Citadel City — Safehouse
The next morning arrived gray and heavy, the kind of cold light that didn't feel like daybreak at all. The rain from the night before still lingered, streaking across the tall windows of the safehouse. The air smelled faintly of steel and burnt coffee.
Miles sat on the couch, the soft hum of a tablet flickering in his lap. His eyes were cold, fixed on the endless reports scrolling before him. Photos. Maps. Vehicle logs. Security feeds.
And still, not a single answer.
He leaned back, eyes narrowing. "How can someone disappear from a locked armored truck?" he muttered to himself. "It's never happened before."
The room was silent except for the ticking of a wall clock. He rubbed his temple slowly. Everything about this operation had gone right—too right—until it all collapsed. After getting his hands on Kyle and Chester so easily, losing them was not just a failure. It was a message.
