Chapter 20 The Ghost In The Glass

• The warehouse was quiet at this hour, which made the knock on the side door more than unusual—it made it a threat. Mace had a gun in his hand before he even moved, shadows shifting behind him as two of Amara’s men flanked the exit, eyes sharp, breath quiet. No one came here unless invited.
• And yet someone had.
• Inside the lofted office, Amara stood barefoot on the steel balcony, overlooking rows of crates and manifest sheets she could recite from memory. She wore black slacks and a silk tank, her hair braided down her back, loose strands curling against her cheekbones. She didn’t flinch at the knock. Didn’t ask who it was. She didn’t need to.