Cut across the narrow stretch where tree roots buckled the concrete—uneven enough to catch a foot if you weren’t paying attention.
Past the corner liquor store, the same flickering OPEN sign was buzzing behind the bars on the window.
Still there.
Of course it was.
Sage’s gaze tracked everything without landing—doorways, windows, reflections in dark glass. A figure shifting behind a curtain. A shadow slipping too fast at the edge of an alley. A car rolling slow enough to matter, then not.
All of it cataloged.
None of it a threat.
Yet.
Behind him, Boston let out a quiet huff. “Place still smells like bad decisions and fryer grease.”
“You say that like it’s new,” Sage said.
Boston’s steps quickened half a beat to match him. “Yeah, well. At least it’s consistent sludge.”
Micah moved up on Sage’s other side, voice low, almost lost under the hum of traffic. “Need me to pull up the directions?”
Sage didn’t look at him. “No.”
Micah let that sit.
Then, softer, “You’ve been here.”
Sage’s jaw shifted once. “Yeah.”
That was it.
No follow-up.
They didn’t need one.
Sage turned down a narrower street without signaling it, slipping between two buildings where the light didn’t quite reach.
The noise shifted there—muted, tighter, like the city pulled in on itself. Less traffic. Fewer voices. The kind of quiet that wasn’t empty, just waiting.
Boston glanced ahead, then back once, reflex. “Hate this part of the city.”
“Keep moving,” Sage said.
Micah didn’t speak again, but he stayed close—attention narrowed now, not on the buildings but the people moving through them.
Different read. Same result.
Sage didn’t slow.
Didn’t check behind him.
Didn’t have to.
This was the part of the city that didn’t show up on maps the way it really was. The part that looked forgettable until you knew exactly where to look.
And he did.
