They called it a sting because it sounded cleaner than "ambush." Ethan preferred the word "trap" — it felt more honest. Tonight, the bait would be a doctored data leak: a falsified transfer, a list of compromised officers, and a single, carefully planted video clip implying an inside leak at Apex. It was crude theater, but Apex couldn't resist cleaning up a public mess.
Tari had spent hours seeding the false trail across hushed forums and burner accounts, using the same channels Apex used to silence dissent. Tessa had coordinated the physical side: a warehouse near the docks, a crowd of decoys, and a shadows team ready to watch and report. Ethan himself would be the lure — the visible face of the leak, the detective who'd gone rogue.
They moved like machine ghosts through the night, each step rehearsed until it felt natural. Ethan's right shoulder throbbed where a graze had bled the prior week; adrenaline drowned the pain. He didn't trust silence anymore, but he trusted Tessa. She'd walk into hell for him without blinking. Tari, though, still had the look of someone walking a tightrope for the first time — taut jaw, bright eyes that didn't sleep.
They set up in the warehouse two hours before midnight. Tari's laptop hummed in the center of a metal table. On a crate nearby, Tessa checked the comms, her fingers steady. Ethan stood by the door, keeping watch. Outside, the city breathed slow and indifferent.
"Once we drop this feed," Tari said, voice steady as a scalpel, "they'll take the bait and try to pull the source. They'll hit the nearest node — we hope it's one of their cleanup teams."
"And if it's Shadowman?" Ethan asked. He hated the way the name sounded in his mouth — like a cough in a quiet room.
"Then we see how far he'll go to protect them," Tari said. "Either way, we get a name, a lead."
They launched the fake transfer precisely at 23:57. For a minute nothing happened. Then notifications began to flood in: forum moderators flagging the leak, burner accounts pinging each other frantic, and an automated alert that Apex had flagged unusual traffic to a Level 2 node.
"Got them," Tessa whispered, eyes on the screen. "They've routed an anomaly chase to the docks sector."
Ethan felt the old electricity — the brief purity of justice pursued. This was what they'd worked for. A single misstep by the enemy, and everything might tumble.
Footsteps approached. Soft, then harder. The warehouse lights cut out as if someone had pulled a switch. Ethan's breath hitched.
"Play it," he mouthed.
Tari hit "send"—the planted video played on loop: a grainy clip of a man in a city council office, hands shuffling envelopes, then a name on a screen that matched one of the Apex contractors. The clip frame blinked once and then again, as if the camera itself were nervous.
Outside, a low rumble. Engines. A convoy of black SUVs rolled up and parked at the perimeter like storm clouds. Men in dark tactical gear spilled out — not casual thugs, but trained operators. Their formation was crisp, professional. Apex had come with muscle.
Ethan's stomach tightened. "They brought more than a node team."
"Then we adapt," Tessa said, voice flat. "We record. We pull back. We don't get engaged."
A figure detached from the convoy and walked toward the warehouse alone, hands visible, as if to indicate he didn't want a firefight — or he simply didn't care. He stopped at the loading bay and raised a hand: a signal. Shadowman stepped out from the shadow of a truck. He walked slow, like a man who knows the world will rearrange itself around his steps.
Ethan hated that he felt his pulse lift at the sight. "He's got a spine for drama," he muttered.
Shadowman surveyed the warehouse with a glance that missed nothing. "You bait well," he said. "Clever."
"Who are you?" Ethan demanded, though it was more for himself than the man.
"To be what you need," Shadowman replied. "Tonight it's distraction."
The convoy's men fanned out. A second signal — quick, almost casual — and the perimeter tightened. Several operators advanced through the broken windows, weapons raised. Ethan felt the current in his arms, the old rhythm of combat. He wanted to stand, walk out, and meet them head-on. Strategy, however, had its own cruel logic. They were not to engage. Not yet.
Then, from the far corner, a commotion — someone was moving toward Tari's table. Ethan's eyes snapped. He lunged.
A palm slammed into his chest and a voice barked, "Freeze!" The barrel of a rifle pressed at his temple.
Tessa cursed under her breath and shoved a crate into the path of an operator advancing on Tari. But the room was a pressure cooker — one wrong move and the lid would blow.
"Back away," Shadowman said softly. "We're not monsters. Not tonight."
He reached the table first. Ethan watched in a kind of horror as Shadowman yanked Tari to her feet, sweeping the laptop away like a magician snatching an ace. Tari's face went pale, her legs buckling as he twisted her arm behind her.
"Let her go," Ethan snarled, lunging up.
Three men blocked him. The barrel at his temple tightened. "One step and she dies," the operator hissed.
Tari didn't scream. Her eyes were wide, blazing with a cold, furious light. Shadowman's grip was iron. "You made a mistake," he said in her ear, low enough that only she could hear. "You betrayed trust."
Tessa was water and rock all at once, pulling at the attackers, throwing punches, buying seconds that meant nothing against a trained team. Ethan felt his world narrow to the point at his temple and Tari's wide, terrified eyes.
"Who are you?" he repeated, the question raw. "Who are you working for?"
Shadowman's face was calm. "I work for the order that keeps the city alive by keeping the rot contained." He let out a breath, as if pitying them. "You wanted truth. You'll have it. But not in the way you think."
With a swift motion, a van's door slammed. Tari was dragged toward it, flanked by two operators. One of them leaned down and spoke to her — she answered, but Ethan couldn't make out the words. The van's rear doors shut like a tomb. Tires squealed. The convoy melted into the night.
Ethan's knees weakened. "No—"
Tessa's hands found his arms and held him back. "We need to move," she said, voice breaking. "They'll be watching. If we stay, they'll pick us off."
Ethan stared at the place where Tari had stood, then at the laptop gone from the table, then at the blood on his hands from a scrap he hadn't noticed he'd taken. Rage was a hot, useless thing, but it burned.
Tari had been taken. The trap had snapped shut — and they had walked right through it.
Outside, across the rooftop line of the city, a single light blinked: the city still pulsed, indifferent. Ethan clenched his fists so hard his knuckles whitened.
"We find her," he said, voice a blade. "No matter what it costs."
Tessa nodded, fierce and small. "We do."
Shadowman's echo drifted through the broken warehouse like a promise. "You wanted truth," he called from the dark street as the convoy disappeared. "Now watch how it comes."
Whatever that meant, Ethan decided in that quiet, raw moment — he wouldn't wait to find out. He'd take the truth, bruise it into the light if he had to. Even if the price was everything.