Lex shifted his weight slowly, crouched low behind a rusted dumpster. The alley behind the apartment building was cold and still, the kind of quiet that made every creak sound louder than it should. The scent of mildew and fried food clung to the air. Overhead, the yellow light from a flickering security lamp barely cut through the dark. It painted the alley in long shadows, stretching like fingers toward him. Somewhere in the distance, a bottle clinked against concrete. Someone shouted half a block over. All of it was distant. Right now, this alley was the whole world.
The voices inside had gone muffled, but he could still catch the occasional word when they flared up. From his spot, he had a half-decent angle on the apartment window. Cracked, grimy, weather-swollen. But clear enough. He adjusted slightly, knee brushing against damp cardboard, and stayed still. Breathing steady. Hands ready.
Trey was in there. That much was clear. He wasn't just hanging out, either. The kid had swung on someone, and now they were figuring out what to do with him. That wasn't crew protocol. You didn't snatch one of 16th's runners without clearance, especially not on CMB turf. If this had been official, there would've been layers—lookouts, posted boys, cars ready to move. Someone would've spotted Lex already. There would've been a chain of command. Not whatever this was.
This was sloppy. Which made it dangerous.
Lex leaned closer to the cracked window. He used the cuff of his hoodie to clear a circle in the fogged glass. Inside, a bare room. Peeling paint. Water stains on the ceiling. A single mattress thrown onto the warped floorboards. No pictures. No curtains. Temporary. Or disposable. The kind of place you don't get mail sent to.
Two guys stood near the door arguing, one pacing. The third sat in a folding chair, phone in hand. Lex couldn't hear it all, but he caught pieces.
"...was just supposed to scare him..."
"Kid went wild. Swung first."
"That don't mean you drag him inside, Jojo."
Jojo. Lex tagged the name mentally, locking it in. The guy pacing had a sharp look. Not twitchy. Focused. Too much control for how hot the situation was. He wasn't improvising—he was managing chaos. That made him worse.
"He saw my face. What was I supposed to do?"
"You walk away. Now he knows who you are and we got a body in the back room."
That quieted them. For a second, nobody moved. Then the guy in the chair finally spoke. Calm, level, bored almost. The kind of tone that made people listen.
"Nobody's dying unless I say so. We sit tight. We wait."
Lex squinted, tried to catch a clearer angle on the man's face, but the lighting was bad. Still, the posture, the control—that wasn't a soldier. That was a decision-maker. A shot-caller pretending to be casual. And that made Lex's gut tighten.
Then Trey spoke, muffled, from deeper in the room.
"You know this is gonna come back to you, right? You think 16th don't ask questions?"
Someone laughed. "You think they gonna start a war over you? Please."
Another voice chimed in—different tone, cocky: "We got poles if it come to that."
Lex's pulse ticked up. That was real. That meant heat. Guns. No bluff.
He slid back slowly, keeping low. The dumpster's metal dug into his shoulder. He pulled the burner from his pocket, thumbed it on, typed fast.
Three inside. One named Jojo. Holding Trey. Not CMB-approved. They strapped.
A beat. Then Kevlar:
Copy. Don't engage. Watch for movement. I'm putting a team on alert.
Lex pocketed the phone and stayed still. The cold from the concrete seeped into his knees, but he didn't shift. He listened. Watched. Every nerve on alert.
Minutes passed. A car rolled by on the street, its bass low but thumping. A baby cried in the building across the alley. The apartment above made noise. A toilet flush. Footsteps. But no one came down. The street stayed dead.
Inside, the voices got lower. Then another one rose, half-whispered, but clear enough through the crack in the window:
"We move him tonight. Back room in the auto shop."
Lex sat up straighter. That was key.
The System flickered.
[CLUE UNLOCKED: Hidden Transfer Plan]
Trey may be moved to secondary location. Monitor the building. Consider tailing route. Option to intercept later.
Lex narrowed his eyes.
He had what he needed.
But he stayed put.
Another fifteen minutes passed. No one else showed. The men inside moved, voices now barely audible. One of them laughed again. Another coughed. Trey didn't speak again. The room felt tight even from outside.
Lex's legs were starting to cramp, but he held position. Every sound felt amplified now. A door opened somewhere above, and a woman yelled something about rent. A cat darted across the alley, startled by nothing. Lex didn't flinch.
He waited until the window went dark. Then a few more minutes. Just in case.
Only when he was sure—really sure—did he move. He slipped back through the alley, stepped over a cracked milk crate, and cut across the side street where his bike was stashed behind a billboard. He unlocked it quick, kicked off, and started toward the safehouse, his mind already sorting details.
Jojo. A name. A voice. Presence.
Not CMB. Not entirely.
Strap talk, disrespect, rogue movement. But not random.
Somebody was running heat behind the curtain. And they were using Trey as a message.
Lex's jaw tightened as he pedaled harder, slipping through traffic, eyes up, hands loose. His muscles burned but he didn't slow down. He weaved through cars, cut down a side street, and crossed two blocks without hitting the brakes. The wind dried sweat at his temples. He had to get the drop to Kevlar before they moved the kid.
The city passed by like a film reel, all color and noise.
But Lex saw only the lines.
The routes.
The patterns.
And he was already five moves ahead.