The London safe house was a cramped apartment above a closed-down pub in Soho.
Slade sat at a small table, the files from Maple Street spread before him. The Circle's network was finally taking shape—dozens of operatives, multiple safe houses, a web of financial connections that spanned three continents. Sera had been the architect, but she'd left behind a well-oiled machine.
Lyric worked at a laptop in the corner, her fingers flying across the keyboard. "I've been mapping the Circle's communications. They're using a decentralized system. Every node is independent. If one goes down, the others don't even notice."
Slade looked up. "So we can't just cut off the head."
"No. We have to dismantle them piece by piece."
Kane stepped forward. "That's going to take time. We don't have time."
