The leader of the Undertow Syndicate didn't walk; he glided through the room with the fluid, lethal grace of a shark. He was the North Bank incarnate, arrogant, cold, and smelling of deep-water secrets. He veered toward the table, catching Marcus’s eye with a look that carried a decade of unresolved blood-rivalry.
He sat down without an invitation, and the air between the two men became a pressurized chamber. I settled onto the dark wood of the booth's headrest, mere inches from Gabriel’s ear.
The conversation began as a whisper about the missing men, potential Aegis hostages, but I could feel the undercurrents shifting. This wasn't just a meeting about disappearances. This was the moment the two halves of Port Cleartree finally realized they were being hunted by the same ghost.
I flew
