We stepped out into the freezing wind, the rain instantly soaking through my clothes.

The silhouette of *The Northern Star* was visible at the end of the pier, its lights flickering in the storm.

A bright floodlight swept across the wet gravel yard.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my pocket, the screen lighting up.

I pulled it out, shielding it from the rain with my hand.

It was an alert from my task force’s secure channel.

I stared at the glowing text, my heart stopping.

The screen glowed blue against the dark night.

The message was brief.

*Subject Marcus Vance escaped transit 21:00. Internal assistance suspected. Exercise extreme caution.*

I swallowed hard, my thumb sliding over the screen to delete the alert.

“Elena?” Vincenzo asked.

He was leaning heavily against the wet side of a rusted shipping container.

His chest heaved under his dark wool coat.

“We aren’t alone,” I said, putting the phone back in my pocket.

“Is it Tony’s men?” he asked, his voice shaking.

“Worse,” I whispered. “Marcus is out.”

Vincenzo’s eyes widened in the dim light of the overhead floodlamp.