Chapter 93 Saint
Saint
We don’t chase.
We cut off.
Marco’s last ping gives us a shadow, not a location.
That’s fine.
Shadows still belong to something.
I’m in the operations room with Wolf, Havoc, and two men who don’t ask questions.
Rourke Hale is on every screen.
“Pattern,” Wolf says. “He’s not running random. He’s moving through assets.”
“Which means he’s still trying to use the old network,” I reply.
“Which means he hasn’t accepted he’s alone yet,” Havoc says.
“Good,” I say. “That makes him predictable.”
I point to three locations.
“He’ll try for one of these.”
“Why?” Nora asks.
“Because they’re emotionally expensive and operationally stupid.”
Wolf smiles thinly. “I like it.”
Teams split.
We move.
No sirens. No drama. Just quiet vehicles and clean routes.
I check my phone.
Laney: Are you okay?
I text back: Always.
It’s a lie.
I don’t need to be okay.
I need to be effective.
We hit the first site.
Empty.
Second site.
Warm.
Too warm.
“Move,” I say.
The third is an industrial strip near the river. Storage. Abandoned offices. Old rail lines.
“This one,” I say.
The air feels wrong.
We spread.
Slow. Patient. I don’t want him cornered.
I want him exhausted.
A light flickers in the far building.
Wolf signals.
We ghost forward.
Inside smells like oil and old paper.
Footsteps above us.
Havoc freezes.
I nod.
Up the stairs. Quiet.
At the top, a door is cracked.
I see him.
Rourke Hale is on a phone. Arguing. Bleeding from his temple.
“—you said it was clean!”
I push the door.
He spins.
His eyes meet mine.
And he knows.
He runs.
I smile.
“Contact,” I say calmly. “He’s moving.”
And the hunt finally becomes honest.