What she would like to do is smash the device into pieces, then fire a hundred or more explosive rounds into the debris, but that won’t do. That is instinct talking. The wild. Maybe the moon, too. Oracle’s information has led her to this place, this front run by O’Keefe, probably a phone drop for clients wanting to speak to O’Keefe the bounty hunter. Now she must get to O’Keefe himself. Faint traces in the air speak of elves, but her nose will help little now. She needs more definite clues.