Two days later.
The dining room table didn't look like a place for family meals anymore. It looked like the inside of a serial killer’s mind.
Maps of the city were taped over the placemats. Red string connected mugshots to locations. Stacks of case files toppled over the salt and pepper shakers.
And right in the center, pinned under a coffee stain, was a sketch of the Ronin.
Noah stood in the kitchen doorway, holding two steaming mugs. He watched his wife.
Sarah was hunched over the map, chewing on the end of a pen. She hadn't changed out of her uniform in fourteen hours. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun that was slowly surrendering to gravity.
"You're going to go blind if you keep staring at that," Noah said softly.
Sarah jumped. Her hand flew to the gun on the table before
