Even inside the car, Burgess adjusted herself in the seat.
—If you don't mind, can I lean back for a bit?
—Burgess forced a small smile as she reclined her seat.—You know, patrol cars don't exactly come with this kind of luxury.
—Go ahead, I don't mind. —Ethan shrugged while absentmindedly playing with his phone.
—At that point, all they could do was wait for the kid to return to his hideout, only checking the tracker every now and then.
—God, compared to patrol cars, you guys have it easy. —Burgess reclined her seat further, humming contentedly as she enjoyed the heated seats.
—You probably don't even remember how uncomfortable those cars are anymore, right?
—I haven't forgotten. —Ethan kept watching the tracker move across the screen.—Not that long ago, I was still a deputy in Banshee. And trust me, the cruisers we used there were way worse than this.
Burgess let out a small laugh.
Ethan rested an arm against the window and, for a moment, his gaze drifted distractedly toward Burgess's long legs stretched out in front of the seat.
—Whenever I got tired, I'd just drive back home and sleep for a few hours. —he continued calmly.—Or jump into the lake to cool off.
Burgess turned her head toward him.
—Do you have a lake near your house? —With nothing else to do, Burgess clasped her hands behind her head.
—Right outside my window. —Ethan reclined his seat as well and opened his phone gallery to show her.
Burgess took the phone and began scrolling through the pictures curiously.
After so many years living surrounded by noise, traffic, and buildings, the idea of a cabin lost in the middle of the woods felt strangely appealing to her.
The photos kept appearing one after another on Ethan's screen.
Snow-covered trees.
A small wooden dock beside the lake.
Everything looked like it belonged to another world, far too peaceful for someone like Ethan.
Then the picture of the swing appeared.
Burgess let out a soft laugh.
—That swing is awful. It completely ruins the view.
Ethan narrowed his eyes slightly while continuing to drive.
—Hey, I built that with my own hands.
There was mild offense in his voice, though it was clearly fake.
—Besides, not just anyone is allowed to sit there.
—What a privilege.
She kept swiping through the photos with a distracted smile.
The next picture appeared before Burgess could look away.
Her eyes widened slightly.
Ethan was completely soaked, shirtless, standing beside the lake beneath the gray light of dawn. Water ran down his chest and shoulders while the cold left tiny droplets glistening across his skin.
The muscles across his upper body were sharply defined beneath the dim light. His toned abdomen disappeared into a V-line that made it difficult to hold her gaze for too long.
The picture didn't look staged.
And somehow that made it absurdly unfair.
Before she could fully process it, she dropped the phone almost on reflex.
—Sorry.
The phone landed against Ethan's chest, and he caught it in confusion before it hit the floor.
Ethan took the phone with a mixture of confusion and amusement.
He glanced at the screen and let out a quiet laugh.
—Please, there are millions of pictures like that online.
He shook his head while continuing to drive.
—I thought you'd found me smoking or doing something embarrassing.
Burgess quickly adjusted herself in the seat and crossed her arms, trying to recover some dignity.
—Sure. Totally normal.
—What's that supposed to mean?
She turned her gaze toward the window to hide the involuntary smile threatening to appear.
—Nothing. I just… wasn't expecting that… can we please forget it happened?
Ethan smiled faintly, clearly entertained by her reaction.
And that only made things worse.
—The real person and a picture on the internet were two completely different things. —Burgess shook her head, sneaking another glance at him. Remembering the image, she bit her lip.
A few minutes later, the tracker reacted.
The light on the screen began moving quickly. It was no longer the speed of a kid on a skateboard. Apparently, the package had already been delivered. Ethan realized the thief was preparing to head home.
As the subway moved, the light quickly disappeared from the circle, leaving only an arrow. Ethan turned the wheel, following the subway's direction.
More than twenty minutes later, the car arrived at an ordinary-looking neighborhood. Snow covered the ground while pedestrians hurried past.
—Which house is it? —Ethan slowed down while looking at the tracker in Burgess's hand.
