The warehouse door shut behind Kai with a controlled finality.
No slam. No threat shouted after him.
That alone unsettled him more than violence would have.
He walked away at a steady pace, hands loose at his sides, posture relaxed enough to look unconcerned. Every step was deliberate. He didn't look back—not because he wasn't aware of the people watching him, but because he knew they were counting on him to feel it.
Fear only mattered when it was visible.
The dockside stretched ahead, lights scattered and uneven, the smell of metal and water hanging heavy in the air. Kai didn't slow until the warehouse was well behind him, until the sounds of activity dissolved into the low hum of night.
Only then did he stop.
He rested his forearms on the cold railing overlooking the water and stared down at the dark surface below. The reflection staring back at him looked calm—but his thoughts were moving fast, slotting pieces together.
They hadn't detained him.
They hadn't searched him.
They hadn't tried to extract information.
Which meant they already knew more than they'd admitted.
The man inside—the leader—hadn't been improvising. That conversation had been rehearsed. Measured. Designed to test how far Kai would bend before breaking.
Kai exhaled slowly.
They wanted him predictable.
His phone vibrated in his pocket.
He didn't reach for it immediately.
When he finally did, the screen lit up with a familiar unknown number.
You left earlier than expected.
Kai's thumb hovered over the keyboard.
You didn't stop me.
A pause. Longer than before.
Stopping you would've answered the wrong questions.
Kai frowned.
That confirmed it. They weren't just reacting to him—they were studying him.
Then you already know I won't stop.
He typed.
This time, the response was immediate.
That's what concerns us.
Kai slipped the phone back into his pocket without replying. If they wanted to talk, they'd keep reaching out. Silence was its own answer.
He pushed away from the railing and headed back toward the apartment, taking a longer route than necessary. Twice, he doubled back through busier areas. Once, he paused to watch his reflection in a storefront window.
No tails.
Either they were very good… or they didn't need to follow him anymore.
The apartment greeted him with quiet.
Too much quiet.
Kai closed the door behind him and stood still, listening—not just for sound, but for absence. Everything was exactly where it should be. No drawers out of place. No disturbed air. No obvious breach.
Which meant if someone had been here, they'd wanted it that way.
He moved through the space slowly, methodically. Window. Bathroom. Bedroom. Nothing.
At the small table near the sink, he opened the drawer where he kept the folder.
Still there.
Untouched.
Kai sat down heavily, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
They knew about it.
They just wanted him thinking he still had control.
That realization shifted something inside him. The anger didn't flare—it settled, cold and precise.
This wasn't about intimidation anymore. It was about leverage.
Kai stood and began packing without hesitation. Clothes he could move in. Equipment he could discard. Nothing sentimental. Nothing traceable.
Mobility mattered now.
As he zipped the bag shut, his phone buzzed again.
No text this time.
Just a location pin.
Kai stared at it, jaw tightening.
So this was how it would go. Breadcrumbs instead of threats. Pressure without fingerprints.
He locked the apartment behind him and stepped back into the night.
They thought the countdown had ended.
They were wrong.
It had only changed direction.