Grace was listening. Not through a device this time. Raymond had intercepted Todd's phone that morning. She sat in her dark apartment, glasses off, eyes open, and for the first time in eight months, she smiled. They were walking straight into her trap. 

Grace called Raymond that night. No small talk, straight to it. "Saturday, the block party. Todd's bringing all six. They're going to jump me in front of the whole neighborhood." 

Raymond went quiet for a moment. "You're telling me you want to let them?" 

"I'm telling you this is the play. Six men attacking a blind woman in public. Dozens of witnesses. Denise will be recording. Your team grabs Carolyn's phone, Todd's phone, and Anderson's office the same night while every eye in Macon is on that parking lot." 

"And if they hurt you before they won't." 

"Grace..." 

"I need a tactical team within three minutes, plainclothes, parked on Whitman and Fifth. They move on my signal, not before." 

Raymond exhaled. "If you blow your cover—" 

"I won't blow my cover. I'm just a blind girl who fought back. Since when is that suspicious?" She hung up. 

The next call was to Denise. Casual, easy. "You coming to the block party Saturday? Bring your camera. I want memories." 

Denise laughed. "Girl, I always bring my camera." 

Friday night. Grace locked every door, drew every curtain. Then she did something she hadn't done in eight months. She turned the lights on. She picked up her cane—rattan core, custom-weighted—and trained with her eyes wide open. Full speed, full vision. Six targets, forty seconds. Every strike mapped to a name. Todd, Derek, Kyle, Shane, Jimmy, Briggs. 

Saturday was coming. And Grace was ready. 

***

Saturday evening. The Macon Community Center block party. Folding tables lined the sidewalk. Paper plates, plastic cups, barbecue smoke rising into the Georgia sky. Kids ran between legs. Old men argued about football. Gospel music played from a speaker someone had duct-taped to a fence post. 

Grace arrived at 6:30. White cane, dark glasses, a yellow sundress Denise had helped her pick out that morning. She walked slow, tapped the ground, played the part she'd played for eight months. 

Denise was already there. Phone in hand, filming the decorations, the food, the kids. She pointed the camera at Grace and smiled. "There she is. Looking good, girl." 

Grace smiled back. But behind the glasses, her eyes swept the lot. She counted heads, located exits, clocked the FBI plainclothes van parked on the corner of Whitman and 5th, right where she told Raymond. 

Carolyn Davis stood on a makeshift stage near the entrance, microphone in hand, giving a speech about neighborhood pride and community values. Her voice was warm. Her smile was wide. The crowd clapped politely. 

Todd Wilson leaned against a truck thirty feet away, beer in hand, watching Grace. Derek stood next to him, Kyle near the dumpsters. Shane sat on a bench, phone already out. Jimmy and Briggs lingered by the alley between two buildings. 

Six. All accounted for. 

The sun dropped below the roofline. Shadows stretched across the parking lot. The music got louder. The crowd got thicker. 

At 7:15, Grace excused herself from Denise and walked toward the restrooms near the back of the building. It was quieter there, darker. A narrow passage between two brick walls lit by a single bulb above a metal door. She didn't need the restroom. She needed the alley. 

Todd took the bait in under two minutes. Grace heard them before they surrounded her. Six sets of footsteps, boots on gravel, the clink of a belt buckle, someone cracking their neck. 

Todd stepped in front of her. Derek and Kyle flanked left and right. Shane, Jimmy, and Briggs sealed the alley behind her. No way out. At least, that's what they thought. 

"Well, well," Todd said. "Look who wandered off alone." 

Grace stopped, gripped her cane with both hands. "I don't want trouble, Todd." 

"You don't want trouble?" He looked at his crew. "Hear that, boys? She don't want trouble." They laughed. 

Todd grabbed the cane, yanked hard. Grace held on. He yanked again, harder, and ripped it from her hands. He tossed it to Derek. 

"We told you to leave," Todd said. "You didn't listen. So, now we're going to teach you one last lesson." 

Kyle shoved her from behind. Grace stumbled forward into Todd's chest. He pushed her back. She hit the brick wall. Her glasses cracked, but stayed on. 

*Hit her,* Carolyn's text had said. *Make it public. Make it loud.* 

Todd wound up, open palm, aimed at her face. This is the moment. 

Grace caught his wrist mid-swing. Not fumbled, not guessed. Caught it. Clean, fast, like she'd been watching it the whole time. 

Todd froze. His eyes went wide. "What the—" 

Grace didn't let him finish. She twisted Todd's wrist inward, hard. He yelped and dropped to one knee. In the same motion, Grace ripped the cane from Derek's hand. He was so shocked, he didn't even resist. Cane back. Game on. 

Derek lunged. Grace sidestepped and drove the cane into his ribs. A short, sharp Arnis strike called a *witik*. Derek doubled over, gasping. She swept his ankle with the cane tip. He went down face-first into the gravel. 

Two seconds. Two down.