—Focus on driving. —Burgess pointed ahead.—I'm your navigator now. Keep going straight.
The vehicle rolled slowly down the snow-covered street before stopping in front of an old three-story building made of red brick darkened by years of moisture and winter weather.
Ethan turned off the engine, but he didn't get out right away.
The moment the vehicle stopped in front of the building, Ethan felt that familiar pressure at the back of his mind.
It wasn't pain. It was as if part of him disconnected from the noise of the world and began separating every useful detail from everything else.
An old three-story building. Red brick darkened with age. Worn window frames and peeling paint. Snow covered the front yard, though not enough to hide the uneven grass, exposed dirt beneath sunken patches, and the crooked fence that had needed repairs for far too long.
Things most people ignore.
For Ethan, however, the pieces immediately started arranging themselves. The bent gutter on one corner, the loose drainpipe on the roof, and the old front-door lock. Nothing new. Nothing maintained. Nothing suggested financial stability.
Years of postponed repairs.
Lack of money… or someone pretending not to have any.
Then his eyes landed on the black SUV parked in front of the building. A recent model. Brand-new tires. The paint still carried the shine of a vehicle maintained by someone who spared no expense.
And the pressure in his head intensified.
It didn't fit.
The house spoke of debt. The vehicle spoke of cash.
His mind kept working without permission, as if an invisible screen had opened in front of his eyes. His talent activated, and suddenly, everything made sense.
Burgess watched him from the passenger seat, noticing the shift in his expression.
—What is it? —She asked quietly.
Ethan took a second before answering.
—The house wants us to think they're broke.
His gaze slowly lifted toward the dark windows of the building.
—But that SUV says someone here is making way too much money to live like this.
That rarely meant anything good.
—Should we call for backup? —Burgess asked nervously, rubbing her gloves together.
That was the instinctive reaction of any patrol officer: if there's trouble, call for backup.
—No need.
Ethan checked his radar. Only five dots, all on the first floor.
—Let's go.
Ethan opened the car door and crossed the front yard. In this situation, Burgess didn't really get a vote, so she quickly got out and followed him.
They climbed the steps and stopped in front of the door.
Ethan raised a hand, signaling for Burgess to move away from the frame.
She obeyed, though she frowned slightly when she noticed his hand resting close to the grip of his weapon.
The tracker showed the phone inside the building, but that didn't mean there was only one scared teenager on the other side.
The dots on his radar had moved too quickly when they entered.
There was more than one person inside.
—Knock, knock, knock.
Movement sounded from the other side.
—Who is it?
—Chicago Police. Please open the door.
Ethan stepped half a pace back the moment he heard footsteps approaching. Burgess glanced sideways at him, still thinking he was overreacting, but after seeing the seriousness in his expression, she copied the movement and stood to the side.
The lock turned.
The door opened slightly at first, revealing a white woman in her fifties or sixties. She wore an oversized brown sweater and had blonde hair tied into a loose bun, gray roots revealing her age. Her tired but kind eyes shifted from Ethan to Burgess with almost automatic politeness.
—Hello. —She tried to smile.—How can I help you?
Ethan showed his badge.
—Good afternoon. Chicago Police. We're looking for a young man who may have entered here a few minutes ago.
The woman opened the door wider before he even finished speaking.
And then Ethan saw him.
The kid with the dark red beanie stood frozen at the end of the hallway, as if the floor had closed around his shoes. He no longer had the confidence or speed from the skateboard. He was just a pale teenager with tense shoulders and a look ready to bolt.
Burgess recognized him immediately.
Ethan pointed toward him without hesitation.
—Is he your grandson?
The woman turned slightly, and the concern erased her smile.
—Not by blood. —She clasped her hands against her chest.—But I love him like he is. Please don't tell me he got into trouble again.
Burgess's expression softened a little. There was something about the woman that didn't match the house, the kid, or the stolen phone. Exhaustion, yes. Resignation too. But not malice.
