The visiting room buzzed with low voices and metal chairs scraping across concrete.
Cormac "Hollow" Vance sat alone at the table, wrists cuffed in front of him, posture relaxed like he was the one in control. His notebook rested beside him, pages filled with tight, slanted handwriting.
The public defender sat across from him, flipping through a thin folder.
"They're stacking charges," she said quietly. "Robbery, conspiracy, weapons. Ezra's dead, Silas is unstable, Naomi won't talk. That leaves you."
Hollow listened without blinking.
"What's your strategy?" she asked.
He tilted his head slightly. "You ever hear a house groan before it falls?"
The lawyer paused, unsure if he was serious.
"I'm asking what your plea is," she said.
Hollow smiled faintly.
"My plea," he murmured, tapping the notebook, "is patience."
He slid the notebook closed as a guard approached, signaling the visit was over.
As he stood, Hollow glanced back once at the empty chair across from him — like he expected someone else to be sitting there.
⸻
Naomi Glass sat in a diner booth, untouched coffee cooling in front of her.
The place smelled like grease and burnt toast, but she barely noticed. Her eyes stayed locked on the phone in her hand.
Unknown: Hollow's still writing.
She replayed the words in her head, over and over.
The waitress passed by. "You waiting on someone, hon?"
Naomi forced a smile. "No."
But the truth felt heavier than the pistol she used to carry.
Her gaze drifted to the window.
Across the street, a dark sedan sat parked too long.
She looked away first.
Because she wasn't sure if it was Keene… or someone worse.
⸻
Detective Rowan Keene sat behind the wheel of his unmarked car, binoculars resting on the passenger seat.
He wasn't watching Naomi.
Not tonight.
His eyes stayed on the county jail across town.
His partner's voice crackled through the radio. "You think Hollow's got people still moving?"
Keene didn't answer right away.
He rolled an unlit cigarette between his fingers, watching the windows of the building.
"Men like him don't stop when the door closes," he said finally. "They just start building quieter."
"And Naomi?"
Keene exhaled slowly. "She's the crack in the wall. The question is whether she breaks toward us… or toward him."
⸻
Silas Ward sat curled on the floor of the observation room, knees tight to his chest.
The lights were too bright. Too white.
A nurse approached slowly, setting a tray beside him.
"You need to eat, Silas."
He didn't move.
His eyes stayed locked on the corner of the room.
"There's something under it," he whispered.
The nurse glanced at the clean tile floor. "There's nothing there."
Silas shook his head hard.
"It followed us," he muttered. "You don't bury something like that and think it stays in one place."
His voice dropped to a breath.
"It knows we're apart now."
⸻
Back at the rowhouse, snow drifted through the broken doorway.
The floorboards lay exposed, torn open by evidence techs.
Wind pushed through the empty rooms, making the old house groan low and long.
A shadow moved briefly across the hallway — just a trick of light from passing headlights.
Or maybe not.
Because somewhere deep beneath the beams, a loose nail shifted… tapping once against the wood.
⸻
Naomi's phone buzzed again.
Another unknown number.
She stared at it for a long moment before opening the message.
Unknown:
You should've taken the money when you had the chance.
Her stomach tightened.
Another message came immediately after.
Hollow wasn't the only one watching that house.
Naomi stood abruptly, heart racing.
Her eyes scanned the diner.
Nobody looked at her.
Nobody seemed to care.
But for the first time since the raid, she felt it clearly:
The story wasn't over.
It was just changing hands.
She slipped her phone into her pocket, leaving the coffee untouched as she walked toward the door.
Outside, the cold hit her face hard.
And across the street, the dark sedan's engine turned over.
Slow.
Patient.
Waiting.
Naomi pulled her coat tighter and walked the opposite direction — but she didn't look back.
Because she knew one thing now:
Hollow's blueprint wasn't just in his notebook.
It was already moving.