“Red Two’s moving faster,” Lena says in my ear. “Different structure. Less centralized.”
“Decentralized cells,” I reply. “He learned.”
“Some,” she answers. “Not enough.”
Jase and I break into a jog, keeping pace with foot traffic until the street bends and the crowd thins. My HUD flickers—movement spikes ahead, then vanishes.
“They’re using reflections,” Jase murmurs. “Mirrors. Windows.”
“I know.”
I slow deliberately.
Because rushing is what they expect.
A tram screeches past, metal on metal, drowning out sound. As it clears, a man steps from a recessed doorway ahead—too calm, too still, jacket zipped despite the heat.
He’s not the trigger.
He’s the shepherd.
I veer left without signaling. Jase goes right. The man’s eyes flick between us—just once too many.
He bolts.
“Contact,” I say.
The street erupts into motion—civilians shouting, scattering. The man cuts hard across the tracks, shoving past an elderly couple, sprinting for a stairwell that drops underground.
“Lena,” I say, already moving. “Subsurface?”
“Yes,” she answers. “Transit tunnels. Red Two’s heart is below street level.”
Of course it is.
I chase without hesitation.
The stairwell smells like oil and damp concrete. The runner stumbles halfway down—panic now, discipline gone. He reaches for something under his jacket.
I fire.
The round punches through his shoulder and spins him into the wall. He collapses, screaming, device skittering across the steps.
Jase kicks it clear and pins the man with a knee.
“Talk,” Jase growls.
The man laughs—high, broken. “You’re late.”
I crouch, eyes level. “You’re early.”
Lena cuts in fast. “He’s not lying. Red Two has a timed fallback. Thirty seconds.”
I snatch the device—older, dirtier than Red One’s. Analog components. No wireless interface.
“He planned for you,” I mutter.
“Yes,” Lena says. “But not for this.”
