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While Otto and I finish up inside, Thalia covers the lookout. He's a thin, quick shadow, this lookout, and he watches every angle. He listens for every sound. He's on his toes, ready to throw up the alarm the second he sees one little thing out of place. Guy like that sees everything, but he doesn't see Thalia. She comes out of the shadows like a ghost, but steps full into the light, because now she wants to be seen. She waits a second too long for my liking—gives him too much breathing room between the reveal and her first punch. But I shouldn't doubt her. He doesn't even have time to bring his hands up. He's fast, but she's faster. She throws herself into every punch like it's her last, dodges and ducks his blows like a dancer. Scariest of all, she bares her teeth in this nasty smile while she does it. Doesn't make a sound. So that's the last thing the lookout sees: her silent, grinning face, as her cross-counter reveals a hidden knife that slides smoothly into the soft flesh under his chin. Never touches a gun, that girl. She likes to get close. Likes to look right in their eyes and be the last thing they see. Thalia lets him drop, wipes her knife clean on her sleeve, and raises her hand for Ayrin. Go, man, go.