Zane stared blankly at the fallen heap of Modred on the floor, the man's body slumped in a heavy, lifeless mess that looked for all the world like a corpse.
His hand had struck out of pure, reflexive habit the moment the old man had turned to call in the others—those shadows in the nearby rooms for whom Zane had absolutely no use, and whose presence would only serve to lengthen his stay and disrupt the precision of his mission.
Now, standing over the unconscious form, he felt a flicker of grim uncertainty. If he carried Modred out through the front, it would mean he had to eliminate the geisha and the bouncer who had seen his face, ensuring they could never whisper to the others who had infiltrated their sanctuary tonight.
It was looking to be the only viable path forward. He couldn't leave Modred behind to wake up and warn them, and he couldn't afford to waste a single second more in this den of filth.
He pulled his phone and dialed Sandro. "Where are you?"
