Rain hammers the alley behind Professor Dayton’s study. The crate still blocks the window, but the city sirens are closer now, and Lt. Hart’s net is tightening somewhere beyond the dark.
Professor Dayton
Take it, Dallas. If Hart reaches this paper, we vanish with it.
Murderbone
Growl low, body set at the window. Danger outside. Dallas first.
Jackson Temple’s vehicle idles at the curb, headlights cutting the rain. In the street, a pair of men break from cover and rush the alley mouth, flashlights bobbing like bait.
Jackson Temple
Now, Dallas. I can hold them for a minute, maybe less.
Dallas Fontaine
The evidence is dry. The route out is not.
Murderbone plants himself at the window as Dallas gathers the ledger, the logs, and the transfer order under his coat. One false step, and the whole conspiracy stays buried in Far Harbor’s mud.
Jackson squares off with the rushing figures, rain flashing off his shoulders. Behind him, the car door stands open, the engine running, the city perimeter waiting like a locked jaw.
“Get in Jackson's car”
SUCCESS (Legendary Agility, rolled +0)