Kai didn't go back to the safehouse.
That was the first move.
Every instinct told him to return, regroup, reassess—but instincts were predictable. Whoever had set the countdown expected him to retreat, to hide, to wait for the next warning to arrive.
He did the opposite.
Two hours later, Kai sat in the back corner of a quiet café he'd never used before, back to the wall, eyes on the reflections in the glass. He ordered nothing. He wasn't there to blend in. He was there to watch.
The message replayed in his head.
This isn't a chase. It's a countdown.
Countdowns ended one of two ways: detonation—or intervention.
Kai intended to interrupt before either happened.
He pulled out his phone and opened a secure folder most people would've assumed was empty. Old habits died hard. Inside were fragments of information he'd collected long before he thought he'd ever need them again—names, aliases, patterns. Pieces that hadn't mattered then, but suddenly lined up now.
One name surfaced again.
Not confirmed. Not proven. But repeated enough times to stop being coincidence.
Kai leaned back, fingers tightening slightly around the phone.
So that's where this started.
Someone across the room laughed. Too loud. Too sudden. Kai's eyes flicked up instantly, locking onto the source. A group of students. No threat. He forced himself to breathe normally again.
Stay sharp. Don't spiral.
He sent one message—to a contact he hadn't spoken to in over a year.
You still owe me. I need a location. No questions.
The reply didn't come immediately.
That worried him more than if it had.
Kai stood, left a bill on the table he never touched, and walked out without looking back. Outside, he took a longer route than necessary, changed direction twice, then slipped into a public transit station—not to ride, but to disappear into motion.
His phone vibrated again.
You're stepping into something active.
Kai stopped near the ticket machines.
Typed back.
So are you.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Then:
Dockside warehouse. Tonight. That's all I'm giving you.
Kai locked the phone.
Dockside meant exposure. Open space. Fewer exits. It also meant confidence—on their part. They believed he'd either walk into a trap… or stay away.
They were wrong on both counts.
By the time night fell, Kai had adjusted everything—routes, timing, assumptions. He didn't bring a weapon he wasn't willing to lose. He didn't carry anything that tied back to him. No signatures. No patterns.
The warehouse loomed ahead, lights low, structure half-active, half-forgotten. A place that existed in the cracks between legitimate work and things no one filed reports for.
Kai didn't rush in.
He waited.
Watched.
Counted.
Two figures moved inside. One stayed near the entrance. Another patrolled the interior perimeter. Not professionals—but not amateurs either.
Interesting.
Kai stepped forward.
Not quietly. Not loudly.
Deliberately.
The entrance guard noticed him instantly, posture stiffening.
"You're late," the man said.
Kai stopped just outside the light spill.
"I wasn't invited," he replied. "I came anyway."
The guard's jaw tightened. He spoke into a hidden mic.
"He's here."
So they expected him.
Good.
Inside, movement shifted. Someone deeper in the warehouse laughed—low, confident, unbothered.
A voice carried through the open space.
"Let him in."
Kai didn't smile, but something cold settled behind his eyes.
The countdown had ended.
This was the first move.