The bullet stars the window a second before Cassian drags you behind the kitchen island. He slaps his palm to the safehouse lock. Steel shutters drop, swallowing the street.

"Congratulations," he says, breathing too quickly beneath the polished voice. "You found my source, stole half my evidence, and brought a marksman to the address."

The security panel begins an eight-hour silent lockdown. On the table, two copies of the same bank record carry different signatures.

Cassian looks from one page to the other.

"One of us has been framed. Possibly both, which is offensively inefficient."