Then another.
Doors.
Sage’s head tilted slightly, listening as the sound traveled through the structure. A tight coil settled low in his chest—familiar, not fear, just awareness locking in.
“Stairwells,” he said under his breath. “He’s sealing them.”
The air shifted a second later—subtle, mechanical. A low hum bled through the walls, not part of the original system. It carried a faint, stale heat with it—ventilation forced where it shouldn’t be.
Law didn’t break stride.
“Then we don’t stop.”
No hesitation. No adjustment.
Sage’s grip tightened on the knife, the metal cool and steady in his hand as he listened past the dark.
Footsteps below.
More above now too.
Layered.
Sage exhaled once, slow, a faint edge to it.
“Yeah,” Law murmured. “He’s running this.”
“We’re not walking into anything,” Mac rumbled.
“We’re already inside it,” Sage said.
A shot cracked from below—closer now.
Not wild.
Placed.
The round sparked off the railing near Law’s shoulder, metal ringing sharply in the confined space.
They weren’t firing blind.
They were reading the steps.
Sage shifted left without thinking, angling off Law’s back, knife ready, eyes tracking the dark where the sound had come from.
Another shot—higher this time.
From above.
Sage’s head snapped up.
“Two levels,” he said.
A man moved through the shadows below—fast, quiet, weapon up but not rushed.
Different from the others.
Sage saw it immediately.
