At first glance, it looked like a building wall.
It wasn’t.
He moved around people, his eyes tracking fast—wall, fence, stacked crates—until it clicked.
A gap.
Narrow enough to disappear if you didn’t know it was there, just wide enough for someone who did.
“Shit,” Sage muttered, already moving again.
He hit it at speed, turning sideways to slip through, shoulder brushing rough wood as he forced his way past—
—and broke out onto another street.
Empty.
No movement. No sound. No trace of the man who’d been there seconds ago.
Sage stopped short, chest rising once, sharp but even, as his gaze swept the space—parked cars, rooftops, shadow lines, every possible exit point mapped and discarded just as fast.
Winter’s voice cut through the comms, calm and certain.
“I’ve got this.”
Sage stilled.
“Don’t kill him,” he said.
“Trust me,” Winter said.
Sage exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing his focus to reset, even as his eyes stayed on the space where Rook had disappeared.
“Copy.”
The word came easy. The rest didn’t.
Why the fuck had Rook been here?
Sage’s jaw tightened slightly as the pattern settled into place.
“Yeah,” he said under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. “You planned this.”
The street stayed empty.
Sage didn’t move far from where he’d stopped.
For a few seconds, no one said anything. Just breath and movement and the faint hum of conversations and distant traffic bleeding in from somewhere beyond the block.
He shifted a step to the side, giving himself a better angle on the street, eyes still working the space even as the rest of the team closed in around him—Rip first, then Boston, Micah right behind, Black slipping in without sound like he’d been there the whole time.
Law came in last.
Not rushing.
Not loud.
Just quiet, steady.
