The suited man didn't move at first.
He just stood there near the loading ramp, smoke curling from the end of his cigarette, head tilted as if the stars above the open deck were whispering something only he could hear.
Then came a step. Slow. Deliberate. The kind that said: I know you're watching.
I raised a hand without looking at Anthony—just one open palm. Stay.
He didn't twitch.
The man took another step onto the ship, boots ringing against the metal. My window of invisibility shrank with each echoing footfall.
So I stood up.
His eyes found me immediately, calm behind sunglasses that didn't belong in the moonlight. He exhaled smoke like it was punctuation as he slowly pull out his pistol.
"Lost your way?" he asked.
I kept my hands visible. "Just came to talk."
His head tilted the other direction. His right hand disappeared behind his back, two fingers flicking in a practiced gesture.
The deck rumbled.
