The storm that had rolled across the city overnight left the air charged, damp, and sharp with ozone. Carson hadn’t slept. From his office window, he watched the morning light climb the skyline, cutting through glass towers that looked too clean for the dirt they hid.

Justina entered quietly, a file pressed against her chest. “Darius found something,” she said. “An address. It’s one of Sloane’s private warehouses off the coast, near the shipyards.”

Carson turned. The dark circles ...