The rain in Vektor City tasted like iron and bandwidth. Jace moved through the lower market in the hour that existed between late and early, when corporate drones were off the grid and the real commerce began. His neural jack pulsed—a new message from the broker, unsigned, routed through seven anonymous relays. Three characters only: RUN. He didn't. Not yet.
The package was in a dead drop beneath the pedestrian bridge, just where the coordinates indicated—a data chip the size of a fingernail, wrapped in signal-blocking foil. Jace pocketed it without breaking stride. He was three blocks north when the explosion lit up the market behind him, the sound rolling through the rain like a slow, burning question. Someone had known he'd been sent.
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