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“What we saw in there…”

Her hands dropped to her lap. “There was a file name on one slide. NX 7782. I’ve seen it before.”

“When?”

“That night at my flat, before Eldridge came.”

“What?”

“It appeared in my database the night Eldridge showed up. An anomaly flagged for review—NX 7782. Meant nothing at the time. I thought it was a misfiled document.”

“You were getting too close?”

The line of her neck went taut. “I wasn’t supposed to see those files. Just accessing them must have triggered an alert?—”

“So they decided to burn you.” Leo’s voice was ice. “Frame you for treason rather than risk exposure.”

“They have to be stopped, Leonid.”

“I know.” What they’d seen—Nightshade—was no longer a theory. It was real. Operational. If they didn’t stop it, covert warfare would change forever.

Twin beams pierced the semi-darkness. Headlights approaching.

Leo’s hand went to his weapon.

An ancient red Ford Transit van rumbled into the next bay, suspension grumbling.

Brock.

Leo sighed and rolled his shoulders. Brock always had perfect timing.

The lights extinguished and the driver’s door creaked open.

Brock exited from the cab with the grace of a man used to tight spaces. A tactical vest partially hid his Johnny Cash tour tee.

Leo opened his own door and jumped out. His boots squelched as he landed. He didnotwant to know what with. Water dripped nearby, and the air reeked of mildew and piss.

Brock’s eyes widened. “What the bloody hell happened to you two?”

“You don’t want the details.” Leo’s voice was flat.

“Jesus. Is that... formaldehyde?” Brock recoiled, sniffing. “You smell like the bin behind a mortuary.

“It was worseinsidethe bin.” Kat joined them.

Brock blinked. “You wereinit?”

Leo nodded grimly.

“Well. That’s a new one.” Brock’s face twisted into something like respect.

Leo scanned the shadows. A rat skittered along the far wall. His hand hovered near his weapon. “We can’t talk here.”

“Back of the van.” Brock jerked his thumb. “It’s clean.”

He swung open the rear doors. The van’s exterior was misdirection—rust and dents hiding cutting-edge tech on the inside. The cargo hold had been converted into a mobile command center—wall-mounted monitors, stacked comms gear, and two benches facing each other across a narrow aisle.

“Ladies first.” Brock gave a theatrical bow.