The bounty had everyone circling.
The closest ones already arrived.
Like the Mechanic team—young, famous, and very deadly.
They worked for a High Table affiliate.
One of many.
The Hotel was the biggest, a franchise network that gave the High Table structure.
The Mechanic team was different.
They specialized in accidents.
Zero traces.
They could spend months on a single target.
Three hundred thousand was too good to pass up.
Even for them.
And they weren’t alone.
A group of bald-headed killers had also arrived.
More professional than the Mechanics.
Their people were trained from childhood.
They’d barely landed when the bounty updated.
William’s price went up.
Their window shrank.
Twenty-three hours to hunt a ghost across a city.
Not great odds.
But they’d come this far.
Across town, an explosion rattled windows.
A café called Moonlight felt the tremor.
People started drifting toward it.
They were called back.
Told to go about their business.
Few knew who owned this unassuming café.
Fewer still knew how many young women had disappeared inside.
The owner had closed shop recently.
“Rent dispute,” the sign said.
A cab pulled up.
The Adjudicator stepped out.
The driver offered help.
She waved him off.
She ignored the “Closed” sign.
Inside, she handed the barista a special coin.
Her insignia.
Moments later, she sat across from Snader.
The other half of the story.
“Are you still under High Table service?” she asked.
“Why the bounty on William?” She already knew.
The dead lieutenant.
The construction site.
The wounded woman.
The frame-up.
But she was curious about the man in the middle.
If he survives.
She passed Snader a package.
Someone had asked her to deliver it.
High Table loyalty meant following orders, even when she didn’t fully understand them.
She studied Snader.
Something told her they’d meet again.
Hopefully not in the morgue.
William was on his third hideout.
A vacant house.
He’d claimed it in under twenty seconds.
Good sightlines.
His stolen car was two blocks away.
Then he heard footsteps.
Trouble.
He pressed against the thickest wall, gun ready.
The Shaved Head operative had good intel.
Paid for.
Worth the cost.
One more floor, and he’d collect.
He heard movement.
He couldn’t pinpoint it.
Old building.
Too many residents.
He pulled the fire alarm.
People poured out.
He watched the exit, scanning every face.
No William.
He went back inside.
Time to do this floor by floor.
He stopped.
Turned.
Crouched.
A dark patch on the floor.
Blood.
His target was wounded.
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