Ramirez hands me a folder. "Pulled security footage. They were casing the place earlier, pretending to shop. Stuck around longer than normal, then made their way into the back when no one was looking. We found them near the employee lockers."

I flip through the photos, the glossy pages sliding between my fingers. I already know this isn't some petty theft ring. This has organized crime written all over it. I nod, closing the file, and push open the door.

The two guys look up as I step inside, their faces carefully blank.

They don't see me yet.

That's fine.

They will.

I take my time, grabbing a chair from the corner of the room, turning it backward, and lowering myself into it. The metal legs scrape against the floor. I plant my boots firmly on the floor, rest my arms over the back of the chair, and just stare at them.

Silence is a powerful weapon.

People underestimate it. They think power comes from words, from threats, from raising your voice and throwing your weight around. They don't realize that the real power? The real control?

It's in the silence.

People hate it.

They'll do anything to fill it.

They'll talk just to hear the sound of their own voice. They'll blurt out excuses, lies, half-truths—any story to make the tension less unbearable.

But I don't break the silence.

I let it stretch.

I get comfortable in my position, staring them both down without blinking.

The air gets heavier.

I can see them starting to sweat.

Shuffling their feet, shifting in their seats, exchanging nervous glances.

And then, right on cue⁠—

They crack.

After ten seconds.

"Look, man," the one on the left finally says. "This is all just a misunderstanding. We were just trying to make a little cash on the side. You know, grab some merch, flip it for⁠—"

I hold up a hand, and he immediately stops talking.

I tilt my head. "You think I'm stupid?"

The guy swallows. "No, man, I⁠—"

"You think I don't know what you're doing?" I lean forward, letting my tone go low. "You're not here to grab a couple bags to resell online. This is organized. You don't move unless someone tells you to move. You don't steal unless someone orders you to steal. And you don't scope out a store unless someone tells you exactly what to look for."

The guy shifts, his confidence starting to crack. The cheap leather of his jacket creaks as he moves. His friend, the one on the right, clears his throat. "We don't know anything. We're just, you know, low-level⁠—"

I snort. "Bullshit."

I let my expression go hard.

I let my presence settle over them.

"You two are fucked," I say simply. "You know that, right?"

They go still.

I lean back slightly, letting the words sink in.

"I've got contacts in the precinct," I continue. "I can make a call, right now, and give them exactly what they need to charge you with grand-scale larceny."

One of them laughs, but it's weak. "Come on, man. We didn't steal anything."

I smirk.

They just walked into my favorite trap.

I tilt my head. "You ever open a law book?"

Silence.

I chuckle, shaking my head. "Attempt and the actual crime have the same fucking consequences. The law doesn't care if you're bad at your job."

The guy on the right shifts uncomfortably. "We're not⁠—"

"Save it." I snap, cutting him off. "We both know you're working for someone. And we both know you're not dumb enough to try pulling this shit without orders. So here's how this goes. You start talking, or you take your chances with the DA's office."

They glance at each other.

I see the hesitation.

Then, finally⁠—

"We don't know much," the first one admits. "We just...we get orders. We go to stores, collect information. That's it."

"From who?"

He shakes his head. "It's always anonymous. We get a time, a place, a location. Occasionally we're ordered to steal merchandise, other times we're just told to get a feel for security."

I file that away. An invisible mastermind is testing our weaknesses. Someone's planning a significant heist. And they're getting closer. Because these guys made it into an off-limits area, and that's on me and my team.

I push to my feet. "Call the precinct."

One of my guys nods and presses a button on his headset.

The two thieves' heads snap up.

"Wait—what?"

The guy on the left looks panicked. "But you said⁠—"

"I didn't promise you anything."

Their faces fall.

"I only said that if you didn't talk, it'd be bad." I shrug, adjusting my sleeves. "I never said that if you did, it'd be good."

I push out of the holding cell, rolling my shoulders back, shaking off the last bit of adrenaline coursing through my veins. I can hear the two guys inside, muttering curses under their breath, probably continuing to convince themselves they aren't fucked.

They are.

I make my way back to the security office, where Ramirez and the rest of the team are watching the feed from the holding cell. I stop just inside the doorway, arms crossed over my chest.

"We're patching our weaknesses," I tell them, voice firm. "Tomorrow morning, thirty minutes early. No exceptions."

A few guys exchange glances, but no one argues.

Ramirez nods. "Got it."

"Good," I say. "You all did your jobs today. But we're not playing defense anymore." I exhale, my fingers drumming against my bicep. "We're getting ahead of this."

The room is silent, then Ramirez nods again. "Understood."

I don't need to say anything else.

I turn, grab my keys, and head to my bike.

The second I get on, I dial corporate. Bad news doesn't get better with age. Better to get ahead of it now. It only takes two rings before someone picks up. I keep the call short, efficient. Tell them exactly what happened. Two men casing the store, made it into the back. Security caught them before they could get any further. No losses, no property damage, no employee injuries. Just a reminder that we're dealing with something bigger. Corporate is receptive. They trust that I have it under control.

And they should.

Because I do.

I end the call, exhaling as I grip the handles.

Ready to put this day behind me.

Ready to go to her.

I reach to put my phone away⁠—

And then, a text pops up.

From Izzy.

To Caleb.

She hasn't talked to him in a week.

Which means there's no way in hell I'm letting the AI take over for this.

NOW CHATTING WITH CALEB

Pretty Girl

hi

Caleb

Hey, pretty girl. Haven't heard from you in a while. I was worried.

yeah… sorry about that

You don't have to apologize. Just want to make sure you're okay.

i don't know if i am.

Talk to me.

i broke up with evan.

I'm proud of you.

it didn't go well.

What happened?

he… he attacked me.