Midnight came fast.
We moved out of the safehouse like shadows. Jax led the way through the back alleys. No words. Just hand signals and quiet footsteps. The market was dead now. Stalls closed. Neon signs dimmed to a weak glow. Only a few drunks and night workers wandered the streets.
Tiny and Maya split off at the edge of the bank district. Maya climbed a fire escape to a rooftop that gave her a clear view of the old bank entrance. Tiny stood guard below her like a statue made of scrap metal.
Maya's voice came through the comms, calm and steady. "I'm in position. All clear so far."
"Good," I said. "Stay sharp."
"Always," Maya said.
We kept moving — down a side street, past boarded-up shops with smashed windows and faded signs. Jax stopped at a rusted grate in the sidewalk and knelt down. She slid her revolver barrel under the edge and pried it open.
"Air vent," Jax said. "It's tight, but it leads straight into the first layer."
