CASSIAN
The heavy steel door of the vehicle bay swung open, and I moved through it with the cold, rhythmic focus of a man who had already seen the end of the world. The space was massive, a cavern of damp concrete and shadow lit by flickering orange sodium lamps.
At the far end, the black armored sedan was idling, its exhaust a white plume in the cool air. Emilio was already at the door, but three men stood between us.
I read them immediately. These weren't the panicked guards from the basement. These were professional shadows. They didn't rush; they spread out.
Their spacing was perfect, a triangular formation that ensured no matter which way I moved, I was in the line of fire or a strike zone.
They didn't speak. They didn't need to. They had worked together long enough to share a single nervous system.
The first one came at me with controlled aggression. He didn't swing wild; he aimed for where my head would be if I flinched. He anticipated a retreat.
