"We're flying blind," Cassian said, slamming his hand down on the metal table of the safe house.
The holographic map of the Governor's Mansion flickered. It was a wireframe model, incomplete and outdated.
"The blueprints are from 1990," Rook signed, looking frustrated. "Vittorio has renovated twice since then. Added panic rooms. Tunnels. Reinforced glass."
"If we breach the front gate without knowing where the kill zones are," Salvatore rumbled from his chair, "my men will be slaughtered before they reach the steps. The National Guard has a perimeter here, here, and here."
I stood in the corner, staring at the map. To me, it was just a blur of lines. I had no memory of that house. No secret passages from childhood. I was useless here.
"We need inside intel," Cassian muttered, pacing the small room. "Someone who has been inside that house recently."
"I know someone," I said.
Everyone turned to me.
"Who?" Cassian asked.
