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1263 Words
Tate’s phone vibrated sharply against the counter.
He stilled, eyes dropping to the screen as the room’s easy rhythm snapped back into focus. “Heads up.”
Ramsi turned immediately. “What is it?”
Tate’s fingers flew as he pulled the data up on the main screen. “I just got an alert—Hall made indirect contact. Burned line, layered proxy. One of the names that surfaced is tied to one of yours,” he nodded toward Dominic, “secondary suppliers. Could be nothing. Could be Hall testing reach.”
The room went quiet.
Enzo’s expression hardened. “Which supplier?”
“An older channel,” Tate replied. “Low-volume, legacy operations. The kind you don’t check daily.”
Dominic didn’t hesitate. “Enzo, go handle the old place. Quietly.”
Enzo was already moving. “On it.” He paused only long enough to look at Ramsi. “You stay put unless he says otherwise.”
Ramsi met his gaze. “Copy.”
When the door closed behind Enzo, Dominic turned to Tate. “You and Sage stay here. Keep digging. If Hall touched that supplier, I want the digital trail peeled back to bone.”
Tate nodded. “Already working it.”
Dominic’s attention shifted to Ramsi. “I’ll go with you. We verify in person.”
Sage immediately straightened. “Absolutely not.”
Three heads turned toward her.
She crossed her arms. “I’m fine staying behind—if there are snacks. Real snacks. None of that protein bar nonsense.”
Tate blinked. “That’s your condition?”
“Yes,” Sage said firmly. “High-stakes surveillance requires fuel.”
Ramsi let out a quiet laugh before she could stop herself, shaking her head. “Unbelievable.”
Dominic glanced at her, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “I’ll have something sent up.”
Sage pointed at him. “See? Reasonable leadership.”
Ramsi slung her jacket on, expression resetting to focused calm. “Alright. We check it out, confirm or clear, and we’re back. No improvising.”
Dominic met her halfway to the door, voice low. “Agreed. We move together.”
Their eyes locked—brief, charged, unspoken understanding passing between them.
Behind them, Tate was already pulling up feeds. “I’ll keep eyes on both of you. If Hall breathes too hard, I’ll know.”
Sage dropped into a chair, already opening a cabinet. “And if you die, I’m eating your snacks.”
Ramsi paused, glancing back. “If we die, Sage, you won’t have snacks.”
Sage grinned. “Motivation accepted.”
Dominic keyed the elevator. As the doors slid shut, the space felt smaller—denser with tension and possibility.
Above them, Enzo was already cleaning up loose ends.
Below them, Hall was moving again.
And this time, Ramsi wasn’t walking into the dark alone.
The warehouse sat near the river—old brick, rusted loading bays, lights too dim for a place that claimed to still be operational.
Dominic cut the engine a block out. “We walk from here.”
Ramsi was already out of the car, senses sharp, eyes tracking shadows as they moved toward the side entrance. The door gave way easily—too easily.
Inside, the air smelled like oil and damp concrete. Empty pallets. Crates stacked wrong. Silence that felt staged.
Ramsi’s spine prickled. “This place has been cleared recently.”
Dominic nodded once, already lifting his weapon. “Which means we’re expected.”
They took three more steps.
Gunfire exploded through the space.
Ramsi didn’t think—she reacted.
Dominic’s arm wrapped around her shoulders as he yanked her hard to the right, slamming them both behind a steel support beam as bullets tore through the space they’d just occupied.
Concrete chipped. Metal rang.
“Down,” Dominic snapped.
They hit the ground together, backs to the beam. Dominic already had his weapon up, Ramsi drawing hers in the same breath.
“Two shooters,” Ramsi said instantly, peering around the edge just enough to read angles. “Elevated. Catwalk, west side. Semi-auto.”
Another burst cracked overhead.
Dominic exhaled slow, controlled. “They want us pinned.”
Ramsi tracked muzzle flashes through the dim light, counting shots under her breath. Her gaze sharpened.
“There,” she murmured. “Left shooter’s pacing is off. He’s almost dry.”
She tilted her head slightly, listening—counting.
Three more shots.
Then a pause.
“They’ll reload in about… now.”
Dominic glanced at her, a flicker of something like admiration flashing through his eyes. “On your move.”
Ramsi shifted, muscles coiling. “Cover fire on my mark.”
A half-second later she moved—low, fast, lethal.
Gunfire erupted again as Dominic stepped out just enough to draw their attention, his shots precise, controlled. Ramsi rolled forward, using stacked crates as stepping stones, eyes never leaving the catwalk.
She came up behind a forklift, weapon raised, breathing steady.
“Reloading,” she whispered.
And this time, she was the one ready.
Ramsi didn’t hesitate.
She surged forward as the first shooter fumbled a fresh magazine, her movement a blur of intent and precision. Two shots—clean, controlled. The man went down hard, weapon clattering across the catwalk.
The second shooter swung late, panic bleeding into his stance.
Dominic was already moving.
He rose from cover, steady as stone, and fired once—then again. The second body dropped, echoing against steel and concrete.
Silence snapped back into place.
Ramsi stayed where she was for a beat, weapon trained, breathing slow. “Clear left.”
Dominic advanced, checking angles. “Clear right.”
They moved together, fluid, practiced, the kind of coordination that came from instinct rather than planning. Ramsi vaulted the steps to the catwalk, confirming the kills, then dropped back down.
“Two shooters,” she said. “Not professionals. Trained, but rushed.”
Dominic scanned the space. “Which means bait.”
They swept the warehouse methodically. Ramsi knelt near a crate that had been shifted out of alignment, prying it open.
Inside—electronics.
Small, sealed devices. Signal relays. Scramblers. Tracking pucks disguised as industrial sensors.
Ramsi’s expression sharpened. “He left breadcrumbs.”
Dominic crouched beside her. “Can you pull anything from them?”
“Yes,” she said immediately. “These aren’t wiped. Whoever placed them expected us to be dead—or distracted.” She turned one over, examining the ports. “We can pull movement logs, ping attempts, maybe even the handoff chain.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened. “Meaning Hall wanted us to find these.”
“Or wanted to see who we’d bring,” Ramsi replied quietly.
Their eyes met—understanding clicking into place.
Dominic lifted his comm. “Tate. Enzo. We’ve got devices. Hall left tech behind.”
Tate’s voice came in sharp. Send images now. I’ll start cracking remotely.
Ramsi snapped photos, already disconnecting power sources with practiced ease. “Give me ten minutes and a secure line. These will talk.”
Dominic watched her work, the ease, the focus, the way danger seemed to sharpen her rather than rattle her.
“You’re calm,” he said quietly.
She didn’t look up. “He wants fear. I don’t give him that.”
Dominic nodded once. “Good. Because he just made a mistake.”
Ramsi sealed the devices into a shielded pouch and stood. “Let’s take these home.”
Outside, the city hummed, unaware that Hall had just left fingerprints behind.
And the Ghost had found them.
- Writer
