Two vehicles pulled up along the cracked curb of 14th Avenue—Arora's sleek, dark sedan coming to a silent stop first, with Nick and Miso's armored SUV rolling in quietly behind it.
The habit was old, deeply ingrained, and unyielding. Arora always drove alone, always took the front line, and always walked ahead long before her strike force could even step into formation behind her.
Today was no different.
The second the sedan's ignition cut out, Arora didn't wait for her team. She pushed her door open, her dark coat sweeping around her ankles as her boots hit the wet pavement, walking straight toward the rusted iron gates of the apartment complex. Behind her, Nick and Miso practically jogged across the asphalt to catch up, their tactical radios humming with low, encrypted static.
