The Marked One

“Evan Cross,” he said. “Joint Lake and Communications Incident Assessment. You kids may have triggered a federal-band contamination event. Best let me take over.” Mara stared at the crisp fold in his cuff and heard the warning from the night before: Do not trust the man who folds his suit cuffs too neatly. She took one step back. Evan acted as if he hadn’t noticed. “I can keep you safe.” And at the edge of his briefcase, just visible, was a cassette shell with a faded label. Do Not Play.