Skyla released him and stepped back. Her hand trembled—not from fear, but from the sheer weight of what she'd just heard. Victor Roque. Her father's killer. And he knew her name.
Her jaw tightened. "You expect me to believe that?"
A sound. Footsteps, slow and deliberate, splashing through puddles.
She pressed the edge closer. A bead of blood welled up. "I'm losing patience."
The rain over Manila had a way of making secrets feel heavier. Skyla Novea Abella knew this better than most. She stood under the awning of a shuttered laundry shop, the wet wind tugging at the collar of her trench coat. Inside her pocket, a USB drive no bigger than her thumbnail held the only copy of a shipping manifest that could put three powerful men in prison for life.
She was hunting.