The warmth of the diner hit them like a physical blow, melting the grey Seattle rain from Alexander Sterling's eyelashes. He guided Aura to a corner booth away from the main traffic of the room, acutely aware of the curious glances cast their way.

Midnight on the South Side of Chicago looked like a scene straight out of a noir nightmare. Rain hammered against rusted corrugated metal roofs, and the amber glow of sodium streetlights cast long, distorted shadows across the wet asphalt.

The black town car slid silently into an alley behind the Vanguard Maritime facility.

Alexander, Julian, and Parker stepped out into the biting wind. Julian wore a heavy dark overcoat, his hands tucked deep into his pockets, moving with the silent, terrifying grace of a predator returning to his old hunting grounds.

“The server room is on the third-floor mezzanine,” Julian instructed, pointing a gloved finger toward a rusted exterior fire escape. “That’s where they keep the master ledger containing the Halcyon trust keys. My men have the perimeter locked down. No one gets out.”

“Let’s move,” Alexander said, racking the slide of a suppressed tactical pistol Parker had handed him.

They scaled the iron stairs quickly, the metal groaning softly beneath their boots. Parker picked the heavy electromagnetic lock on the side security door in under ten seconds, and the three men slipped silently into the sprawling, dimly lit warehouse.

Rows upon rows of shipping containers stretched into the darkness, smelling of ozone, saltwater, and stale coffee.