Ryker’s POV:
I pull back from the scope and immediately start breaking the rifle down. Suppressor off. Bolt checked. Chamber cleared. The movements are automatic — practiced to the point of muscle memory.
Across the roof, Jace lets out a low whistle.
“Okay,” he mutters, packing up his own rifle, “that was sexy.”
I zip the case closed.
“It was clean.”
“Same thing,” he replies easily.
We move toward the rooftop door together. Gravel shifts under our boots as sirens start faintly in the distance.
Jace pushes the door open first, stepping into the stairwell.
“Not bad for a guy who barely blinks,” he adds over his shoulder.
“Focus,” I say.
“I was focused,” he shoots back. “You saw that driver? Perfect timing.”
We descend the stairs quickly but controlled. No rush, no heavy footstep
