The low hum of the police department feels different today—more strained. Officers glance up at me and Day as we pass, nodding respectfully, but there's an edge in their movements. They're nervous, as they should be. A numbered escaped on their watch.

Dayanara walks beside me, her long strides keeping pace with my shorter, more determined ones. Her calm presence helps keep the tension in the air from suffocating anyone. It's a talent she has, smoothing over chaos with her unwavering neutrality, while my mere existence tends to stir it up.

Zaman meets us near the front, her expression grim but controlled. She always looks like she's one step away from solving every problem in the world, and somehow, that makes her easier to understand. She wastes no time leading us toward the observation rooms.

"Three's escape was... elaborate," Zaman starts, glancing at us over her shoulder as she weaves through the maze of desks and tired officers. "We're still piecing it together, but you need to see this for yourselves."

"We're listening," Day says smoothly, her voice low but firm. The officer on her right straightens unconsciously, like being in her presence demands perfection. It doesn't, I'm proof of that. I keep quiet, saving my energy for whatever's about to hit us.

Zaman pulls open the door to a small conference room and gestures for us to enter. The lights dim automatically as she steps to the side, letting us take in the scene before us: a paused frame of Three's cell on the screen.

I narrow my eyes at it. The room's plain, like every interrogation space in this building, but something feels... off. The corner where Three was crouched during my vision catches my attention, because it's not visible to the cameras. She's not in it, she's in a different corner, which strikes me as purposeful. My gut tightens as Zaman presses play.

The footage bursts to life, and I lean forward. At first, it's mundane—Three huddled in the corner, unmoving. The timestamp shows this is late at night, after our interrogation and long after the police had assured us she was under constant surveillance.

Then it happens.

The corner of the room shimmers, just for a moment. It's subtle, almost unnoticeable, but my breath catches. The shimmer spreads across the wall like ripples in water. The concrete surface twists and buckles, breaking apart in jagged chunks that crumble as if they were made of sand.

"What the hell is that?" I can't help but ask, unsettled at the familiarity of it. I'm reminded of my vision.

Zaman pauses the footage, turning to us. "We were hoping you could tell us. The cameras picked up no signs of tampering before or after this occurred. It's as if the wall... gave out on its own."

"It didn't," I mutter, my voice sharper than I intend. "Walls don't just disintegrate out of nowhere."

Neither do floors.

I've been thinking about the boss since the second I walked into this building. He's always there, lingering in the back of my mind like a shadow I can't shake. This confirms it—the boss is real, and he's powerful enough to do... this. Whatever is happening in this video, I don't know, I'm kind of lost—at least in terms of the how. The why is clear: because he wants to make my life specifically way harder than necessary.

The footage continues. The wall collapses entirely, leaving a gaping hole that leads into what looks like a maintenance tunnel. Three moves quickly, disappearing into the darkness without hesitation. She doesn't even look back, and the wall builds itself right back up once she's gone.

The clip ends, the screen going black, and I exhale slowly. My mind races, every detail playing on a loop as I try to make sense of it. This basically gives us nothing, and the maintenance hall footage is the same way.

"How long before anyone noticed?" Day asks, her tone calm but pointed.

"Too long," Zaman admits, her jaw tight. "The shift change delayed the response. By the time anyone realized she was gone, she was already off the property."

"Convenient timing," I say flatly. My voice carries more venom than I mean, but I can't help it. I hate losing.

Zaman doesn't seem to mind, which is typical. Nothing seems to get to that woman, she's just far too seasoned from her time on the force. "We're reviewing the rest of the footage from that night, but so far, there's no indication of outside interference. It's as if the wall disintegrated on its own."

"It didn't," I snap, turning to face her fully. "Walls don't just crumble. Whoever the boss is, they've got abilities that make ours practically fucking obsolete. This wasn't just an escape—it was a message."

Day places a hand on my shoulder, her grip grounding. "We'll figure it out."

I shrug her hand off, not because I don't appreciate the gesture, but because I can't calm down. Not right now, not yet. These people failed me. They failed us, they failed the entire city of Solace International. Three was going to be moved to maximum security tomorrow. Did it not cross their minds she might try something? "We need to figure out how far she got. If she's still in the city, we can track her."

"We've got units searching the surrounding areas," Zaman notifies me. "But you know how this goes. The numbered vanish as quickly as they appear."