Still, she asked the question.
—You know he steals?
The old woman closed her eyes for a second, as though the answer hurt before she even spoke.
—Oh, God…
The sigh she let out was long and defeated.
She looked toward the boy in the hallway with a mixture of sadness and exhaustion.
—Did you start stealing phones again?
—I don't have any problem! —The kid in the beanie snapped from inside.
—Then…
The old woman turned around sharply.
—There aren't two Chicago police officers standing at our door right now, are there?
—Right now. Immediately.
—Whatever you stole, bring it out and give it back to these officers.
As the kid disappeared into the living room, the old woman sighed and said slowly:
—Kids these days… you never know what they're thinking.
—Can you believe it? Stealing phones just to trade them for those stupid video games. God, I don't know how to raise him properly.
—Ma'am. —Ethan stepped aside and asked calmly.—I have reason to believe he steals phones to sell them to a local gang. What do you think about that?
At that moment, the boy returned with his head lowered, holding three phones.
When she heard Ethan's words, the old woman's expression turned shocked. She waved her hands quickly.
—Officer, he may be a troublemaker, but he would never get involved with gangs. I watched him grow up. I can guarantee it.
The boy in the beanie walked to the door and reluctantly handed over the three phones.
—That's all of them. —he muttered bitterly.
The old woman pulled him into her arms while her fragile hands stroked his head.
She looked at Burgess with pleading eyes, her voice trembling.
—Officer, I'm so sorry. I'll make sure he learns his lesson so this never happens again.
Burgess took the phones, lips pressed tightly together.
The tracked phone was among them.
She sighed, patting the phones in her hand. Given the situation, all they could really do was go fishing again.
—Should we head back?
She shrugged while looking at Ethan. They weren't there to arrest some petty thief. It wasn't even worth it.
It seemed they had followed the wrong person.
—If you don't mind. —Ethan, however, reacted completely differently. He looked at the old woman with a smile.—I'm going to take a look inside.
—May I ask why?
The old woman hesitated before looking toward Burgess in confusion.
—Don't look at her. Look at me. —Ethan tilted his head slightly.
She had no choice but to agree.
It wasn't enough to force entry without a warrant, but it was enough to suspect the house was being used as a drop point for stolen goods. And if the woman allowed them inside, they could legally search the interior.
Burgess still didn't understand why Ethan insisted so much on going in. But there was an unwritten rule: in situations like this, you didn't argue with the lead officer.
She put her phone away and looked at the older woman seriously.
The woman hesitated for a few seconds before hugging the boy in the beanie and stepping aside, allowing them in.
The interior was narrow. A hallway stretched through the first floor, with stairs rising along the right side. Farther ahead, the flickering blue light of a television partially illuminated the living room.
In the back, the kitchen and dining area were visible, with a small table cluttered with plates and empty glasses.
The woman guided the boy to the couch and sat beside him.
That was when Burgess saw them.
Three other children sat silently in front of the television, all between ten and fifteen years old.
The four kids looked at Ethan and Burgess with fear in their eyes.
—Don't be afraid. —The woman said quickly, stroking the boy's shoulder.—It's okay. These officers are good people. They're just going to look around a little, and then they'll leave.
Burgess's expression changed instantly. Her heart tightened slightly when she saw the children huddled together on that worn couch.
Quietly, she tugged on Ethan's sleeve.
—Officer Burgess. —Ethan said without taking his eyes off the room.—Don't get distracted. Watch them and keep your hand on the grip of that damn pistol. Do you understand what I mean?
His tone was sharp.
—Understood, Detective… —she finally replied without taking her eyes off the room.
Burgess recognized that tone immediately and slowly let go of the woman's sleeve. She had already learned that when Ethan spoke like that, it meant he had noticed something the rest of them still hadn't.
When it came time to get serious, his presence could be intimidating.
Because the more he looked around that place, the stronger that uncomfortable feeling became.
Something didn't fit.
