The video arrived at 3 a.m.
No sender ID. No subject line. Just a link forwarded through three encrypted servers that Marcus traced back to nothing — a ghost signal bouncing off satellites until it dissolved. Someone had spent real money making sure it couldn't be traced.
Someone wanted us to know they had real money.
I was asleep when it came through. Damian wasn't — he never slept before four, a habit I'd stopped trying to fix. I felt him leave the bed, heard the low murmur of his voice through the wall as he talked to Marcus, and then nothing for a long time.
Too long.
I found him in the study.
He was standing at his desk, laptop open, the blue-white light of the screen cutting across his face. He didn't look up when I came in. Didn't tell me to go back to bed. Just reached out one hand without looking and waited.
I took it. Came around beside him. Looked at the screen.
