Chapter 8 · Breath Number Seven

The blood case sat on the table between us. Red biohazard seal. Lea's name printed on the side.

I didn't touch it. Didn't need to. The scanner in my hand was already screaming.

"It's in there," I said. "The tracker. Not on me. In your case."

Lea stared at the case like it might bite her. "That's been with me for two years."

"I know."

"Mark, that case goes everywhere. Clinics, supply runs, my apartment—"

"I know."

She grabbed it, flipped it over, checked the seals. Her hands were steady but her jaw wasn't. "Who put it there?"

"Someone who knew you'd keep it close." I checked the window. Still clear. Wouldn't stay that way. "Someone who knew I'd come back to you."

Her eyes snapped up. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't make this about us." She shoved the case into her pack, zipped it hard. "This is about you dragging half of Prague's kill teams into my life."

She wasn't wrong. But she wasn't right either.

I moved to the door, checked the hallway cam feed on my phone. Two floors down, three guys in contractor jackets stepping out of the stairwell. No tools.