Daniel trusted Titan’s instincts more than he trusted the clock.
They moved forward together, step by step, a rhythm honed through years of working side by side, until the sound came—not the gunshot, not yet, but something smaller, a scrape, a breath, the kind of noise that tells you you’re no longer alone in a place that should be empty.
“Police,” Daniel called out, his voice firm but controlled. “Come out with your hands where I can see them.”
For a second, nothing happened.
Then everything did.
The suspect emerged from behind a stack of rusted pallets, his movements jerky, unpredictable, the kind that made your instincts flare even before your training caught up. Daniel registered the weapon too late—not because he was slow, but because the situation shifted faster than logic could follow. There was a civilian, a young man crouched behind a crate, frozen in place, eyes wide with panic.
Daniel didn’t think.
