He slipped into the shadows of the lower docks, navigating the cold water until he reached a safe house miles away. Shivering and exhausted, he looked at his reflection in a cracked mirror. The fixer was gone.

He stood up, dropped a five-dollar bill on the counter, and checked the weight of the Glock tucked into his waistband.

The neon sign above the "Last Stop" diner flickered, buzzing like a trapped insect. Inside, Elias sat at the counter, nursing a lukewarm coffee. On the small television mounted in the corner, a digital ticker scrolled past a review for a film he’d never seen:

Instead of a confrontation, Elias utilized the heavy fog and a nearby crane control to create a sudden, loud distraction. In the confusion, he didn't aim for a final standoff. He chose a path that allowed him to disappear, leaving the briefcase where it could be found, but with the data secured in a way that rendered the immediate conflict moot.

"The situation has changed, Elias," she said, her voice cutting through the sound of the waves. "The drive isn't leaving this port."

"Too late for that. Just take... take the drive inside. It’s got the codes."