The convoy moved through the darkened streets in silence, three vehicles winding through the slums toward the dead harbor. The city was holding its breath. The financial leak had thrown Portmorris into chaos—riots in the financial district, police checkpoints on every major intersection, the steady wail of sirens echoing through the canyons of glass and steel. The agency was in full retreat, its operatives burning files and fleeing the country. Margot Delaine's empire was collapsing under the weight of its own corruption. But somewhere in the shadows, a ghost was hunting them, and no amount of financial collapse could stop it.
Caleb drove the lead vehicle—a battered sedan that Una had kept hidden in the diner's basement garage for exactly this kind of emergency. Beside him, Nyla sat with
