pte

r the

A Maryland lakeside cabin belonged to a former college roommate. Margot hadn't talked to her in a long time, but the code for the door remained unchanged. She entered by herself, shut the blinds, and opened her backup laptop, which nobody knew about. Margot put the pieces of Camille's connections together as the rain tapped on the

ges. Drops. Codes stitched into labels, likely unreadable unless you knew what to look for. Camille was not simply taking sides. She embodied both sides. Heart racing, Margot sat back. She used to braid her hair on Sunday nights

he dock, two men posed as fishermen. However, their gazes

-but this time, she n

amille. Not the op

ind scraping against her cheeks like razors. Brooklyn breathed differently at night-quieter, but never calm. Her coat retained the odors of

that permeated the organization. Red Veil, her current target, was unlike any crew she had encountered: well-funded, surgically precise, an

detected decay beneath that velvet persona. She flipped through a folder as the wind tore at the pages: surveillance photos from a Red Hook underground poker club, footage from a bodycam of an OD'd informant's last known call, and a blurry picture of Camille entering a silver Jaguar. The death of Tomas "Milo" Renner, a stre

ive hidden inside a vintage music box recovered from a Red Veil safehouse in Bushwick. Inside were photos, transcripts of offshore wire transfers, and one name that triggered her instincts: Camill

en Internal Affairs tried to blame her for the mistakes of her former partner. I

t Greene, laying low, unsure whom to trust. She used a bu

She stupidly let him in. He knew too much and talked too smoothly. In exchange for protection, he offered to trade information. He said in a whisper, "Camille

t press," s

el window, shattering the glass. Bullets tore through the air. She dove behind the bed, grabbing her burner and files.

sure who to trust. Camille was constantly watched. She found herself doubting everything: the precinct, the system, even her own mind. Although there were no indications of forced entry, her framed picture of her sister was broken with her face down. Her gun locker was empty. A message: We see you.

ner one night, her ey

hey're playing God." "And Ca

he meant it. Not any longer. As she stared out the rain-soaked

amille had just