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Chapter 13 - CHAPTER 13 - HUNTING GROUND

The city never slept, but tonight London felt like a predator. It crouched under a low ceiling of fog, the streets slick with rain and neon, as if the whole city were waiting for the next drop of blood.

Morgana and Callen moved like shadows through this maze. It had been three nights since Noor's funeral, three nights since she'd been suspended. She wore it like armor—no badge, no clearance, nothing left but herself and the rage that burned steady in her chest.

They'd gone to ground, living out of dead drops and forgotten tunnels, using Noor's private network to trace the signals Emil had left behind. Noor had been careful, paranoid, leaving caches of hardware and intel only someone like Morgana could decode.

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The Ghost Map

On the screen of Noor's last laptop—a slim black machine now set up on a crate in an abandoned Underground station—lines of code unraveled like veins. Coordinates lit up across the city, tiny pulses of movement that formed a web.

"There," Callen said, pointing to a cluster in the East End. "Too regular. Someone's using those warehouses as a base."

Morgana pulled her holster tight. "Then we cut the web."

"Careful," he warned. "This isn't sanctioned. If we run into our own people—"

"They're not my people anymore," she said.

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The Approach

The warehouse district was a graveyard of brick and steel. Rusted gates groaned in the wind; glass crunched under their boots. They moved like a single thought, silent, controlled, each breath measured.

A window above them glowed faintly. Inside, figures shifted. They counted five.

Callen glanced at her. "Plan?"

"We ghost in," she said. "Take one alive."

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Silent Entry

They climbed a drainpipe, boots sliding on wet metal, and slipped in through a side window. The warehouse smelled of oil and dust. Crates formed narrow corridors, and they threaded through them, guns drawn.

The first man never saw them. Callen's arm looped around his throat, silent and efficient, lowering him to the ground. Morgana bound his wrists and gagged him without a sound.

The second man wasn't as easy. He turned a corner, saw her—and raised his rifle. She moved faster. Two shots. One through the shoulder. One through the leg. He dropped, screaming.

The sound blew their cover.

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The Bloodbath

Gunfire erupted, sharp and deafening in the enclosed space. Bullets tore through crates, splinters flying. Morgana dove behind cover, answering fire with cold precision. Two fell. A third tried to flank and caught Callen's blade instead.

Blood slicked the concrete. The smell of cordite filled the air.

One of Emil's men lunged at Morgana, grabbing her by the coat. She jammed her pistol under his jaw and pulled the trigger. He collapsed, dead weight.

When the noise finally stopped, four men were down. One was left alive—the one she'd shot in the leg.

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The Interrogation

Callen hauled the man into a chair, his hands tied, his face pale and sweating.

"Where is Emil?" Morgana asked. Her voice was ice.

The man spat blood. "You think you scare me? You're nothing. He knows you. He knows every move you make."

Her gun pressed to his forehead. "Last chance."

He laughed, a low, broken sound. "He's inside your walls. You can't touch him."

She pulled the trigger. The shot was muffled, but final. Blood ran down the chair legs.

Callen watched her, silent.

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The Clue

In the silence, Morgana rifled through the crates. Inside one she found a series of flash drives, each marked with an agency crest. Noor's data. Stolen from inside HQ.

"This is it," she whispered. "This is what Noor died for."

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The Realization

They left the warehouse just before the sirens arrived. In the distance, blue lights cut through the fog.

On a rooftop across the street, someone was watching them—a figure standing perfectly still. Morgana didn't need binoculars to know it was Emil.

Their eyes met across the night, and for a moment, the city fell away. Then he turned and disappeared.

She stood there, soaked in blood and rain, gripping the stolen drives. For the first time, she understood: Emil wasn't just taunting her.

He was leading her somewhere.

And she was already following.

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