NATALIE’S POVLondon again. The city always looked gray when the plane dipped through the clouds, like it was ashamed of itself but too proud to admit it. I pressed my forehead to the cool glass, watching the rooftops knit together, the sprawl of roads winding like veins. The cabin jolted as the wheels touched down. Around me, passengers stretched, collected coats, shuffled bags. I moved slower, savoring the hum of arrival. The trick to survival was never letting anyone think you were in a hurry.By the time I slid into the back of a hired car, the rain had started—thin, steady, the kind that coated everything without ever washing anything clean. I leaned back, watching the streaks crawl down the windows, my mind drifting.Germany had been too easy. A hood, a lighter, a warehouse in the dead of night. Fire licked fast, greedy, like it had been waiting for me. Paris had been better—bolt cutters against the rail yard, quick and easy. They would all think it was about money, power, a
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