Page 14 of Enslak

I nodded, still studying the frozen image.

This was what I'd been trained for, not just the physical transformation, but the complete assumption of another identity. Every detective who worked undercover learned to blend in, to become invisible. This was the same skill, just pushed to its extreme.

"I'll need to hear his voice," I said. "The modulator changes my vocal cords, but I need to know his cadence, his inflection."

"Tomorrow," Binwee promised. "After the pit fights. There's an alcove in the service corridor where we can watch without being seen. You'll need to memorize his routine exactly, every movement, every gesture."

I nodded. "And after we observe him?"

"We track him to his quarters. Wait for him to sleep. Incapacitate him." Binwee's voice was matter-of-fact, as if she were describing how to make coffee. "Then you take his place the next day."

"The collar removal," I said. "How much time will I have?"

"Fifteen minutes. Maybe less. The guards leave Zarlak alone while he deals with Enslak, but if you take too long, this whole thing could blow up in our faces. The moment you enter Enslak's cell, the clock starts. Remove the collar, get him mobile, get him to the sewers." She expanded the holographic map, revealing a complex network of tunnels beneath the facility. "I've mapped the route. About an hour to the rendezvous point outside the city, assuming we don't run into resistance."

"And if we do?"

Binwee's smile was sharp. "Then we deal with it. I didn't survive in this place by being unprepared."

I studied the map, the facility layout, the escape route, the dozens of things that could go wrong. My mind was already cataloging contingencies, backup plans for the backup plans.

"Questions?" Binwee asked.

"The collar," I said. "If I make a mistake—"

It wasn't really a question. I knew what would happen.

Boom.

"You won't." Her voice was firm. "You've trained for this. You know the procedure. Trust your training."

I wanted to. God, I wanted to.

But the weight pressed down on me, the knowledge that one wrong move would kill both me and Enslak, that the Prime would lose her son again, that I'd fail everyone counting on me.

"Niki." Binwee's voice softened. "Fear is natural. It keeps you sharp. But don't let it paralyze you. You were chosen for this mission because you're capable. Chloe vouched for you. The Prime herself believes in you."

I took a deep breath, feeling it fill my lungs, feeling the alien air that had become my oxygen. "I won't let them down."

"I know." Binwee deactivated the holographic map. "Now we need to move. The kitchen shift starts in two hours, and you need to be in position."

I climbed back onto the speeder, my hands finding the grips, my body already adjusting to the strange sensation of hovering movement.

As we glided toward the city and the facility holding Enslak, the fear still sat in my chest like a stone. But underneath it, stronger than it, was something else. Purpose. Determination. The same thing that had made me chase that drug dealer through Hell's Kitchen. The same thing that had made me become a cop in the first place.

I was going to save him.

Whatever it took.

The city grew larger ahead of us, and I didn't look away.

Chapter 4

Niki

Kitchen work was hell. Not the metaphorical kind you complain about over drinks after shift, but actual, literal, sweating-through-my-disguise hell where the heat hit like opening an oven door directly into your face. Species I couldn't name and wouldn't want to barked orders in languages my translator choked on, spitting out half-translations that made no goddamn sense. I kept my head down and hauled crates that smelled like rotting fish had fucked a dumpster and died there. I chopped things that might have been vegetables or might have been organs, honestly didn't want to know, but none of it mattered because I wasn't here to cook.

The observation point Binwee had mapped was a service corridor, narrow and dim, with a ventilation grate overlooking the cell block. We'd timed our arrival for right after the afternoon fights. I pressed against the grate while Binwee crouched beside me, small enough to peer through a lower gap, and my heart did that thing it used to do before kicking down doors in the Bronx, that hammer-against-ribs rhythm that meant shit was about to get real.