The tracking room was drenched in soft blue light as digital maps flickered across multiple monitors. Red pings marked locations across the map—one in particular was blinking wildly near the abandoned Dover airstrip. It pulsed with a steady rhythm like a heartbeat, freshly lit on Tara's screen.
Tara turned to Kiaan, excited. "We got it! A clean signal burst from that black zone again. This one's clearer—it's bouncing off fewer masks. We can hit it now, Kiaan!"
Dev leaned forward. "Coordinates locked. We'll need barely thirty minutes to intercept. It's probably one of the drop points. If we move—"
But before he could finish, Kiaan held up his hand, eyes narrowing like a hawk watching too many birds fly too low. His voice came out sharper than usual, his tone… suspicious.
> "We're not going."
Tara blinked, confused. "What?"
Rehaan frowned. "What do you mean we're not going? Kiaan, this is exactly what we've been waiting for. A lead inside the blackout zone!"
But Kiaan didn't budge. He stared at the screen—calm, calculating, cold.
> "That's the problem. It's too easy."
The room stilled. Dev tilted his head, confused. "You're saying… it's fake?"
Kiaan nodded slowly, folding his arms.
> "Think about it. We've been chasing shadows for weeks—everything buried, encrypted, erased. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a clean signal pings back from an airstrip Rex's men abandoned days ago? No masking, no noise, no fake bounces?"
He glanced at Tara, voice heavy with realization.
> "It's bait."
Tara's excitement melted into a frown. "But the code architecture—"
> "—Was meant to be traced," Kiaan interrupted. "That's the catch. They wanted us to find it. Probably dropped enough data to make it look real. If we walk into that location, we're not walking into a lead…"
He glanced at them all, dark eyes sharp like a blade.
> "We're walking into a trap."
Rehaan cursed under his breath. "Damn it…"
Dev backed away from the console, shaking his head. "So what now? We ignore it?"
Kiaan nodded. "We leave it untouched. Let them think we bought the bait. Meanwhile, we switch focus. Not where they expect us to search—somewhere they're sure we wouldn't."
Tara, still slightly tense, asked, "And where would that be?"
Kiaan walked to the board, erased the Dover airstrip coordinates, then circled another name: "Ashford Freight Sheds" — a storage terminal lost in old records, never digitalized, used once by British customs before being shut down.
> "This place hasn't lit up on our radar once. No signal, no whispers. That's where real ghosts hide."
Rehaan grinned, some of the tension leaving his body. "You sneaky bastard. Always three steps ahead."
Kiaan finally allowed a ghost of a smile.
> "If Rex thinks I'm the prey, then it's time he realizes—some prey learn to hunt back."