o. She found it by smell first-stale water, rust, something rotting sweet underneath. Then she s

ndustrial, with a biometric scanner that looked

on," a vo

er muscle that came from prison yards, not gyms. The one who'd spoken was bald, with a

voice small, reedy, nothing like her

wo, maybe two-forty. She catalogued him automatically: slow, left-heavy, probably carried a gun in

es. She let her hand tremble as she reached into her pocket. "The Jackal sent me," she whisper

a look with the other guar

oke into a wrist c

ater, the

ortimer Finch. Jessie knew him from a file she'd read in another life, another name. He ran t

s, her bad haircut. Disgust warred with caut

ust below the thumb, was a small, faded tattoo, barely visible. A stylized scorpion, its tail a

. "My apologies. Please, come inside. What

, from desperation to dangerous opulence. The tunnel opened into a cavern, lights strung like st

he scurried beside her, the way his hand kept fluttering tow

ainer, refurbished, soundproofed.

al flat tone now that they were alone. "Medical grade. Stasis-7 or e

have a new shipment, j

pri

VIP suite. No one

opened it on the table and stepped back, hands rais

loading the syringe, finding the vein, pu

into her chest, damping the fire.

, she w