No clean shot.
Too many civilians.
No bike in reach.
No fucking Talia.
I run anyway.
Because stopping isn’t in me.
The SUV disappears around the corner, swallowed by morning traffic like it was never there.
I stop in the middle of the alley, chest heaving, every bad thing in me going quiet.
That’s the part people don’t understand.
Rage isn’t loud when it’s real.
It settles.
It sharpens.
It picks a target and waits.
I tap my earpiece so hard it hurts.
“Ghost.”
“I’m here.”
“They took her.”
Silence.
Then Ghost’s voice drops into something deadly. “Location.”
“Bluebird Café. Rear alley. Black Chevy Tahoe, tinted windows, partial plate K7 or KZ, mud on rear bumper, sticker lower left back glass. Heading south out of Lovefall Cove center.”
“I’m moving.”
“Get Havoc. Lock roads. Cameras. Traffic cams. Gas stations. Every brother with wheels.”
“Already doing it.”
I turn back toward the rear door.
My boot hits something.
Small.
Black.
Talia’s phone.
Screen cracked. Lying face down near the threshold like it got knocked loose when they dragged her out.
I bend and pick it up.
