Chapter 49 The Plan

• The table’s a mess — old takeout cartons shoved to the corner, Bishop’s laptop humming heat over the spread of glossy prints and grainy photos. Decker’s boot taps the table leg in time with the low drone of Ellerei’s pen flicking the edge of a blueprint.
• She’s half-drunk on bad coffee, sleeves of Knox’s old black hoodie bunched to her knuckles, mouth pinched in that crooked grin she wears when she’s three moves ahead of the rest of the room.
• “Two guards on rotation,” Bishop mutters — flicks the screen. “Second shift’s sloppy. We breach at the shift change, take the security hub before the third floor sees it coming.”