For a long, ridiculous second, the city held its breath like a gambler counting down to a roll. Then the lights hiccupped.
It began small—an optical tremor at the edge of the skyline that might have been a power surge if you'd asked some electrical engineer.
Fluorescents in the casino above them blinked twice and steadied. Outside, taxi radios sputtered with static.
Someone on the street screamed, and the sound threaded through the concrete like a needle.
Sasha felt the hair on her arms lift and knew, in the way bad things come, that the sky had changed its mind.
A tremor ran through the basement like a hand shaking the table.
Alvaro's jaw tightened. Men at the doorway shifted into alert stances—trained reflexes overruling whatever disbelief they carried. The crates hummed with potential; their lids chimed once, a nervous metal laugh.
