Chapter 15 · Dead Man's Auction

The warehouse smelled like rust and diesel. Mark kept his back to the concrete pillar, phone pressed to his ear. Ava's voice came through tight.

"Sokolov's got the shard. He wants the buyer list. I've got twelve minutes before his crew kicks the door."

Mark checked his wrist. Still seven. "Where are you?"

"North dock. Container 47-B. Mark, I need—"

"Stay on the line." He was already moving, boots quiet on the slick floor. The north dock was two blocks east. Twelve minutes. He could make it in eight if he didn't hit a patrol.

Ava's breath hitched. "He's not coming alone. I count three, maybe four outside."

"Four," Mark said. He'd seen this play out twice already. First loop, he'd gone in through the front. Sokolov put two rounds in his chest before he cleared the threshold. Second time, he'd tried the service entrance. Same result, different angle. This time he was taking the high route.

He hit the fire escape at a dead run, metal rattling under his weight. The night air bit cold. His ribs still ached from Lea's stitches, the ones she'd put in after he'd bled out in her clinic.