The drive weighed exactly nothing. Just a cheap, plastic rectangle. I rolled it between my fingers the entire car ride back to the penthouse, feeling like it should burn right through my skin. My mother’s killer was sitting on two gigs of flash memory.
Selene didn't say a word the whole trip. She just watched the streetlights strobe across the windshield while my wolf paced frantic circles against my ribs.
Back in the war room, Selene didn't hesitate. She grabbed the drive, jammed it into her encrypted laptop, and ran the decryption protocol.
A directory popped up. It was a goldmine. Decades of stolen intelligence. Surveillance stills, offshore bank routing numbers, audio taps. Maren had been hoarding this stuff for thirty-five years.
"Start with the new stuff," I told her.
Selene ope
