Nothing.
No movement. No fresh signal. No new trace.
The room smelled like burnt coffee and tension.
"Run it again," I said, my voice low and tight.
The war room looked like it hadn't slept in days. Neither had I.
Multiple screens lined the walls, each frozen on a different angle of the city—street cameras, traffic feeds, satellite snapshots, and private security loops pulled through back channels. Every monitor told me the same story: nothing. No trail. No mistake. No mercy.
I stood in the center of it all, jacket still on, tie loosened, sleeves rolled to my elbows like I was preparing for a fight I couldn't see yet.
"They knew our response time," Victor said, his voice low. "They timed it between shift rotations. That's not a coincidence."
Ethan didn't turn.
"They mapped us."
"They studied you," Victor added.
That landed harder.
I didn't turn.
"They mapped us."
"They studied you," he added.
