, and neither was Ivy, though goddess help me I hated admitting we were working side by side.
“You’re sure this is the right shipment?” she asked, crouching low by the crates stacked in the far corner of Dante’s storage lot. Her hair caught the flickering light of the lone bulb above us, all dark waves and sharp edges, like her.
I folded my arms. “Positive. The bar owner I used to run with would mark his shipments with those numbers.” I tapped the stenciled code, faint under the fresh paint. “It doesn’t match the paperwork. Someone’s hiding somet
