Night air slammed her face. Cold. Sharp. She didn't look back at the warehouse. Boots scraped over grit. The tape around her ankle pulled with every step, reminding her it was still damaged but not enough to stop her. Pouch heavy at her hip. Vials untouched. The counter-compounds had done their job inside.
The transport van idled at the curb, rear doors wide. Red taillights cut the dark like blood. Adrian stood by the bumper, arms crossed, barking at two soldiers who lifted the hooded figure into the back. Zip-ties tight. Black hood down. The Viper's breathing came steady under the fabric. Alive. Secure.
Raven kept walking. No limp. Not yet.
Adrian's head snapped up. He studied her the way he studied targets—quick, exact. "Report."
She stopped beside the open door. "Counters worked. He recalculated once. Missed twice. He's down."
Adrian gave a short nod. No praise. No questions. He already knew.
"Load up. Two blocks to the perimeter."
