Page 72 of Let Sleeping Vampires Lie

“Steal it?” Con asked.

“Recover it,” Manu corrected.

“Same thing,” I said.

“Better than letting someone else get their hands on it,” Manu replied.

I stared at the red point glowing on the screen. So close. So vulnerable. So necessary.

The piece that could save Rene’s life.

And start a war if the wrong person bought it.

The room was quiet for a long moment.

Finally, I said, “Send us everything.”

Manu nodded and pushed a file toward me. “Already in your inbox.”

Julian cracked his knuckles. “And I’ll keep eyes on the network. If the invitation comes through while you’re on-site, I’ll alert you.”

“Good,” Con said. “Because we’re not losing this one.”

No.

We weren’t.

I looked at the map again, pulse even and cold.

My fever had faded, my mind was clear, and my body—though still tired—was ready to bleed for this if necessary.

Rene needed this piece.

Raven needed us.

And Valerian’s shadow grew longer every hour we waited.

“Tell me about security,” I said.

The map on the screen glowed between us, that red dot pulsing like a heartbeat in the bad part of town. Con stood at my shoulder, arms folded, gaze fixed on it. Manu and Julian were on the other side of the table, each framed by their own version of chaos—Manu’s neat stacks of files, Julian’s digital mess.

Manu tapped a spot near the warehouse icon. “Perimeter is guarded by mercenaries. Not local muscle, either. They are using the same enhancement protocols as the assassins that hit the cemetery.”

My fingers tightened around the edge of the table. “Same movement pattern, same implants?”

“From what we can see, yes,” Manu said. “They mask their heat signatures, move in low-profile formations, never travel without overlapping fields of fire. Whoever trained them is ex-military, probably top-tier.”

Julian flicked to another image. Surveillance photos, grainy but clear enough to show shadowed faces, black tactical gear, weapons slung in confident grips.

“Spot the difference?” he asked.

Con leaned in. “They are not wearing insignias.”

“Exactly,” Julian said. “No flags, no corporate logos, no clan symbols. They are ghosts with guns.”

A familiar unease settled beneath my ribs. “So the same people trying to kill us are guarding the thing we need to save Rene.”

“Feels intentional,” Con said.