"Down, Isaac!"
He did the opposite.
He hit Jadah first.
One arm around her waist, one hand clamping the driver's knife wrist and wrenching it away from her throat with everything he had left.
The blade still kissed skin on the way out.
A thin red line opened under Jadah's jaw.
Then the alley mouth exploded.
Headlights swung hard across the dumpsters and a dark car slammed broadside into the blocking sedan with a shriek of metal so violent it shook dust off the brick. Horn blared. Glass jumped. Somebody shouted.
The driver lost his footing for half a second.
That was all Isaac got.
He took it ugly.
Twisted the knife wrist down, drove his shoulder into the man's chest, and hauled Jadah sideways out of the hold.
She hit the wall, sucked in one ragged breath, then immediately looked toward the drain opening.
Good.
Still thinking.
Bad.
Still here.
A woman stepped out of the new car at the alley mouth with a handgun already up. Mid-forties maybe. Dark coat. Hair tied back hard. No hesitation in her anywhere.
"Move!" she snapped.
Not to Evelyn.
To Isaac.
The driver saw her, and for the first time all night his expression actually broke.
Recognition.
Not pleasant.
He ripped his arm partly free and slashed low.
Isaac got Jadah back just enough that the knife missed her throat and opened her shoulder instead. Hoodie tore. Blood flashed dark.
Jadah made a choked sound and hit him back with her free hand like pain had personally offended her.
Evelyn fired.
The shot cracked past Isaac's ear and punched sparks off the dumpster beside the driver's head.
Rear alley answered at once—two shots fast, one wild enough to hit brick and scream off into the night.
Ty ducked and yelled something Isaac didn't catch.
Marlon went down to one knee against the wall, blood all over both hands now, but his head was still up. Still tracking. Still there.
The woman at the alley mouth fired once, clean and flat.
One of the rear men folded behind the SUV with a curse.
The driver in front gave up on pretending this was controlled.
He drove the heel of his hand into Isaac's throat, tore the knife wrist loose, and kicked him off hard enough to send him skidding on wet concrete.
Then he looked straight at Jadah.
Not her face.
Not the blood.
Her hoodie.
Her right side.
Where she'd been guarding too carefully.
He knew enough.
"Search the cut," he shouted.
Too late.
Jadah moved.
She dropped to one knee by the drain like she was falling, jammed her whole hand into the dark opening, and came back up with nothing visible in it.
Nothing visible.
But when she rose, the shape under the front hem of her hoodie had changed.
Flat.
Small.
Tucked.
Isaac saw it.
So did the driver.
His whole body shifted toward her.
Isaac launched again before he could get there.
This time both of them hit the side of the SUV shoulder-first. Isaac's bad arm lit up so bright it almost dropped him. He bit it down and kept moving.
The driver elbowed him once. Twice. Isaac held on anyway.
Ty came out of nowhere with the busted fence picket still in his hand and swung like he wanted the night to break in half.
The wood cracked across the driver's back.
Not enough.
Never enough.
But it turned him just long enough for Jadah to run.
Not down the cut this time.
Back toward the SUV.
Toward Marlon.
Toward people.
Smarter.
The woman at the alley mouth shouted, "Get your wounded in the truck now!"
Her voice hit Isaac somewhere old.
Not memory exactly.
The shape of memory.
A kitchen. Rain on a window. His mother saying, don't let him hear that.
The driver heard it too and barked one short, furious laugh.
"Well. There she is."
Evelyn's face changed.
The control didn't crack.
It froze harder.
"Get them in," he said.
One of his men yanked the SUV's rear door wider. Ty half carried, half shoved Marlon inside. Marlon nearly blacked out climbing in and still managed to mutter, "This alley sucks," which was enough to keep Ty from coming apart.
Jadah reached the open door, one hand clamped over her bleeding shoulder, the other buried in her hoodie pocket so hard her knuckles showed through the fabric.
Good.
Still there.
Isaac tried to disengage.
The driver didn't let him.
He got a hand in Isaac's shirt, twisted, and slammed him face-first into the SUV hard enough to dent metal and burst stars across his vision.
Then the man leaned close and said, almost gently,
"She died with less."
Isaac saw red.
Not metaphor. Not drama.
Just a hot blank wash that made everything narrow to bone and breath and the weight of the man in front of him.
He headbutted him.
Bad angle. Messy. Still enough.
The driver's nose broke with a wet crack and he finally stepped back.
That was the first satisfying sound Isaac had heard all night.
The woman at the alley mouth fired again.
The rear men scattered wider.
Evelyn moved in that gap.
Two fast shots. Controlled. Mean.
The driver didn't go down, but he had to move or lose a knee.
Isaac stumbled toward the open door.
Hands grabbed him—Ty, Jadah, maybe both—and hauled him the rest of the way in.
"Go!" the woman shouted.
The SUV driver didn't need it twice.
The truck reversed so hard it clipped the dumpster, showered rust and loose trash, then shot back toward the alley mouth through the gap the woman's car had ripped open.
As they passed, Isaac saw her full for one flashing second in the wash of headlights.
Dark skin. Hard mouth. Eyes he didn't know and almost did.
She looked straight at him through the blown-out side of the SUV and pointed two fingers down at Jadah's lap.
Not a question.
A warning.
Then she turned and fired down the alley again.
The SUV hit the street and kept going.
No one spoke for three full blocks.
Nobody had enough air.
Ty was the first to break.
"What," he said hoarsely, then louder, "what the hell was that."
No answer.
Marlon was slumped sideways, still conscious by spite alone. Jadah sat pressed into the corner of the seat, face white, blood soaking the shoulder of her hoodie, right hand still jammed under the hem like she'd sewn it there.
Isaac looked at it.
She looked back.
Tiny shake of her head.
Not here.
Across from them, Evelyn had gone silent in a new way. Not command-silent. Not tactical-silent.
Personal.
The front passenger twisted around. "We lost one."
Nobody asked which one.
The driver said, "Car behind?"
"Not clean."
Meaning maybe yes.
Meaning definitely maybe.
Ty laughed once. It sounded close to sick. "Amazing."
The SUV tore through another turn.
Jadah's hand finally came out from under the hoodie.
It was empty.
But concrete grit stuck to her fingers, and a thin smear of drain water marked the inside of her sleeve where she'd shoved something higher, deeper, somewhere Ty wouldn't clock and Evelyn couldn't rip without making a scene.
Isaac saw it.
So did Evelyn.
He didn't say a word.
He just looked at Jadah once, then at Isaac, and whatever he read there made his jaw set hard enough to show.
Good.
Let him guess.
Let him sweat in it.
Ty wiped blood off his mouth and looked between all three of them.
"You all just had a whole silent conversation," he said. "I hate this group."
Nobody smiled.
The SUV passed under a streetlight, and for one second clean white light filled the back seat.
Enough for Isaac to see the blood running from Jadah's shoulder.
Enough to see Marlon fading again.
Enough to see Evelyn staring at the road ahead like he already knew where this was getting worse.
Then the light was gone.
And the phone in Evelyn's pocket—Isaac's dead, powered-off phone that was supposed to be nothing now—buzzed once anyway.