The phone rings.
It is a thin, shrill sound, wildly out of place in the gutted shell of the complex. Dust drifts through the air in slow spirals. Somewhere above us, metal groans as the structure settles, exhausted by the chaos it was built to contain.
I freeze.
Every instinct in me tightens at once.
The ringing stops.
Then starts again.
“Sir?” one of my men asks quietly, already scanning corners, weapon raised. “That didn’t come from any of our devices.”
“I know,” I say.
I step toward the sound.
The phone sits on a rusted filing cabinet in the corner, perfectly placed. Not hidden. Not protected. Just waiting. A cheap burner, screen already lit, vibrating faintly against the metal surface like it is impatient.
Of course Adrian wants me to pick it up.
I do it anyway.
The moment
