They stood in front of the building that didn't blink.
No guards marked the entrance.
No lanterns swayed in warning.
But the silence around it felt orchestrated—not in welcome, not in peace, but in readiness. The front gate was reinforced with tempered iron plating, welded into stone at both edges like someone wanted to remind anyone approaching that cost came before entry.
The street had cleared by dusk.
But not from fear.
Just pattern.
Routine.
A trick in motion.
"Alright," Maverick whispered, adjusting the grip on his tonfa as he glanced across the perimeter. "How are we doing this?"
Amari didn't hesitate.
"Chaos."
He didn't say it loudly. He didn't have to.
The word itself cracked the air like a pulled blade—sharp, final, commanding.
No more planning.
No more stealth through hesitation.
Just action stitched in silence.
They moved.
Fast.
