Saint sends over more data.
Photos.
Locations.
Routes.
The map from Tank’s lockbox lines up perfectly.
“This isn’t random,” Blaze mutters.
“It’s a pipeline.”
Weapons.
Movement.
Distribution.
And Tank found it.
Tried to stop it.
Paid for it.
I lean back slightly.
Thinking.
Planning.
Then I say the words that shift everything.
“We take the fight to them.”