The small tell.
Law was worried.
And he had a right to be.
Voss would throw everything at them to see them dead.
Sage wasn’t going to let that happen.
The main living space of the penthouse stretched wide around them—open, expensive, built for views more than comfort.
The city spread out below, lights burning through the dark.
The team filled the space without crowding it—voices low, movement steady, the muted clink of glass from the counter threading through it.
The air carried the faint bite of gun oil and something warm underneath it—too many bodies in one space, heat held in the walls.
Someone had opened the patio doors and the breeze blew through. A high, walled-off glass surrounded the balcony to dissuade jumpers.
The air shifted with it—cool brushing through the heat, not enough to change it, just enough to move it.
Law let the room move around him, his focus drifting the way it always did—touching on people, positions, the small shifts that said more than the noise ever would.
He’d positioned himself close enough to Sage to see the screen without looking directly at it.
Sage was at the counter, laptop open, fingers moving in a rhythm that didn’t need thought. Quick. Precise. Familiar. The soft tap of keys cut through the low hum without disrupting it.
The rhythm of the room held.
Then it didn’t.
Something tightened under his ribs—subtle, immediate, his focus narrowing without conscious thought.
Not all at once—just enough to pull at the edge of Law’s attention.
Sage’s fingers paused over the keys.
Law went still with him, the shift registering before the reason did.
That alone would’ve been enough.
“The hell?” Sage muttered, still looking at the screen.
The display hit the screen unevenly. The feed flickered—half the window loading, the rest hanging before it could fill in.
“What’s wrong?”
“Give me a sec.”
Sage adjusted something, tried again.
“Hmmm.”
Pressing the power button, Sage rebooted his laptop.
The room kept moving around them, unaware.
A moment later…Sage went still.
