The photo came after midnight.

Nate wasn’t surprised. Important things always seemed to happen in the quietest hours, when most of the city lay dead asleep and the only people awake were those who had reasons not to dream.

He sat in the back of a black Mercedes parked in a forgotten lot off Alameda Street. The car smelled faintly of leather and smoke. Outside, the glow of downtown bled through the tinted glass, turning the night into long streaks of neon.

He was leaning back, eyes ...