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Saint sends over more data.

Photos.

Locations.

Routes.

The map from Tank’s lockbox lines up perfectly.

“This isn’t random,” Blaze mutters.

“It’s a pipeline.”

Weapons.

Movement.

Distribution.

And Tank found it.

Tried to stop it.

Paid for it.

I lean back slightly.

Thinking.

Planning.

Then I say the words that shift everything.

“We take the fight to them.”