Marcus held up the file. “Come with us. You don’t have to do this alone.”
“Or,” countered Agent Marcus Cole, “they’re tired. Running alone for a decade. Maybe they want out.” vixi rafi hq
It landed without a sound. Small. Hooded. When the hood fell back, Marcus felt his breath seize. Marcus held up the file
Vixi Rafi was a girl. Fourteen years old, maybe. Pale, dark eyes that had seen too much. Her hands were stained with ink and something darker. Running alone for a decade
But nothing happened. The girl smiled.
Still, they prepped. Marcus went in as bait—no weapon, just a jacket pocket with the physical Vixi file: 847 pages of every operation Rafi had ever touched. The real trap was the team of six snipers on the rooftops and a neural dampener hidden in the opera house’s old chandelier. If Rafi spoke, they’d be muted. If they ran, they’d be dropped.
“No,” she said. “I’m just the messenger. Vixi Rafi is an idea . And you can’t mute an idea.”