Boots answered the call the glossy woman put out.
Two more men and a woman in a denim vest moved into view, then fanned to either side of the entrance, their hands on weapons that had seen more posturing than use.
Behind them, two silhouettes lingered at the main court. More eyes. More bodies to kill if the glossy women and her people became even more stupid.
Zubair adjusted one foot, a half-inch of steel into the floor. He didn't widen his stance. He didn't have to telegraph. He just made himself heavier.
Elias let the duffel fall shut, slid the strap over his shoulder, and kept his hands free. He put his body angle between the glossy woman's hip and Sera's, because hips mean reaching and reaching means contact.
Sera plucked a small coil of snare wire from a hook and looped it around two fingers as if testing flimsy jewelry. "You're still talking," she told the glossy woman. "It's boring. You say all these big words, but you have yet to back it up with anything."
