The Route

The Route

Aaron stood in front of the laptop, fingers flying over the keyboard as the map adjusted again. Two red markers pulsed on the screen, standing out against the dark city grid. The room was silent except for the faint hum of the computer and the distant sound of sirens outside. Everyone was watching him, waiting.

He exhaled sharply, tapping a key before turning to the others. “Alright. I’ve narrowed it down.”

Thompson stepped forward. “Let’s hear it.”

Aaron pointed at the two markers. “Every false lead was designed to misdirect us. But the relay pattern repeats in two locations—one on Harold Avenue, the other on Berkeley Street. Both are remote enough to stash hostages, and both have limited foot traffic. If they’re hiding the diplomats, it’s in one of these.”

Thompson studied the screen, arms crossed. “We’ll have to split up.”

Aaron nodded. “Makes sense. More ground covered, faster.”

Thompson made the call quickly. “I’ll take Hera. We’ll check out Berkeley Street.” He turned to Shane and Aaron. “That leaves you two for Harold Avenue.”

Shane frowned. “You sure about that?”

Thompson gave him a pointed look. “You have a problem?”

Shane hesitated, glancing at Aaron, then exhaled. “I just don’t want to be responsible for him if something goes south.”

Aaron arched a brow. “Wow. Confidence-inspiring.”

Shane shrugged. “I’m just saying—”

Thompson cut him off. “You’ll both be fine. Just stay sharp.”

Shane turned to Aaron. “No offense.”

Aaron, threw Shane a deadpan expression. “Offense taken.”

Thompson ignored them. “We move out now. No wasted time. Jacob already has a van ready for you two. Hera and I will take a separate car.”

Aaron gave a short nod, closing his laptop. “Then let’s go.”

They made their way down the hallway, their pace quick but steady. The weight of the mission settled over them, pushing out any unnecessary conversation. When they reached the lobby, Alberta was waiting.

She stepped forward, her expression tight with worry. “Are you leaving already?”

Thompson slowed but didn’t stop. “There's a business we have to attend to.”

"All of you?" Alberta asked, cocking her eyes.

"Yes, Ms. Alberta. All of us."

Her hands wrung together. “My son is still coming. He’s on his way.”

“We know,” Hera assured her, briefly touching the older woman’s arm. “We’ll be around to meet him when he gets here.”

Alberta nodded, though the concern in her eyes didn’t fade. “Be careful out there. I hear there's some robbery craze out on the streets today. ”

Thompson gave her a small nod before moving past. Hera followed, and the four of them exited into the night.

The van Jacob had arranged was parked at the curb, engine running. Another black sedan was waiting for Hera and Thompson. The air was sharp, carrying the lingering scent of rain and city grime.

Aaron slid into the passenger seat of the van as Shane got behind the wheel. “You drive?”

Shane smirked. “Unless you want to.”

Aaron scoffed. “Hard pass.”

Thompson turned to Hera near the sedan. “We’ll check Berkeley first. If you find anything at Harold, you let us know immediately.”

“Same goes for you,” Shane said.

Thompson nodded, then turned to Aaron. “Stay focused.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow. “I always do.”

Thompson didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he and Hera got into their car. The moment the doors shut, both vehicles peeled away from the curb, splitting off into the darkened streets of the city.

The car ride was silent at first. Hera kept her hands on the wheel, her focus locked on the road. Thompson sat beside her, his gaze flicking between the GPS and the passing streets. The city lights cast flickering shadows inside the car, stretching across the dashboard, across their faces.

Then, from the corner of his eye, Thompson caught the name flashing on Hera’s phone screen—Winston Center. A missed call.

He hesitated, debating whether to say something.

“You didn’t answer that,” he finally said.

Hera’s hands tightened on the wheel, but her expression didn’t shift. “It wasn’t urgent.”

Thompson wasn’t convinced. “You sure?”

She exhaled through her nose, her grip flexing slightly before relaxing. “I would’ve picked up if it was.”

He let it hang there for a moment, watching as the city streets stretched ahead. Then, she spoke again, voice quieter.

“My mom’s there,” she said.

Thompson didn’t press, just nodded, waiting.

“She’s not doing great.” Hera kept her gaze forward, but her fingers tapped against the wheel, a restless rhythm. “Alzheimer’s. It started small—forgetting things, losing track of time. But now… now it’s worse. Sometimes she doesn’t even recognize where she is.”

