Chapter Two: The Dead List

Six minutes after the explosion, Ethan Kane was gone from Ninth Avenue. He did not take a car. Cars were remembered by cameras. The subway left a payment trail. Walking took too long. So he chose the route no algorithm liked: through the service gap between two apartment buildings, into an old theater under renovation, out through the stage door, and into the loose crowd around an indie band unloading after a late show. Marcus Vale wore a black coat stolen from backstage. His face was paler than the rain. "You're not a bartender," he said. Ethan glanced at him. "You're not an ordinary engineer." "I'm a data architect at Asterion Dynamics." "You manage the root permissions for ORACLE."