Chapter 67 The Unseen Hand

• The board’s already full by the time Ellerei finishes her coffee — Bishop’s laptop spitting out files faster than Decker can pin them up with old brass tacks and scraps of sticky notes that smell like grease and stale whiskey.
• Knox leans back against the wall — arms crossed, one boot propped, eyes flicking from one pin to the next like he’s measuring which neck needs breaking first.
• Ellerei’s perched on the table edge — hoodie sleeves shoved to her elbows, hair up in a messy twist that still can’t hide the soft streak of white that catches every flicker of the overhead light.