Chapter 20 The Lull

• The safehouse is quieter than it should be after a job like that.
• Decker’s boots thud soft on the floor while he leans into the couch — controller in his big hands, eyes narrowed at the TV where pixel soldiers scatter across a cracked desert. Bishop sits at the other end, half-watching, half-dozing, phone buzzing between his thigh and the cushions.
• Ellerei’s curled up in the middle — knees drawn tight under an oversized hoodie that smells faintly like motor oil and Knox’s damn cinnamon coffee. Her hair’s scraped into a messy knot, a few stray strands framing the soft bruise on her jaw where the guard’s elbow clipped her.