Smoke still curled from the warehouse when Slade stepped outside.

The operation had been fast. Brutal. Efficient.

The ring hadn’t expected someone who didn’t negotiate.

Police sirens wailed in the distance—late, as usual. Slade wiped blood from his blade with mechanical calm, scanning the perimeter one last time to ensure no one slipped through the cracks.

Inside, cages had been cut open.

Locks shattered.

Names documented.

He didn’t stay for gratitude. Didn’t wait for statements.

But as he moved toward his vehicle, he noticed one figure lingering near the loading dock. Not running. Not speaking. Just standing there like motion had been stripped from her.

Last one out.

She watched him with wary, hollow eyes—the kind that had learned not to trust rescue.

Slade held her gaze evenly.

“It’s done,” he said, voice low and steady. Not soft. Not harsh. Just certain.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t follow the approaching lights.

Didn’t step toward freedom like it was something she believed in yet.

Slade glanced back at the warehouse, jaw tightening faintly.

“Do you have somewhere to go?” he asked.

Silence.

That told him everything.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, recalculating.

This wasn’t part of the contract.

But neither was leaving loose ends.

He opened the passenger door of his truck.

“You can stay until you figure it out,” he said. No pity. No pressure. Just an option laid on the table.

Because Slade didn’t save people.

He eliminated threats.

But sometimes—

That left survivors behind.

And he wasn’t the type to walk away from unfinished work.