Cane and I were crouched on our bikes at the mouth of the bypass, two miles out from the marina. The water here was bone-chillingly cold. The air in the tunnel smelled of wet concrete. Above us, the muffled sound of midnight traffic on the coastal highway was the only reminder that a world of light still existed.
Viper and his men were stationed on the surface in "civilian" cars, idling in the parking lots of nearby parks, ready to jam the marina’s local comms and create a distraction the moment we breached the interior.
“Comms check,” I whispered into my helmet, the sound of my own breathing loud in my ears.
“Loud and clear, Princess,” Viper’s voice crackled through the earpiece.
“The tide is at its peak. You’ve got a four-minute window before the pressure in that pipe becomes too mu
