The city didn't sleep. It just waited — like a wolf watching from the dark.
Hale sat in the back booth of a nameless diner in Queens, coffee untouched, hands wrapped around the warm ceramic like it could anchor him to something solid. Red sat across from him, slouched low, hoodie up, eyes hidden behind cracked lenses.
"Drexler's not answering any lines," Red muttered. "Burner phones all dead. Email accounts ghosted. Digital footprint? Like he never existed."
Matthew nodded, his eyes fixed on the smudged window. "But he did exist. I saw him. I heard him. And if he's not dead, they've got him."
Red leaned forward. "Or he's running. Wouldn't blame him. He stuck his neck out in that video. And you think Blackstar plays fair?"
Hale pulled a folded sheet of paper from his jacket — a printout of Drexler's last known address. "We're going."
Red blinked. "That's in Yonkers."
"Then let's hope the train runs quiet."
The apartment complex was empty — too empty.
Red swept the hallway with a frequency scanner while Hale picked the lock. The door creaked open into stale air and silence. Drexler's place was stripped — furniture gone, electronics removed, even the lightbulbs unscrewed. But something felt wrong. It was too clean.
Too professional.
They searched in silence until Red found it — a smear of blood behind the fridge. Just a few drops, but enough.
"Someone got sloppy," he said. "Or wanted us to know he didn't go quietly."
Hale stared at it, fists clenched. "Either way, this confirms it. They're hunting loose ends."
He opened a cabinet and found a single item left behind: a torn notebook page, wedged under a false shelf. Scribbled in blocky, rushed handwriting:
"EMBERLIGHT = RIVERSIDE VAULT?"
"M.H. — Trust no one inside."
Matthew's brow furrowed. He folded the note and slipped it into his coat. Riverside Vault — a storage facility on the Upper West Side, maybe? Or something else?
Outside, the street was still and cold.
A dark SUV idled at the far end of the block, engine rumbling. Hale clocked it instantly.
"We're being watched."
Red didn't argue. He handed Hale a burner phone. "You'll need this more than I will."
"Where are you going?"
Red half-smiled. "To make a mess."
He vanished into the alley.
Hale turned the opposite direction, collar up, shadows clinging to his back. Drexler was gone. Maybe dead. But he'd left a trail — and Hale wasn't the type to ignore a ghost's whisper.