The city lights blurred through the rain-soaked window as he sat alone, watching his whiskey swirl in the glass, lost in the slow burn of his own choices. Amir Sorokin hadn’t planned for things to get this complicated. This job was supposed to be quick, just grab them, stash them, and wait for the payout. But nothing was ever simple—not when you were in his line of work, and certainly not when your target was someone who fought back at every turn. They’d been in his hair for days, refusing to sit quietly, constantly testing his patience.