Law’s brow creased as he tapped the comm in his ear. “Vale, report.”
The diner seemed to hush—not truly silent, but focused. Every one of them wore the same gear. They all heard it.
“Had a few people show up about half an hour ago,” Vale said. “They haven’t come back out. I’m heading inside to check it.” A beat. “I may be off comms for a few minutes.”
“Copy,” Law said.
Outside, New York kept moving—headlights sliding past the windows, night refusing to fully loosen its grip.
The clock over the counter slid past two.
Law checked his phone again—still nothing from Vale.
Not long enough to panic, but long enough to notice. Syrup-streaked empty plates, bacon grease cooled, and coffee rings marked the table as forks were set aside and the last bites disappeared.
“All right,” Law said, his voice cutting clean through the table. Not sharp, but final. A few heads turned, but no one argued.
Boston popped another fry into his mouth like it was a victory lap, and Rip’s gaze flicked to him—warning, already tired.
Law’s eyes settled on the kid and held. “You’re coming back with us.”
Boston blinked mid-chew. “I—”
“No.” Law didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to. “You don’t freelance in this city. Not tonight.”
Boston’s grin tried to recover. “I’m not freelancing. I’m…passing by.”
“Passing by to where?” Syx asked, deadpan.
Boston opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
Rip exhaled through his nose, like he’d been expecting this exact stupidity the second Boston walked in. “He’s with me.”
Law shifted his attention to Rip. “That’s what I needed to hear.”
Rip’s jaw ticked once. “He stays in my sight.”
“Good.” Law looked back to Boston. “Phones on. Volume up. You don’t leave the condo for anything—not air, not snacks, not a damn vending machine—unless Rip says so. Clear?”
Boston made a face. “Yes, sir.”
Ocean leaned in, curls falling forward as he chewed. “He’s going to hate that.”
“I’m already hating it,” Boston muttered.
Memphis pushed his plate back. “Welcome to accountability.”
Aspen wiped his hands once, neat and contained. Sage’s tablet stayed on the table, untouched, but his eyes had sharpened again—listening for what wasn’t being said. Law’s gaze flicked to Sage for half a beat before he addressed the table again. “Condo. Rotate showers. Crash hard. Phones on.”
“And Vale?” Sage asked quietly.
Law met his eyes and held them a moment longer than necessary. “He knows the protocol. We give him time.”
Sage nodded once and accepted it.
Law paid the tab, and they moved out together without rush or drama, a unit folding back into the city. The diner’s neon swallowed them whole, the noise cutting off behind glass.
The condo was dark when they arrived, lights coming on in stages as shoes were kicked off by the door and weapons were stowed out of habit. The team filtered down the short hall, bodies peeling off toward their assigned rooms without comment.
