Rafael waved a hand toward the far hall, and another set of men slipped into place, rolling a cabinet on squeaking casters.
They popped the back panel and worked a hidden latch with two fingers. The motion reminded Zubair of surgeons—absolutely sure of what they couldn't see.
"You said we'll hear it," Lachlan pressed, because he never knew when to leave a question alone. "What am I listening for, exactly?"
"You won't miss it," Rafael said, and this time there was nothing like a smile.
Zubair let the details drift past him long enough to notice the other thing—the way his own chest had loosened a notch since the door had slammed.
Inside meant edges. Edges meant something to put your back against.
He checked himself for the time problem and found it waiting—no watch on his wrist, his phone dead for more than a year, the brass clock still hopping time like it had somewhere to be.
