The cold air of the abandoned safehouse offered no comfort as Tate stood by the window, his knuckles white against the frame. The frustration in his chest was a living thing, clawing at his throat with every second that slipped away. They had missed them by minutes, and the realization tasted like dirt.
Tate turned slowly, his dark eyes cutting across the room. "Can you still track the location they might be in?" he asked, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous tone that made the tech team stiffen over their equipment.
His tracker, Jake, stared at the static bleeding across his screen, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He shook his head, a line of tight stress pulling at his jaw. "The signal out here is too weak, boss. They’ve gone deeper into the grid. I can’t do anything from t
