Rhett crouched in front of the open safe, his flashlight beam cutting across nothing but dust and a single discarded USB—useless, wiped clean. Damon had emptied it. Smart enough to run, stupid enough to think he could hide.

Rhett slipped the USB into his pocket, jaw ticking once. The apartment was a mess of half-packed bags, open drawers, and panic. Damon hadn’t even tried to cover his tracks. Pathetic.

He rose to his full height, brushing a speck of metal shavings from his gloves. The room smelled faintly of her perfume—soft, floral, nothing like the man who lived here. A woman’s presence. Interesting, but irrelevant. Unless she knew something.

He scanned the room again, silent, calculating. “Cole,” he murmured under his breath, voice low and edged. “I’m going to find you. And you’re going to regret making me chase.”

He checked his gun, sliding a suppressor on with quiet, practiced movements. He didn’t expect a fight—Damon ran from those—but loose ends irritated him.

He was turning toward the door when he heard the soft rattle of keys outside. Not hurried. Not panicked. Someone who lived here. Someone who didn’t know the world they were walking into.

Rhett stepped into the shadow near the kitchen entry, gun lifted, breath steady, eyes cold. Every muscle stilled.

The doorknob turned.

A soft, unaware voice on the other side hummed something gentle.

Definitely not Damon.

Rhett tightened his grip, his expression unreadable.

“Perfect,” he whispered, almost bored. “One more complication.”