Rina was waiting at the transit yard fence when they got there, which should not have been possible, because Caleb had not told anyone outside the team where they were going.
She had a duffel over one shoulder and a Division-issue tracker in her hand and the set jaw of someone who had practiced an argument in the car and meant to win it.
She was maybe twenty-four, small, built lean enough that recruiters wrote her off and the front line ground her down. Caleb knew her about as well as he knew most people from the division, which was barely, a name and a low sync score and a habit of being somewhere she was not assigned.
"Before you tell me to go home," Rina said, "you should know I've been watching this statue for two years, and I know things about it you don't, and you need them tonight."
