“Did they abandon this place?” Misha asks, looking around the space.
“No,” I say quietly. “It was cleared.”
That difference matters.
I move deeper into the warehouse, scanning everything. The floor. The surfaces. The corners most people overlook.
Looking for what they missed.
What they didn’t think to erase.
A table sits near the back—metal, scratched, recently used. I check it. Nothing. No papers. No devices. No careless trace left behind.
Too clean.
We move from room to room. Storage. Back office. A narrow corridor leading to what used to be a secondary exit.
Every space tells the same story.
They were here.
And then they weren’t.
I check the last room myself. Slower this time. More deliberate. Hoping for something—anything—that breaks the pattern.
A document.
A discarded phone.
A mistake.
There’s nothing.
Not even a trace of anything. They were very thorough.
I step back into the main warehouse, jaw tightening slightly as the realization settles fully into place.
“Did they know we were coming?” Misha asks quietly behind me.
“I’m not sure,” I reply. Then my voice hardens. “But we don’t slow down because of it.”
I turn sharply toward the exit.
“Two more locations,” I add. “We move now. Let’s go.”
There’s no hesitation.
No second-guessing.
We clear out of the warehouse fast, the team falling back into formation as we load up and move. Engines roar to life, tires biting into the road as we push toward the next location.
This time, it’s different.
I feel it before we even breach.
The building is tighter. Smaller. Tucked between older structures that choke the street into a narrow corridor.
“Stack up,” I order.