"Not this time," I say, my jaw tight. "I'll find her."

Day gives me a look. Steady, assessing, but there's a concern to it. "And when you do?"

I don't answer. I doubt she expects me to. Day knows exactly what'll happen when I catch her: she's going away for a long time, but that's not what she's asking. She's not asking anything, in fact. She's implying that catching Three won't be enough for me. That nothing will be enough for me, not until the numbered only a memory.

The air in the conference room feels stifling as Zaman pauses the maintenance hall footage, the frozen image of the wall dissolving into nothing staring back at us like a silent taunt. I cross my arms, my intense gaze fixed on the screen.

"It wasn't her," I say finally, breaking the heavy silence. "She didn't do this alone."

"Agreed. We're running through every angle we have, but whoever orchestrated this—" Zaman nods, her expression tight but focused. She gestures vaguely to the screen. "—they're way out of our jurisdiction."

"Yeah, no kidding," I mutter, running a hand over my face. "You've got everyone on this?"

"Everyone," Zaman replies dryly, sounding hopeless, which is unnerving but also understandable. Hopes are never high, not with the numbered.

Dayanara, standing by the doorway, speaks up for the first time in minutes. Her tone is void of emotion, but I can tell she wants to leave. The police station is too busy for me to get any real investigative work done, anyway. "Keep us updated. Anything new, no matter how small, we need to know."

Zaman meets her gaze and nods. "You'll be the first to hear. We'll find her."

I push myself out of the chair, the tension coiling tighter in my chest with every second I'm in this room.

Zaman doesn't respond, her sharp eyes following us as Day and I step out of the conference room. The hum of activity hits me like a wave—phones ringing, officers murmuring, the occasional clatter of keys. It's too normal, too calm for what's going on behind the scenes.

Day matches my stride as we make our way toward the exit. She doesn't say anything at first, which is probably for the best. My thoughts are a jumbled mess of frustration and theories, none of them useful.

"You're tense," she observes finally as we near the glass doors.

I glance at her, eyebrows raised. "Wow, you think?"

Her lips twitch with the ghost of a smile, but she doesn't push further. Instead, she nods toward the parking lot. "Lacy's waiting for lunch, remember?"

Right. Lunch. The one thing standing between me and complete burnout, since rest is out of the question. I let out a breath, trying to shake off the weight in my chest as we step into the cool, overcast afternoon. The breeze carries the faint scent of rain, and I find myself grateful for the distraction.

Sure enough, Lacy's waiting by her car, leaning casually against the hood with her arms crossed. She's dressed down in an oversized hoodie and jeans, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Even in her understated look, there's an undeniable elegance to her—effortless and unintentional.

When she spots us, her expression softens just a fraction. She gives a small wave, more a flick of her fingers than anything. Reserved, like always, never one to draw more attention to herself than necessary.

Day steps ahead of me, her tone neutral and practiced but warmer than usual. "Lacy."

"Dayanara," Lacy greets back. Dayanara's face cracks into a rare smile, one not even my funniest jokes or most embarrassing mistakes can evoke from the hardened woman.

"Thanks for waiting."

Lacy tugs lightly at the sleeve of her hoodie, a small, almost hesitant matching smile tugging at her lips. "It's no problem. I figured you two could use a distraction, having to go in on your off day and deal with losing Three."

"Yeah, well," I say, stepping forward, "you were right. It's been a morning."

She tilts her head slightly, studying me with those sharp eyes of hers. "You look like hell."

Day lets out a low chuckle, and I shoot her a look. "Thanks, Lacy."

Day shifts her weight, crossing her arms as she regards the two of us. Lacy's insults come from a place of love, they're her way of letting me know she's noticed I'm in bad shape and cares. That woman practically has her own language, one spoken by passing glances and semi-backhanded remarks. Still, I grow more fluent with each passing day I know her.

"Ready to head out? The sooner we eat, the sooner Harlan can stop snapping at everyone." Day questions, a rare lightheartedness to her tone that would be difficult to pick up on by someone who didn't know her.

I roll my eyes, but Lacy's watching Day now, something flickering in her expression—something soft, almost hesitant. Quietly, she asks; "You're coming too?"

"Wasn't going to miss it," Day answers, her tone light but her gaze steady.