The world had a way of going silent before something terrible happened.
Not the kind of silence that felt peaceful—but the kind that felt off. Like the air was holding its breath. Like the city itself knew something was coming.
William felt it in the way the hotel lights flickered—just once, but enough to make him pause.
Dalia felt it in the way her fingers hesitated over a message she would never send.
Enzo felt it in the weight of the stolen key card in his pocket.
And Red… she felt it in the way Lincoln's orders had been too simple.
No extra details. No usual remarks. Just a name. A place. A time.
She flicked her knife open and shut.
Something was coming.
Across the city, André pulled his coat tighter as a cold gust of wind cut through the empty street. He wasn't supposed to be here. Not like this.
No one had asked him to come. He had chosen to.
For weeks, the decision had sat like a stone in his chest, unspoken but heavy. Tonight, he was finally setting it down.
He was ending it.
Lucas had insisted on coming, but this wasn't his fight. And Claire—she didn't know he was coming at all.
A part of him knew this was a mistake. But something deeper—something older—urged him forward.