The dawn broke slowly, the sky a bruised palette of purples and grays. Max Hastings sat at the window of the safe house, the rain a steady patter against the glass. He hadn't slept; his mind wouldn't let him. The echoes of gunfire still rang in his ears, the shadows of the night before clinging to him like a second skin.
Evelyn stirred on the couch, her eyes fluttering open. She saw Max at the window, the weight of their struggle etched into the lines of his face. "You should rest, Max," she said softly, sitting up and wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. "We have a long day ahead."
Max turned, his eyes weary but alert. "Couldn't sleep. Too much going on upstairs." He tapped his temple, giving her a wry smile. "Besides, we need to stay sharp. The Syndicate won't wait for us to catch our breath."
Evelyn nodded, her expression determined. "We should go over what we know. De Luca's information could be the key to bringing them down."
