They heard the engine long before they saw her — a dull whine cutting through the concrete hush. On the edge of the floor, where a busted emergency light threw a stale rectangle of orange, Viola stepped out of the shadow like she owned the night. She moved easy, like the distance between breath and action had been measured and practiced.
Maximillian spat something under his breath, sizing her up. "Where's Xavier?" he barked. "Where is he?"
Viola didn't answer at first. She lifted her wrist, thumb flicking a small button on the watch there. A thin line of light traced the air above them; sound followed — the soft, mechanical wings of a drone rising through the broken ceiling. It came in quick, efficient, a small black shape with a cargo cradle hung underneath.
