Locke reaches out, gently cupping my cheek, his rough skin warm against mine.
"There isn't a single person in the club who can comb through mountains of documents and spot hidden patterns the way you can," Locke says. "Matching order histories, finding the consistent fake buyer names, tracking recurring weight anomalies, isolating the exact dock schedules... that's your superpower, Zara. You see the numbers clearly."
A bright, breathless smile breaks across my face as I fully see what he’s saying. The relief is so intense it nearly takes my breath away.
"It's perfect," I say, marveling at the strategy. "It gives us a completely solid, high-priority reason for me to step away from wrenching: I need to sort through the paperwork and help map an ambush."
"And nobody in the club will fight
