The warehouse looms ahead. Abandoned for years, its windows are dark, empty sockets staring out over the industrial sprawl. A single floodlight has been rigged at the entrance, casting harsh white light over the scene. The silhouettes of officers move within it, breath misting in the cold.

A black SUV is parked at the curb, still warm. The engine ticks as it cools. Inside the vehicle— waiting.

Through the windshield, Y/n watches the scene unfold. She’s been here for three minutes now. Long enough to know the rhythms of a fresh crime scene. The hushed voices of the first responders. The way the detectives cluster near the entrance, waiting for someone to tell them what to do.

Her phone buzzes in the cupholder. A message from Mack.

The car hums around her. The heater still blowing warm air against her frozen fingers.