Victor Kane isn't just a random bad guy; he's smart, he's watching, and he's already moving his chess pieces while the rest of the world is asleep.
Since Mason and Lena don't know the full history of Victor's cruelty yet, they don't realize that a "small argument" with his people is actually a life-or-death situation.
The safehouse felt smaller every day. Between the stacks of solar batteries, Claire's new medical crates, and the constant sound of Noah sharpening his blades, everyone's nerves were shot.
"We need more food, Noah," Mason said, slamming a notebook onto the kitchen table. "If we're going to stay cooped up here like prisoners, we need more than canned beans and protein bars."
"We eat what we have," Noah said without looking up from a map of the city's underground tunnels. "Going out unnecessarily is a risk we can't take yet."
"A risk?" Lena chimed in, leaning against the doorframe. "Noah, we've been training for weeks. We're fast, we're quiet, and we're bored. Mason is right. We need a proper run."
Noah finally looked up. He saw the restless energy in them. It was dangerous. If he kept them locked up too tight, they'd snap. "Fine. There's a wholesale market three blocks from the old docks. Take the truck. Get only the basics. No detours."
"Finally," Mason muttered, grabbing his jacket.
Two hours later, the "no detours" rule was already failing.
While loading the back of the truck at the market, Mason bumped into a group of men wearing matching grey jackets. They didn't look like normal shoppers. They looked like they were on a mission—organized, cold, and led by a man with a jagged scar across his knuckles.
"Watch where you're going, kid," the man with the scar said, pushing Mason back.
"I was here first," Mason snapped back. Usually, Mason was the quiet one, but weeks of Noah's "end of the world" talk had made him jumpy and defensive. "The aisle is wide enough for both of us."
One of the men stepped forward, his hand resting on a holster hidden under his jacket. "You've got a lot of gear in that truck for a civilian. Batteries, radios... who are you working for?"
Lena stepped between them before Mason could say something stupid. She recognized the look in these men's eyes. They weren't just thugs; they were soldiers. "We aren't working for anyone. We're just moving house. Move your car so we can leave."
The man with the scar laughed, but it wasn't a friendly sound. "You tell your boss—whoever he is—that this district belongs to Victor Kane. Nothing moves through here without a tax."
"Victor Kane?" Lena's eyes narrowed.
"Yeah. Remember it," the man said. He signaled his guys to move their SUV, but as they drove past, he pointed a finger at the license plate of Noah's truck. He was marking them.
When Mason and Lena got back to the safehouse, the air was thick with tension. They told Noah what happened while they unloaded the food.
Noah's face went pale. He stood up so fast his chair hit the wall. "You talked to them? You let them see the truck?"
"They started it, Noah!" Mason shouted, finally snapping. Victor Kane thinks he owns the street. I wasn't going to let him push us around."
"Do you have any idea what you just did?" Noah's voice was a low, terrifying hiss. "Victor Kane isn't just 'some guy.' He's a vulture. He's been watching the same signs I have. If his men saw our gear, he knows we're preparing. He's going to come looking for us."
"So let him!" Lena argued. "We've been training. We have the gear. Why are you so afraid of this guy?"
"Because I know how he wins!" Noah roared, startling even Claire in the next room. "He doesn't fight fair. He waits until you're sleeping. He uses your friends against you. You just put a target on all of our backs because you couldn't keep your mouth shut over a parking spot!"
The room went silent. Mason looked down at his shoes, the reality of Noah's anger finally sinking in. Lena looked away, her jaw tight.
"From now on, nobody goes out alone," Noah commanded, his hands shaking slightly. "We move the safehouse location in two days. They can't find us here."
"Move again?" Claire asked, walking into the room. "Noah, I just set up the medical equipment. We can't keep running."
"We aren't running," Noah said, looking out the window at the darkening street. "We're repositioning. Victor is moving faster than I remembered. If he's already marking territory, then the war has started four years early."
In a high-rise office across the city, the man with the scar handed a piece of paper to a man sitting in a leather chair. On the paper was Noah's license plate number.
Victor Kane looked at it and smiled. "A group of kids playing survivalist? Interesting. Keep an eye on them. I want to know where they're getting those batteries."
Noah was right. The game had changed. It wasn't just about monsters anymore. It was about the man who was watching waiting for Noah to make one more mistake.
The tension is real! Noah is stressed, the team is annoyed with his "bossy" attitude, and Victor is now officially on their trail.