Night settled like rot on the city.
In the back of an abandoned gas station, Aaron unfolded blueprints stolen weeks ago—schematics of Bishop's stronghold: an underground fortress beneath the bones of a decommissioned train terminal.
Reggie's men were gone. The ones that survived the trap left smoking and bitter.
Now it was just them.
Three ghosts.
Aaron.
Leon.
Matt.
Planning the unthinkable.
Aaron circled a room on the map.
"This is it. Control room. If we breach it, we cut his feeds. He won't see us coming."
Leon checked the ammo. Re-loaded. Quiet, focused.
Matt sat apart, watching the map with an unreadable expression.
He hadn't slept.
He didn't blink much anymore, either.
Aaron caught him staring.
"You good?"
Matt nodded once.
But something about it didn't land.
It wasn't the answer of a man who was good.
It was the answer of a man who'd already made peace with something no one else knew was coming.
Leon spoke.
"We go in quiet. We hit hard. We don't split."
Matt's voice was soft.
"What if we do?"
Aaron turned to him. "What?"
Matt finally stood. Moved slow. Measured.
"If we split, we can draw him out."
"No," Aaron said. "That's exactly what he wants."
Matt walked to the table.
Picked up the bishop chess piece—the one left for Aaron weeks ago.
He turned it over in his fingers. Studied it like it had answers.
Then he crushed it in his palm.
Pulverized the ceramic to dust.
Aaron stared.
Leon straightened.
And Matt looked up.
"He thinks I'm still part of his board," Matt said. "But I'm not."
He dropped the dust on the table.
Aaron stepped forward. "What are you planning?"
Matt didn't answer.
Just smiled.
And it wasn't Bishop's smile anymore.
It was something else.
Something new.