Do-hyun's gaze was steady. "Yes."
That was enough.
I made my decision. "I'm going after him."
Formal escalation would mean approvals and delays. That was the terrain Soo-jin controlled.
Do-hyun's shoulders tensed. "You'll be leaving command."
"I'll keep comms open."
Eamon looked at me, a silent question in his eyes.
I answered by taking action.
Checked my sidearm. Clipped my radio higher on my vest. Adjusted my coat so it wouldn't snag.
"Take a witness with you," Eamon said behind me.
I stopped. Half turn.
"This isn't about muscles."
"It's about narrative," Eamon replied. "Which means you don't go alone."
He was right. And I hated it, because the part of me that survived Redwater had learned a twisted lesson: being alone made it easier to be blamed, but it was easier to act.
"Stay on comms," I said. "Track me. Document."
Eamon didn't argue further. That was his version of trust.
I left operations. Exited to the loading dock.
The air was cooler and damper. The scent of wet cardboard filled the air. A forklift beeped somewhere and then fell silent.
Loading docks were their own world. The public rarely saw them. Cases and rolling crates that could crush a foot without noticing.
I scanned faces. Staff. Contractors. Security.
The three contractors I'd spotted on the monitors were gone.
Then, a slight movement to my right.
A door that should have been latched, sitting ajar.
There was a strip of darkness beyond. Service corridor leading into the venue's underbelly.
It was an invitation, and I accepted the offer.
The corridor smelled of dust and something faintly electrical. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, bright enough to be harsh, but still dim enough to leave pockets of shadow.
My footsteps were quiet on the concrete. Breathing controlled. Mindful of exits.
Ahead, another door swung gently. Someone had passed through recently.
He wanted to be hunted. He wasn't hiding. He was drawing me in.
I followed.
