The morning light peeped through the cabin blinds, forming stripes across the table where Ava sat, hunched over a map strewn with handwritten notes and digital printouts.
Red ink circled locations across the city, the boldest ringed one drawn around the crumbling edge of an industrial zone: Old Varelli Steelworks, Isabella's last known safehouse.
Alex leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching Ava with quiet intensity.
"She's cornered," he said, his voice low. "But Isabella doesn't do surrender."
"She's cornered," he said, his voice low. "But Isabella doesn't do surrender."
Her fingers moved quickly over her burner phone, transmitting the coordinates and surveillance notes to Agent Harper. No emotion crossed her face, but her shoulders straightened when the message sent.
In a windowless secure office miles away, Selena worked in near silence, the glow of four monitors reflecting pale light over her features.
