Dave slid it over with a slight smile.
It drew a few quiet smiles from the ones who’d seen it before.
Stone smirked and dug in, one hand brushing against Dave’s under the table. The touch was small, easy, but it steadied him more than the coffee ever could.
War Room—Later that same day
The war room carried the mix of coffee and printer ink. Maps littered the table, Sparrow’s scrawl crowding the margins with arrows and notes.
“California just lit up,” Sparrow said, tapping the map. “With a trail converging in Port Hueneme.” His finger landed on the coast.
Stone leaned forward, frown sharp. “That safe house holds command-and-control nodes. Comms, intel webs, and failsafes.”
Sparrow nodded and looked at Dave. “If Franklin secures that, we’re in trouble.”
“Don’t you mean Titus?” Boston asked from the far side of the table.
“Same difference,” Rip said before Sparrow could answer. “We follow Franklin, and eventually we get Titus.”
Law crossed his arms. “Why don’t we squeeze Morrison again. He’s still holding something.”
Before Dave could answer, Sage raised a hand. The young man was perched at the corner of the table, Morrison’s phone spinning between his fingers. “He is. Hidden comms, coded embeds. This isn’t just burner chatter.”
“Well, break those open,” Law growled.
Sage didn’t blink. “This is high tech, not your smash-and-grab routine. It takes finesse and time.”
Law’s mouth twisted. “Excuses already?”
“Just stating the facts, Muscles,” Sage shot back.
Viper lifted a hand, silencing both before it broke wider. His gaze cut to Sparrow. “Stay on target.”
Sparrow nodded, flipping another sheet across the table. “Franklin’s movements run from Bakersfield down toward Port Hueneme. Looks like he’s greased the local channels—he’s not exactly being subtle.”
Sage suddenly sat upright, phone frozen in his hand. “Ah ha!” His grin spread as he turned the screen. “I cracked it.”
A string of numbers and symbols glowed on the display, patterns locked in red.
Law leaned just far enough to glance at it, a smirk curling at his mouth. “Cute. Took you long enough.”
Sage rolled his eyes but didn’t stop smiling. “Worth the wait.”
Dave watched them all, the weight of what Sparrow had laid out sinking deeper with every passing second. Port Hueneme. Franklin. Bunkers built not just for war, but control.
And his team, sharp as ever, was circling closer to the fire.
Topeka, Kansas…
The warehouse lights flickered, buzzing against the cold. Oil and rust clung to the air, steel crates stacked like barricades.
Titus stood at the end of a scarred table, a map spread wide before him. Roads, supply lines—every mark another failure.
Walt Beckman shifted beside him, arms crossed. A roomful of men lingered in the shadows of the large room—quiet, armed, waiting.
They weren’t Genesis, but they weren’t street muscle either. Trained. Loyal. Handpicked by Beckman and Titus from the ones still willing to risk their lives on the idea that Titus wasn’t the devil his brother had become.
“Every angle, every lead—and Tatum still slips the net,” Beckman muttered, ignoring the others. “Keep this up, and no one’s going to see the difference between you and him.”
