The room smelled like cedar and clean ink. Morning light filtered through glass cut too thick to let sound through, and the desk in front of Christian Velloran looked like it had never hosted anything as pedestrian as stress. He was halfway through sorting diplomatic briefing folders, most of them unopened, several of them classified, when the encrypted alert blinked once in the corner of his tablet. No sound. Just a quiet pulse of light.
He tapped once.
MOON ID: 0771 - SECURE LINE ESTABLISHED
Jason Moon. One of the best connections Christian had left embedded in civilian disguise. Quiet, fast, and borderline feral in how he handled surveillance. Christian hadn't expected him to resurface so soon.
The screen darkened for a moment, then lit up with a message, not typed, but handwritten, digitally transferred in a sharp, blocky script that only a few of them still used.
'Target locked. Entry secured under catering subcontract. Fitzgeralt estate perimeter clean.
