The trawler rocked beneath their feet, groaning with each wave as if protesting their weight. Rust flaked from the railings, and every board Nora stepped on felt like it might collapse. She shoved Mara down into the shadows below deck before returning to the open air. The rifle in her hands felt small against the floodlights closing in from every direction.
The Blacklist was tightening the noose.
She could see them spreading across the docks, voices rising above the crash of waves, the sound of boots echoing like war drums. The sea itself seemed to churn in protest, black and silver foam slamming against the pilings.
And then came the sharp crack of precision fire from the cliffs.
Three hunters fell in quick succession. Nora’s head snapped toward the source—flashes of muzzle fire cutti
