Damian didn't like waiting.
He never had.
---
Three days without movement wasn't strategy to him.
It was pressure.
---
He stood in his office, staring at the data feeds from three separate intelligence channels, none of which had produced anything meaningful.
No Leon.
No trace.
No pattern.
---
That wasn't absence.
That was control.
---
His phone buzzed.
Cassian.
---
Damian answered without greeting.
"You're seeing it too."
---
Cassian's voice came calm.
"Yes."
---
"Nothing."
---
"No," Cassian corrected.
"Not nothing."
A pause.
"Deliberate nothing."
---
Damian's jaw tightened.
"That's not actionable."
---
"No," Cassian said.
"It's instructional."
---
Silence.
---
"He's teaching us how he moves."
---
Damian exhaled sharply.
"I don't learn from men who kill from distance."
---
Cassian's voice dropped slightly.
"Then you'll keep reacting to him."
---
The line stayed open.
Heavy.
Unresolved.
---
Then Damian said—
"I'm not reacting anymore."
---
"Good," Cassian replied.
"Then act."
---
Damian's eyes hardened.
---
For the first time—
He stopped waiting.