Zack scanned the area. A pedestrian bridge loomed to their left. If they went around, they’d miss the deadline.

Focus, Zack told himself. Don't look at the rain. Look at the line.

They dodged the gridlock on the highway, taking the service roads. Ling signaled—two fingers pointed down then left. Construction zone. Zack leaned into the turn, his knee hovering inches above the slick asphalt. The tires gripped the wet tarmac with a reassuring hum.

"Good thing you’re here," Aman said, tossing the wrench into a toolbox with a clatter. "We got a situation. VIP run."