Helena moved like a shadow between the derelict buildings on the edge of the city, her hood pulled low, scarf hiding most of her face. Every step outside her hideout was a gamble. Every breath felt like she was inviting death to follow. But the thought of Gabriel getting to Lena first burned away the fear.
She reached the narrow alley that led to a contact she hadn’t used in years — a smuggler named Victor, who owed her more than one favor. His safehouse was lit dimly, the glow of a single lamp seeping through boarded-up windows. She knocked twice, paused, then once more — their old signal.
The door cracked open, and Victor’s scarred face peered out. He froze when he saw her.
“Helena? You’re supposed to be dead.”
“Not yet,” she said coldly, slipping inside. “I need information. Fast.”
