Sleep stopped feeling useful after that conversation with Drake and by the time sunrise pushed gray light across the property. I was already sitting alone at one of the clubhouse tables with maps spread around me and every message Raze had sent laid out beside them.
The knife sat near my elbow, the notes sat arround beside it.
‘You’re slower than you think’
‘You’re almost ready’
Every word carried the same rhythm and the same control.
He never wasted effort and he never acted randomly because every attack pushed pressure exactly where he wanted it.
I stared down at the property map while circles and marks covered half the paper already and slowly the chaos stopped looking chaotic.
Patterns started appearing instead. Supply routes, timing and distance between attacks.
How long
