Page 41 of Gabriel

I pulled out my phone and my fingers moved on instinct, punching in the right codes, clearing the layers of encryption like brushing dirt off a buried weapon.

Three minutes later, the screen blinked once with a single file, uploaded by Jet forty-eight hours ago. They were coordinates.

“What does it say?” Esteban asked, voice low, glancing at me.

I stared at the phone screen.

Why would Jet want me to snatch Santos and deliver him to those coordinates? Why wouldn’t he have just taken Santos himself since he was clearly in the jungle and on Santos’s territory?

I turned and headed for the door, sliding both phones into my coat.

“Wait—hold on, I can back that up. Just give me?—”

I stopped at the threshold and looked back over my shoulder.

“If you tell anyone I was here, I swear to God…”

He swallowed. “I won’t.”

I opened the door.

“If you lie to me,” I added without turning around, “say your prayers. You’re already a dead man.”

A heartbeat passed before he replied, “Okay.”

I disappeared into the hallway, already pulling out my burner phone and telling Elira I was on my way back. We needed to know where this clue led.

Then we’d grab Santos. The one man I’d rather keep at a safe distance.

But hey, you know what they say: keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Gabriel

We rolled to a stop outside a squat building near the docks, engine still ticking as the heat bled through the metal. That’s when we saw Amara, slipping out the front door like a ghost.

She moved through the shadows with that eerie kind of quiet grace and confidence. The world bent a little around her, allowing her to pass. That had always fascinated me about her. I’d always known she was the controlled girl, raised to be a queen. The moment I saw her in the jungle, I witnessed it, and fuck, I loved that about her. She was dangerous and powerful, and seeing her for who she was, I couldn’t say that I minded that at all.

Luis and I stepped out of the vehicle and I gave him a quick signal.

“Keep your distance,” I muttered, and we drifted into the shadows behind her, the rhythm of pursuit second nature by now.

The heat clung to us. The air was thick with salt, sweat, and the far-off aroma of spices cooking over heat. My focus was sharp like a blade, and right now it was pointed straight at Amara.

We trailed her into a back alley, where the sounds of the city faded like a bad memory. Cracked graffiti walls hemmed us in the darkness. Moonlight barely made it down this far.

I could feel my pulse in my teeth as we watched her.

A part of me hoped she’d lead us straight to Jet, but I knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

At the docks, she veered hard right, then walked straight to the end of the pier. She didn’t look back.

That’s when I saw it—some bloated piece of rich-boy vanity: a black yacht pulsing with tacky neon lights and the nameMidnightscrawled along the side.

“I thought she had more class,” I grumbled.

I leaned against the wall, the concrete cool against my back as I watched her vanish onto the boat.

“What the hell was she doing with Esteban?” I said, mostly to myself.