Thompson understood that helplessness too well—the slow, cruel unraveling of someone you loved.

Hera let out a breath, almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “She used to be so sharp. The kind of woman who could cut someone down with just a look. And now…” She shook her head. “Now she’s just… fading.”

Thompson knew better than to offer empty words. He only said, “I’m sorry.”

Hera nodded once. “I don’t talk about it much.”

“Understandable,” he said. A pause. Then, before he could stop himself, he added, “I know what it’s like to lose someone in pieces.”

Hera glanced at him.

Thompson exhaled. “The video,” he said, voice heavier now. “I was on a FaceTime call with Alex when it happened.”

Hera frowned slightly. “You saw him?”

Thompson shook his head. “No. But I should have.” He stared at the passing streetlights, jaw tight. “I wasn’t looking anywhere else. I had missed them so much. I was just watching their faces, listening to them talk, trying to memorize everything—” He broke off, inhaling sharply. “And the whole time, he was there. In the room.”

Hera didn’t look away from the road, but he felt her attention shift.

“You think if you had noticed, it would’ve changed something?”

Thompson’s fingers curled into a fist on his knee. “I don’t know.”

They fell into silence. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that meant something. The kind that didn’t need to be filled.

The GPS beeped, breaking the moment.

“We’re almost there,” Hera said, her voice sharpening.

Thompson straightened. “Let’s hope we find something.”



Meanwhile, in Aaron and Shane's car, Shane’s hands gripped the wheel as they sped down the darkened streets, the city lights blurring past. Aaron sat in the passenger seat, his laptop balanced on his knees, fingers moving across the keyboard in rapid succession. The air between them was tense but familiar—Shane talking, Aaron half-engaged, absorbed in his work.

“You know,” Shane started, shifting gears, “I don’t know why I expected you to be more talkative tonight.”

Aaron didn’t look up. “Because you don’t learn.”

Shane scoffed. “You’re a real delight to be around, you know that?”

Aaron ignored him, eyes scanning the data on his screen. The building layout, recent utility usage, anything that might tell them if their location was active. The Harold Avenue site had all the right indicators—abandoned but still drawing power, isolated enough for discretion but close enough for a quick escape. It fit.

Shane let the silence settle for a few beats before speaking again.

“So. Lucas.”

Aaron’s fingers faltered slightly on the keyboard, but he didn’t look up. “What about him?”

Shane shrugged. “I’m just saying, you’ve been all up in my business about Jess, but you never talk about your thing.”

"I have never once asked you a thing about Jess." Aaron stressed, tuneing to look up at Shane, whose eyes remained fixed on the road.

"You know what I mean. All I'm saying is. I want to hear all about Lucas." Shane continued.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Shane glanced at him. “Come on, we’re guys. That’s what we do. I complain about Jess, you complain about Lucas. It’s the unspoken rule.”

Aaron let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, except I’ve never actually dated a guy before. So it’s not exactly the same.”

Shane raised an eyebrow. “Wait, Lucas is your first?”

Aaron exhaled, finally shutting his laptop. “I don’t know what he is.”

Shane considered that. “You like him?”

Aaron hesitated, breathing into the biting cold. "I don't know. Maybe?"

“Then that’s what matters,” Shane said simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Aaron stared at him for a second before shaking his head with a smirk. “You’re not slick. I hope you know that.”

“Please. I'm dating a supermodel. I'll be the judge of that,” Shane said, grinning.

The tension in the car had eased just slightly when Aaron suddenly stiffened. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing at the windshield. “Slow down.”

Shane’s grin faded as he followed Aaron’s gaze. The warehouse loomed ahead, its rusted metal exterior bathed in the dim glow of a nearby streetlamp. It looked empty—silent, still. But then, movement. A shadow slipping past a broken window. Another near the entrance.

Aaron turned to him, voice low. “There are people inside.”

Shane reached for his gun, checking the magazine before shoving it back in place.

“I can’t stress this enough, Aaron.” His voice was firm, his usual playfulness gone. “Follow my lead.”

Aaron met his gaze, then nodded.

They pushed open the car doors, stepping into the night, preparing for whatever was waiting inside.