The rain fell in steady, heavy sheets, blurring the lights of the container ships out on the bay.

I pulled my collar up against the wind, my fingers still resting on the grip of my weapon.

We reached the end of the alley where a rusted sedan was parked under a broken streetlight.

It was the car I had secured before we fled the estate.

I unlocked the doors and we climbed inside, the heater groaning as I turned the key in the ignition.

Victor slumped in the passenger seat, his eyes closed, his face pale under the dashboard lights.

“We need a plan for the gate,” I said, putting the car into gear.

“Miller knows my face,” Victor said without opening his eyes. “He won’t let me walk in.”

“He doesn’t know mine,” I said. “Not as an agent. He only knows me as the maid from the estate.”

“He’s not a fool, Elena,” Victor said. “He knows everyone who was in that house when the coup started.”

I drove out of the alley, the tires splashing through deep puddles as we headed toward the industrial district.