"Yeah?"
A sound. Footsteps, slow and deliberate, splashing through puddles.
"I wish I was. He knows about the drive. He knows about you. And he's not sending thugs anymore." The man's eyes locked onto hers. "He's sending cleaners. The kind that make people disappear so completely, even their nightmares forget them." skyla novea abella danger
She pressed the edge closer. A bead of blood welled up. "I'm losing patience."
"I expect you to run." He tilted his head. "But running got you this far, and look where you are. Alley. Night. Rain. No backup." He knows about the drive
Skyla released him and stepped back. Her hand trembled—not from fear, but from the sheer weight of what she'd just heard. Victor Roque. Her father's killer. And he knew her name.
"Victor Roque." The name landed like a stone in still water. Skyla's breath caught. Roque was the ghost she'd been chasing for three years—the man who'd ordered the hit on her father, a journalist who got too close to a money-laundering ring. The USB in her pocket wasn't just evidence. It was a key. A key to Roque's empire. "He's sending cleaners
Her contact was late. Twenty-three minutes late. That wasn't just a bad sign—it was a eulogy.