If this were really just a teenager caught stealing phones, the reaction would've been different: yelling, threats, trying to throw them out, demanding a lawyer.
Most people lashed out when they still thought they had control.
But there was no anger here.
Only fear. And a desperate need to gain sympathy before they had even made an accusation.
His eyes drifted toward the kid in the beanie. He was too young. Even if they confirmed the charges, he'd be out quickly. Petty theft didn't justify this level of tension inside the house.
And then he understood.
They weren't afraid because of the phone.
The old woman nervously twisted her hands again, and Ethan felt all the pieces begin lining up once more inside his head.
The furniture wasn't expensive, but it definitely wasn't cheap either. The children's clothes and shoes weren't cheap.
An old woman raising four children… and somehow they could still live like this.
That was the main reason Ethan suspected her.
Look at the way the Gallagher family lived.
Wearing hand-me-down clothes was normal. As long as they weren't torn, nobody cared.
—Excuse me, are you the only one raising these children?
Ethan walked slowly, one hand resting on the grip of his gun.
—That's right.
The old woman forced a smile.
—My husband and I adopted them.
She wiped at the corner of her eye.
—Ever since Johnny passed away, these few are all I have left in this world.
Ethan's lips curled slightly upward. Her words confirmed his suspicions.
If her husband had left behind serious money, they wouldn't be living in this neighborhood. And they definitely wouldn't be driving that SUV.
—Burgess. —Ethan said quietly.—Watch them and keep your hand on the grip of that damn gun. Understand?
—Understood, sir.
Burgess nodded quickly. She took two steps back, placing a hand on her Glock.
—Ma'am, please stay calm. We're just going to take a quick look around, and if there's nothing wrong, we'll leave soon.
The people sitting on the couch exchanged glances.
The old woman twisted her hands even tighter.
Ethan stopped paying attention to them. He left Burgess behind and walked deeper into the house, following the path he remembered.
The kid in the beanie had gone into the living room earlier, but the red dot had moved toward the kitchen.
Ethan glanced once more at the people on the couch before stopping in front of a row of cabinets.
He crouched in front of one while his eyes slowly scanned the cluttered interior. Old clothes. Empty boxes. Blankets folded carelessly. Too much mess… but also too much open space in the back.
The feeling returned immediately.
His attention locked onto a small irregularity beneath the blankets, barely visible in the shadows. He moved aside a couple of boxes and revealed a black duffel bag hidden hastily behind several blankets.
The simple shift in the old woman's breathing was enough to confirm he had found something important.
Ethan slowly pulled the bag into the light while the kid in the red beanie lowered his head, unable to meet Ethan's eyes.
—Ma'am. —Ethan said calmly while unzipping the bag.—Would you like to tell me what's inside?
He didn't wait for an answer.
Inside were more than a dozen cell phones stacked on top of each other.
Burgess slowly let out a breath when she saw them.
The old woman covered her mouth with a trembling hand, but Ethan barely paid attention anymore. His eyes had already settled on the bottom of the bag, where several bundles of cash, loose SIM cards, and a small black notebook filled with handwritten names and numbers rested.
And that no longer looked like the improvised hiding place of a teenage thief.
Burgess tightened her grip on the cheap phone in her pocket as a chill ran down her spine.
There were at least a hundred phones inside.
Looking at the phones, Burgess's face reflected pure shock.
—How could you do this? Using these poor kids to steal?
—The children need to eat. —The old woman replied, no longer bothering to hide it.
—You act well. Very well. —Ethan said while picking up a brand-new iPhone.—Are these children the ones who need to eat, or are they just tools?
—Officer. —one of the girls said nervously.—Grandma does it for us. Please don't send her to jail.
—So it wasn't this kid in the beanie who contacted the Saints. —Ethan said while handing the phone back.—It was you, wasn't it?
—I don't know what you're talking about. —the old woman replied, covering her forehead and pretending to be distressed.—I need a lawyer and a doctor.
