The night air in East London was thick with a damp chill as Kyle moved silently through the labyrinth of narrow streets and flickering neon signs.
He was clad in full black: black pants, a thick black jacket, and the hood pulled low over his head, obscuring his face from the sputtering streetlamps. His boots ate up the distance, taking him further toward the coordinates Dax had provided him last night.
As he walked, his mind replayed the day's earlier moments with Karen; the surreal image of her living like a queen, surrounded by sudden luxury and access to millions. It gnawed at him, a persistent whisper of suspicion.
How could the syndicate afford such generosity? Was it a trap? Or something more sinister?
