The Price of Protection and the Dancer Who Refused to Bend
I took a deep breath, structuring the analysis in my head.
“He will choose an open, easily monitored location for the swap,” I said. “A place where he can see you coming from a mile away.”
“The abandoned shipyard on the south slip,” Dante said quietly, his eyes widening slightly. “It is his territory now. High vantage points. No cover.”
“Exactly,” I said. “He will place his guards at the perimeter, expecting a frontal assault.”
“And what do we do instead?” Dante asked.
“We give him exactly what he expects to see first,” I said. “Me.”
Dante shook his head immediately. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Listen to me, Dante,” I pleaded, my grip tightening on his coat. “If I walk in there alone, his focus will be entirely on me and his own triumph.”
“It is too dangerous,” Dante said. “He is a monster.”
“He is a predictable monster,” I corrected. “He will want to gloat. He will want to savor the moment.”
I looked him dead in the eyes.