—I don't think so. —Ethan said as he sat down in front of her.—What you need is CPS.
The moment she heard the words Child Protective Services, the children's faces filled with panic, and the old woman instantly stopped acting distressed. Nervously, she hugged the children tightly.
—Please don't do that. I'll tell you whatever you want to know.
The children clung tightly to the old woman, terrified by the possibility of losing her.
That scene gave Ethan pause.
It seemed the old woman had genuinely cared for those kids. That kind of mutual trust couldn't be faked.
To confirm his suspicions, Ethan called Burgess over and whispered something into her ear.
She glanced at the people sitting there, then turned around and headed upstairs.
After inspecting the second floor, she confirmed that the children's bedrooms were well furnished and the closets were full of clothes. The boys' room had computers, video game consoles, soccer balls, and toys.
The girls' room also had plenty of dolls and looked surprisingly clean and organized, with no signs of abuse.
Back in the living room, after questioning them further, Ethan learned that every two weeks, they delivered the stolen phones to the Saints so they could be refurbished.
Today was supposed to be delivery day, but they had been told that morning the drop-off was canceled until further notice.
During the conversation, Burgess returned to the living room and gave Ethan a subtle nod.
He understood immediately.
He looked toward the old woman.
—One last question. Where do you usually deliver the phones?
—If I tell you, can you let us go?
—You're not in a position to negotiate. But if you tell me something useful, I'll forget what happened today.
Ethan stood up impatiently.
After several seconds of hesitation, the old woman gave him the address where she made the weekly deliveries, which also happened to be the Saints' base of operations.
—I hope you're telling the truth. You don't want to see me again.
Seeing this, Burgess quickly followed after him.
The moment the front door closed, the people inside immediately embraced each other tightly.
Sitting in the car, Burgess looked at Ethan.
—You're really just going to let them go?
—Yeah. We're Intelligence. It's not our problem. —Ethan said while turning the wheel.—I could call CPS right now and have those kids sent into foster care.
—No… it doesn't matter. —Burgess shook her head and looked away.
Not for herself. For the children.
After returning to the precinct with Burgess, Ethan first returned the tracking device to Jin before heading upstairs to the second floor.
—Hey, what did you find?
The moment Ethan and Burgess returned, Ruzek immediately stood up.
—We got an address. Looks like it's the Saints' base.
Ethan bumped fists with him.
—Where is everyone else? I want everyone here for this.
Ruzek immediately lifted his head.
—We arrested Pierce. The others are downstairs in interrogation.
Ethan was about to respond when something on a nearby table caught his attention. An evidence bag rested beside several reports, and Ruzek followed his gaze.
—Oh, right… We found that too. They recovered it from one of the Disciples' stash houses. Looks like the Saints punished Calavera for starting this whole mess. I guess they're trying to lower tensions before this turns into an all-out war.
Ethan picked up the clear bag and silently examined the severed pinky finger inside. The cut was jagged, with exposed fragments of bone still visible.
—And how do you know this was punishment and not somebody just starting to dismember him?
Ethan shook the evidence bag slightly while looking at Ruzek.
—He's still a Saints member, and that's how they punish members who screw up. —Antonio said while looking up and continuing.—I think they probably moved Calavera somewhere safe. Right now, all the attention from both the streets and the police is focused on him.
Ethan pointed behind him.
—Burgess and I found one of their hideouts. Think it's possible Calavera was moved there?
—Very possible.
Antonio checked his watch.
—As soon as Hank gets out, we'll go pick him up.
—Good.
Ethan nodded and shook the evidence bag.
—Whoosh!
The evidence bag flew backward, and Burgess instinctively caught it.
The moment she realized what it was, nausea hit her immediately.
—Get used to it. —Ethan said with one hand in his pocket as he walked toward the observation room.—Bring that with you and follow me.
It was just a severed finger. Compared to the dismemberment scene Ruzek had witnessed in the basement last time, it was nothing.
But for rookies, it was useful for building toughness.