Noah moved silently through the alley, Mason and Lena close behind, backpacks tight. Ahead, a narrow stairwell led to a side entrance of a building that had long been abandoned. Its windows were boarded, the paint peeling, and the street around it almost completely empty. Noah crouched low, signaling for the others to stop. "This is it," he whispered. "Looks unassuming. Perfect for what we need. Quiet, hidden, defensible." Mason tilted his head. "Hidden from who? The street's empty." "Empty isn't safe," Noah said. "We need a base. A place to store supplies, plan moves, and train without drawing attention. This fits. But we check before entering—always check."
They climbed the stairwell carefully. Every creak echoed like gunfire in the silent building. Lena's hands were sweaty, but she kept them steady. Noah led them to a back door, prying it open with a crowbar he'd brought. The lock was old and brittle. It snapped with a quiet click. Inside, dust hung in the air, motes dancing in the fading sunlight from broken windows. The apartment was small but serviceable: a main room, a kitchen with peeling cabinets, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. Noah moved through it quickly, mapping points of entry and exit, noting weak spots. "Good enough," he said. "We'll clear it, secure it, and make it ours. Quiet is safety. Safety is preparation."
Mason started checking the windows. "Boards are loose. Someone could pry them open." Noah nodded. "Reinforce. Use furniture, nails, anything. Strength in concealment and control." They worked methodically. Lena swept the floors, clearing debris, while Mason barricaded windows with wooden planks he found in the hallway. Noah reinforced doors with metal bars from the back stairwell. Each move was precise, deliberate, designed to make the apartment hard to detect and even harder to break into. By the time night fell, the space felt secure. Small but functional. Supplies were organized into neat stacks: food, water, first aid kits, and emergency gear. Noah marked maps and notes for escape routes, secret exits, and vantage points around the building. "This will be our base," Noah said, surveying their work. "From here, we plan, train, and react. The city outside is unpredictable, but inside—inside we have control."
Lena finally sank onto a chair, exhaustion written across her face. "Feels… real," she said quietly. "Like we actually have a chance now." Mason chuckled softly. "It's just a place to sleep and hide. The chance comes from what we do outside these walls." Noah moved to the window, scanning the streets below. Even empty streets could hide danger. "True," he said. "But the base is the first step. Everything else depends on preparation, training, and timing. And we're starting tonight." He turned to the others. "Tomorrow, we begin training in earnest. Physical drills, mental exercises, escape routes, and defensive tactics. By the time anything happens outside, we'll be ready. Not just to survive, but to control our response."
A faint noise echoed from the hallway—a loose floorboard creaking under an invisible weight. Lena froze. Mason gripped the edge of a table. Noah's eyes narrowed. "Check every corner," he whispered. "Always assume someone could be watching, waiting." They moved as one, clearing the hallway, checking closets, and examining the entryways. Nothing. Just the wind rattling a broken shutter. Still, Noah's instincts screamed.
Night settled fully over the city, and for the first time in days, Noah allowed himself a brief moment of calm. Mason was asleep on one of the makeshift beds, Lena curled into a chair with her backpack as a pillow. Noah sat by the window, scanning the streets below, planning their next steps. The apartment was secure. Supplies were ready. Escape routes mapped. But he knew the calm was temporary. Victor Kane wasn't idle, and neither were the unknown dangers lurking beyond the city's empty streets. Noah stood, looking at his companions sleeping soundly. "We've taken the first step," he murmured.
The faint glimmer of a shadow moved across the street outside—almost imperceptible, distant, but deliberate. Noah's hand went to the strap of his backpack. His eyes followed the movement until it disappeared around the corner. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. Mason and Lena were safe for now. But Noah knew one thing: the safehouse was only a beginning, Tomorrow, the real training would begin. And tomorrow, they would see if they were truly ready.