The sedan cut through the rain-soaked city, its tires hissing on wet pavement as Sasha Voss navigated toward a safe corner of the east side. Lena Hart sat in the front, the key to locker 47 and the map from the safe house pressed against her chest, her father’s inscription—where the river meets the sea—a quiet mantra in her mind. The confrontation with Vivian Whitmore in the boxing gym had left her shaken but resolute, Vivian’s cold dismissal—next time, you won’t walk ...