Dom calls in less than thirty seconds. “This overlaps.” His voice is tight.
“Say it clean,” I tell him.
“The manifest code from that crate matches one from the route cluster tied to the shell payouts. Not direct, but enough. Whoever hit the warehouse was either cleaning up a trail or trying to pull something before we found it.”
“Both?”
“Likely.”
Shadow appears at the end of the aisle. “Office is burned.”
I tell Dom, “Records?”
“Get me what’s left.”
“Working on it.” I hang up.
Hammer’s voice comes from the far side. “They took medical supplies.”
I turn.
He stands near a set of empty shelves. The labels are still taped beneath them. Sedatives. Emergency kits. Portable restraints from an old transport contract.
My vision narrows. Not because I’m surprised. Because I’m not.
“They’re restocking,” Shadow says.
“Or covering what they already used,” Hammer adds.
Joker calls from the back, voice calm in a way that makes the room colder. “Got blood.”
We move.
The rear office is half burned, one wall blackened, filing cabinet warped from heat. Papers litter the floor where someone tried to torch them fast and sloppy. Not amateur sloppy. Interrupted sloppy. Blood marks the floor near the desk. A smear. Then drops. Fresh enough.
I crouch, touch nothing, track the direction. Back hallway. Service exit.
“They didn’t all get out clean,” Shadow says.
“No,” I answer.
Joker’s head tilts toward the hallway. “Shame.”
Hammer checks the exit. “Door’s shut but not latched.”
Someone is still here. The warehouse changes shape around that fact.
I move first. No talking. No warning.
The service hallway runs narrow, concrete walls, one flickering light overhead. Blood dots the floor in a broken line. Not a lot. Enough. At the end, a storage room door sits cracked. Breathing comes from inside. Fast. Trying to be quiet. Failing.
I push the door open with my boot.
A man sits on the floor behind overturned boxes, one hand pressed to his side, the other holding a gun that shakes too much to be useful. He lifts it anyway.
I cross the space before he fires. My boot hits his wrist. The gun clatters across the floor. He screams, more from fear than pain, and I grab the front of his jacket, hauling him up enough to slam him back against the wall. His head cracks concrete. Not enough to end him.
Shadow steps in behind me.
