CHAPTER 025: THE GHOST SIGNAL
"I'm tracing it myself."
Dominic doesn't argue.
He just grabs his jacket and says, "I'm coming with you."
And that's the end of the discussion.
We take one car.
No convoy. No extra security. No announcement.
I drive because I need something to do with my hands, and because Dominic behind the wheel right now—with that particular quality of silence coming off him—would make me nervous in a way I don't want to examine.
The city thins behind us as we head east.
Dominic sits beside me, one arm resting against the door, his attention moving between the road and the data on my phone.
"The relay point is forty minutes out?" he asks.
"Thirty-eight if traffic stays dead."
"And if it's a trap?"
I glance at him briefly. "Then at least we'll know who set it."
"That's not reassuring."
"It wasn't supposed to be."
The industrial district comes into view slowly—rows of aging warehouses, rusted fencing, broken signage.
