They settled where the barge rocked slow and steady—muffled and private. The hatch sealed with a clank that swallowed the docks. Inside, the air smelled of oil and salt, of old plans and new lies. Lights came up on a string, too dim to read by but enough to keep the dark honest.
Cain put his blade on the bench and watched the city through the viewport. Smoke etched the horizon like a wound. He did not look at the others. He did not need to. They were all here because he had chosen them.
Susan unrolled a bandage and rewrapped her ribs. She moved like a woman learning to live with new limits. "We have food for three," she said. "Ammo for five. Maybe six if we pick clean."
Roselle checked the pistol again, then slid a folded list across the bench. Names on paper. Addresses. Posts to burn. "This is where we start," she said. "You said finish."
