The precinct's lights blinked faintly as Barry leaned against the metal file cabinet, arms crossed, his brows drawn into a deep frown.
Caleb had just walked in, still adjusting his jacket, the shadows of a sleepless night lingering under his eyes.
"Where the hell have you been all day?" Barry asked, his tone sharp, but not without concern.
Caleb paused mid-step, then sighed. "I was tracking Don Khan. I had a lead… not one I could afford to ignore."
Barry scoffed. "Don Khan, huh? That man's more shadow than substance. But that's not what's setting the station buzzing."
Caleb's eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"
"There's an assassin in town," Barry said, straightening up now. "A real ghost. No prints, no trace, no pattern. But our contacts say he's not here for sport. He's affiliated with Don Khan."
Caleb stiffened, and the name dropped from his mouth like a weight. "The Swordsman."
Barry blinked, surprised. "So you've heard of him."
