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“Look, I’m not saying I’m going to storm the cannery or anything. But I can go to the shelters, ask around. Disguise myself. I’ll be careful.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not trained for this. If something goes wrong?—”

“Then you’ll come get me,” I interrupt, placing a hand on his chest. “You’ve done it before. And if I don’t do this, if I just sit here, I’ll go crazy. I need to feel like I’m doing something. Anything.”

He stares at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he nods. “Fine. But you follow my rules. No improvising. No taking unnecessary risks. And if anything feels off, you get out. Immediately.”

I grin, relief flooding through me. “Deal.”

He pulls me into his arms, his grip firm but gentle. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?”

I laugh, burying my face in his chest. “You love it.”

“I do,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the top of my head. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to worry.”

I pull back, looking up at him. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

He nods, but I can still see the tension in his shoulders. “We’ll get you a disguise. Something that’ll make you unrecognizable. And I’ll be nearby. Just in case.”

“Deal,” I say again, feeling a surge of determination. “Let’s find Gordo.”

I stand in front of the mirror, staring at the ragged old woman staring back at me. The holographic disguise Lanz gave me is flawless—wrinkles etched deep into my face, a hunched posture, and a ratty shawl draped over my shoulders. I can’t help but grin, which looks bizarre on this face.

“Well, hello there, young man,” I croak, my voice raspy and trembling. I hobble over to Lanz, who’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching me with an amused smirk. “Got any spare change for an old lady?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Oh, come on,” I say, dropping the act for a moment. “When else am I going to get to play dress-up like this? Besides, I’m nailing it.”

“You are,” he admits, his golden eyes twinkling. “But let’s not forget why we’re doing this. You’re not going to a costume party.”

“Right, right,” I say, waving a hand dismissively. “Grolgath, shelters, Gordo. Got it.”

I shuffle back to the mirror, adjusting the shawl. “So, how am I getting to the shelter? You’re not exactly going to cruise up in your sports car and drop off a homeless woman. That’d raise some eyebrows.”

Lanz frowns, his brow furrowing. “You’re not walking. It’s too far, and it’s not safe.”

I turn to him, hands on my hips—or at least, where my hips would be if I weren’t hunched over. “Honey, you and I both know you don’t do discrete.”

He laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that makes my chest warm despite the tension. “Fair point. But I’m not letting you walk. I’ll figure something out.”

He disappears into the bedroom for a moment and returns with a wad of cash so thick it could double as a paperweight. “Come on,” he says, gesturing toward the door.

I follow him out of the penthouse and into the elevator, my disguise holding steady. The ride down is quiet, but I can feel the gears turning in Lanz’s head. When we step out onto the street, he scans the area like a predator sizing up its prey.

“There,” he says, nodding toward a dilapidated blue Volkswagen van parked a few feet away. A man in a faded flannel shirt is leaning against it, smoking a cigarette.

Lanz strides over, and I shuffle behind him, doing my best to stay in character.

“How much for the van?” Lanz asks, cutting straight to the point.

The man raises an eyebrow, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “You serious?”

“Dead serious,” Lanz says, pulling out the wad of cash. “Ten thousand. Right now.”

The man’s eyes widen, and he stubs out his cigarette. “Deal.”

He hands over the keys, and Lanz tosses him the cash. The man walks off, shaking his head like he can’t believe his luck.