I was a fan of the rain, but this rain. London's rain was a curse. It clung to my collar, soaked my boots, and made every shadow run longer than it should. I didn't mind. Rain meant cover.
The first man I followed wore money on his sleeves. The kind of coat stitched in a factory that hadn't seen a bomb fall. He ducked into a backroom parlor, laughing with men who smelled of whiskey and cheap cigars. Through a broken window I listened to him explain his contracts delayed, food shipments rerouted, ration tickets sold for double the price. Not Talon. Just a parasite fattening himself off chaos.
The second was no better. A customs officer who should have been cataloging crates at the docks, but instead skimmed percentages and swapped manifests. He profited off shortages, ensuring aid was always "late" unless his friends paid the right price. Again, not Talon. Just a maggot on the corpse of war.
The third I trailed to a townhouse where lights burned in every room, and tables sagged with food while children in the streets starved. He sat with contractors, laughing at "reconstruction bonuses." Another coward who ate well when others didn't.
By the third disappointment, my patience snapped. They weren't architects of the fire, just vultures circling the blaze.
When I reported back to Adawe, my voice was a rasp. "They're not Talon. Just profiteers. Parasites. They don't strike matches; they only sell the ashes."
Adawe folded her hands like she was praying, though I knew better. "Then you understand the scale. Talon works through shadows. Alone, you can't sift them from their pawns. Bring your team."
I shook my head. "No. They've bled enough. This is my mess to fix."
Her eyes sharpened, scalpel-cold. "And if Talon moves before you do? If one of their true knives slips past you because you were too proud to ask for help, every death after is yours. This city bleeds on a clock, Rose. And you're running out of time."
Her words hit harder than any bullet.
That night, I gathered the Thorns in the enclave. Faces young, but unbroken. I told them everything.
No one blinked. No one backed down.
Together we combed records, traced routes, compared schedules. Within hours, the field of suspects thinned like fog under sun. Five names remained, all five too clean, too careful, too polished.
We split into pairs.
Spencer with Leslie. Marco with Dwayne. Sonya with Felix. Steve with Cobbs. That left Virginia with me.
She caught my eye with that steady fire of hers. "You're not shaking me off this one."
I nodded. "Then keep close. This one feels different."
We tailed our mark through the bowels of London. He moved quickly, umbrella angled just enough to hide his face. Past flooded streets, past blackened ruins, past alleys where fires hissed low in barrels. He didn't stop until he reached a derelict subway entrance, long sealed by rubble and rusted gates.
Virginia leaned close. "This line's been dead since the Crisis."
"Then why's he walking into it like he owns the place?" I murmured.
We crept after him, boots silent on wet concrete. The tunnels smelled of mold and dust, the kind of dark that swallows you whole. At the end of the corridor, he stopped in front of a wall of fractured tiles.
I thought he was cornered, until he reached into his coat.
A shard of glass glinted between his fingers, no bigger than a coin. He pressed it to the wall. For a moment, nothing. Then the tiles rippled like water. The entire wall shimmered and bled into an image, a projection humming with faint blue light.
Virginia sucked in a breath. "Hard-light relay…"
But it wasn't Overwatch tech. It was darker, colder. The emblem etched across the hologram's spine was one I'd hoped not to see this soon. A clawed circle. Talon.
The wall resolved into a figure, half-shadowed, face masked. A voice like static rolled through the tunnel.
"Report."
Our mark bowed his head. "Instability grows. The people blame Rose. Soon the enclave will collapse under its own weight. Your orders?"
The masked figure leaned forward, features unreadable. "Continue. Keep pressure. But do not touch him. He is a loose cannon, and the more we prod him, he'll eventually blow. Rose must hang himself. When he falls, we move."
The projection fizzled once, then died. The man pocketed the glass shard, adjusted his umbrella, and walked deeper into the tunnel as if nothing had happened.
My pulse roared in my ears. Talon wasn't rumor. They were here. Planning. Waiting.
Virginia's whisper cracked in the dark. "Shawn… we just found them."