Chapter 15 · Same Knife, New Cut

Charlotte's hand stayed on her gun. Marcus stood three feet from the vault door, close enough she could see the scar above his left eyebrow—the one he got in Caracas when she'd been too slow calling the exit. That was six years back. Different life.

Lisa's voice had cut out twenty seconds ago. The recording, the warning, whatever the hell that was—it left the air between them sharp and cold.

"You heard her," Charlotte said. Her finger rested along the trigger guard. Not on the trigger. Not yet. "She said don't trust you."

Marcus didn't move. "Yeah. I heard."

"So?"

"So she's right." He met her eyes. No flinch. "You shouldn't."

Charlotte's jaw tightened. The vault was slate-gray, commercial grade, the kind you saw in private banks or off-book safe houses. Biometric lock on the left. Keypad on the right. Ivy's key hung from Charlotte's other hand on a thin steel chain, and it wasn't for either of those.

There was a third slot, hidden under a panel Marcus had pried loose two minutes ago. Old-school mechanical backup. Needed two people turning two keys at the same time.

That was the problem.

She'd have to holster the gun.