The relief didn't last long.
Eight hours later, the domestic warmth of the laundry room was gone, replaced by the biting wind of the Industrial District.
Sarah crouched behind a rusted AC unit on top of the Old Foundry. The night was pitch black, the kind of darkness that swallowed light and sound.
She checked her watch. 02:00 AM.
Thorne had called off the surveillance teams. He said the "note" in the Lieutenant's pocket was a wild goose chase. He said Krell wasn't at the Foundry.
Sarah didn't care. The graphology report said the note was written by a left-handed amateur, but her gut said the location was solid.
Scritch.
A sound on the gravel roof, thirty yards away.
Sarah froze. She didn't breathe. She didn't blink.
A shadow detached itself from a chimney stack. It was tall, lean
