"What are you doing?" Sandro asked, his voice a low rasp as he pulled open the car door.
He peered into the dim interior, his silhouette framed by the oppressive darkness that had finally descended upon the Deltaq outskirts.
While the other Nimbus agents had spent the grueling four-hour wait outside, hunkered in the tall grass and discussing revised entry points, Zane had remained in the backseat.
The mission profile had shifted; with nightfall came the return of the club's full security detail. They were no longer looking at a strike against a skeleton crew; they were preparing to be severely outnumbered. But Zane seemed miles away from the impending violence.
Sandro slid into the seat when he received only silence in return. He shifted closer, squinting at the glow of the tablet Zane held. His friend was tapping away with an electric pen, his movements rhythmic and obsessive.
