Close enough that Sage felt it before he saw it, that subtle shift in space that didn’t crowd but didn’t leave room either.
Grounding.
Sage didn’t look at him.
Didn’t need to.
“He’s gone?” Boston asked, already scanning the street like the guy might reappear out of spite.
“He disappeared,” Sage said, voice steady.
Boston snorted. “That’s a fancy way of saying the same thing.”
“No,” Micah cut in, tone sharper. “It’s not.”
Sage let his gaze track the line of parked cars again, replaying it in his head, step by step.
“He knew that gap was there,” he said. “Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t check. Just took it.”
Micah glanced back toward the alley.
“So, he knows the area.”
“Yeah,” Sage said.
Black shifted his weight, eyes moving over the rooftops, the windows, the blind corners.
Law stepped in closer—not enough to draw attention, just enough that his shoulder lined up with Sage’s, his presence settling there like it belonged.
“We almost had him,” Law said.
Sage huffed a quiet breath, something dry in it. “Almost doesn’t count.”
“No,” Law said. “It tells you what he is.”
That pulled Sage’s focus sideways for a second.
Not away.
Just… adjusted.
“Which is?” Boston asked, already impatient.
Sage didn’t answer.
He let the pattern settle fully, every turn, every choice, every second of control lining up the way it had felt in motion.
“Trained,” he said finally.
Somewhere over the comms, there was a faint shift of static—movement, distance—then nothing.
Winter hadn’t come back on yet.
Sage’s eyes flicked once toward the direction he’d gone, then back to the street.
Law didn’t move.
Didn’t step away.
