“Inside Aurora. Someone protected enough to access transport routes, containment schedules, extraction timing.” His jaw tightens; small on a face that size. “Someone who told the Syndicate exactly where you’d be when you ran.”
“How long have you known?”
“Suspected for a while. The Syndicate’s been a step ahead on three operations in the last year. A raid that found an empty building, an extraction that hit a trap. I couldn’t find the pattern because there wasn’t one. Whoever’s doing this doesn’t repeat. Doesn’t leave traces. Until they left one of Viktor’s people dead and tried to frame a dragon. That’s been our first real clue.”
“You’re a tracker.”
“Best Aurora has.” No arrogance. Just fact. “I find people, objects, trails, missing records. Anything that leaves a trace, I can follow.” He looks at the road beyond the parking lot. The first gray light creeping across the asphalt. “This one doesn’t leave traces. That means they know exactly how tracking works.”
“And Creed?”
“Creed is Syndicate military. Smart. Patient. He views you as a weapon his organization built and lost.” His mouth flattens. “He’ll come for you again. Not because he’s angry. Because you’re an asset he wants operational, and leaving you out here is the same as leaving a loaded rifle on someone else’s table.”
“Viktor,” I say. “The trade. There were captives…”
“Viktor would never have taken it.” He says it differently from Brenna. Not a policy statement. A personal read. “I’ve worked for the man for a decade. He’s hard. He’s made choices that would make you sick. But he doesn’t sell people. He listened to Creed because listening tells you what your enemy values. That’s intelligence, not negotiation.”
“They can’t stay in that place. We have to get them out.”
A dark eyebrow lifts. “You think you’re ready for that now?”
“Not yet. But I will be.” I straighten my shoulders.
“I guess you will.” He nods slowly. “And when you are, go back to Viktor. Until then, take some time to find your feet. You’ll be no good to anyone if you lose your shit on a mission.”
The motel door opens behind me.
Sable steps out. She’s pulled on the oversized jacket. Her feet are bare on the cold concrete. Her eyes go hard the moment she sees him.
“Decker.” She says his name like she’s spitting something out. She’s crossing the lot, her stride sharp, her jaw set. “Last time you found us, you brought a containment team.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch from her anger. He just stands there, big and still and waiting.
“Last time, Creed would have reached you first,” he says. “This time, I came to warn you. And to help.”
“Help?” She stops three feet from him. The top of her head barely reaches his chest, and she looks up without any awareness of the size difference. “You’ll understand if I don’t take that on faith.”
“I would.” He nods at the duffel on the tailgate. “Take it on supplies, then. Clothes, cash, a phone. And the truck.”
“Why?”
He looks at her. Then at me. Then at the road.
“Because nobody gets to own another person,” he says. “I don’t care how much money and science they spent building him. That’s not how it works.”
Simple. No performance behind it.
Sable’s anger doesn’t disappear. But her posture shifts. Recalculating. Though she doesn’t soften.
“There’s a leak inside Aurora,” I say. “That’s how Creed knew where we’d be. How the Syndicate knew I was there in the first place.”
Her eyes move to mine. Then back to Decker. “Who?”
“Don’t know yet.” Decker reaches over the tailgate and grips the frame of a motorcycle lying on its side in the truck bed. He hauls it up and over the edge one-handed—the bike has to weigh three hundred pounds—and sets it on the asphalt. Kicks the stand down.
“Someone inside Aurora who leaves no scent,” he says, straightening. “No trail. No mistake twice. That’s why I tracked you. Not to bring you back. To follow the other trail. The one that led Creed to the right road at the right time. Your escape route was the proof I needed that the leak is real.”
“And now?” Sable says.
