Light sweeps across the road ahead of us as we drive.
Next to me, Dante is silent, his tight jaw and finger tapping against the wheel the only sign of his agitation. Rocco and Johnno sit quietly behind us, soft rustling trailing forward to our ears as they check their weapons again.
I twist, checking again.
The convoy that follows behind us, hundreds of vehicles crammed with V’Arezzo, Fusco and Corvo soldiers, is only visible by the glimmer of headlights, dimmed as much as possible to hide our arrival until the last possible moment.
Every car rolls to a slow stop barely half a mile from the Asante estate. I can just about make out that fucking wall in the distance, a dim glow the only light in the otherwise pitch-black landscape ahead of us.
Rocco leans forward. “Anything?”
Dante and I both reach for our phones at the same time. I already know there’s nothing, but my stomach still knots as I glance down at the empty screen.
“A waiting game, then.” Rocco leans back in his seat, arms crossed. “Anyone for tic tac toe?”
Johnno snorts.
Dante and I exchange glances. He turns back to face the Asante estate. “It looks like a fucking prison camp.”
And Cat is in there.
“It is.” My voice vibrates with anger, with tension. “But not for much longer.”
And we wait, silently praying, for the message to arrive.
For the signal to move.