Lex had just gotten used to the silence when the burner phone buzzed against the chipped nightstand.
It wasn't a ringtone, just a raw vibration, low and mean, like it was clearing its throat. The phone was cheap, beat-up, prepaid—a gift from Kevlar two nights ago. No explanation. Just: "Keep it on. Keep it close. Don't answer if it ain't me."
Now it was him.
Lex sat up slowly. His room was half-dark, thin dawn light leaking around the edges of the curtain. He reached over, grabbed the burner, flipped it open. No screen name. Just a number burned into memory.
He answered.
"You awake?" Kevlar asked.
Lex yawned, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I am now."
"I need eyes on the east side. Near CMB turf. Something's off."
Lex rubbed a hand down his face. "Shit, what happened?"
"Kid went dark. Name's Trey. You might've seen him around 16th. Red hoodie. Young."
Lex nodded to himself. He didn't know the name, but yeah—red hoodie kid. Seen him around the bodega a few times, always zipping back and forth like he had somewhere to be. He was young. Too young to be mixed up in whatever this was.
"Alright," Lex said. "What am I walking into?"
"Don't know yet. That's the point. I need you watching, not talking. If something's out of place, you see it first."
Lex grabbed his hoodie from the floor. "Anyone else running this?"
"Not yet. I trust your eyes. Keep it quiet. Blend."
"Got it. Text me the spot."
Kevlar gave him an intersection. Lex repeated it back, then the call ended without a goodbye.
He dressed fast: dark hoodie, loose jeans, sneakers. Nothing that stood out. He slipped the box cutter into the inner lining of his jacket anyway. He didn't plan to use it, but plans never lasted long out there.
The building was still asleep when he stepped into the stairwell. No music from behind doors. No smells of cooking or incense. Just a cold mechanical hum from the boiler room and the city stretching its limbs.
The walk to CMB's turf was muscle memory. Lex kept his pace casual, posture loose. Didn't make eye contact, didn't look around like he was searching. Just another body in motion. Another shadow before sunrise.
He passed the old rec center, then the alley behind Manny's Deli where CMB runners usually handed off burners. Empty. Too early. Or maybe something had pushed everyone deeper underground.
When he reached the block, it felt different. The buildings leaned inward like they were listening. Faded tags layered over newer ones. Someone trying to rewrite history with spray paint. The air smelled like cheap weed and old oil. A few teenagers sat on stoops, half-awake, watching more than they talked.
Lex kept walking. Didn't look up. Turned down a side alley and slipped behind a sagging fence near a back lot full of junked cars and busted trash bins.
Then he crouched and waited.
Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen.
Movement.
Two figures came around the corner fast. One small, one big. Lex narrowed his eyes.
The smaller one wore a red hoodie. Lex recognized him now. Yeah, that was Trey. Seen him around. Never spoken, but the kid was from the block. This was his turf.
Trey looked nervous, checking behind him like he thought someone was following. The man beside him was bulkier, older. Lex didn't recognize him, but the body language wasn't right. Trey wasn't walking with him—he was being guided. Maybe pressured.
Lex leaned forward behind the fence.
They crossed the street and disappeared into the back of a boarded-up apartment building. Not one of CMB's known spots. Too quiet. Off the grid.
Lex stood and moved. Circled the block slow, staying low as he reached the opposite side. He found a cracked section of wall behind the building and pressed his back to it, inching close to an open ground-floor window.
Voices drifted out.
"Why'd you swing, man? Now we gotta keep you here 'til we figure this out."
Lex froze.
Trey's voice, tight: "You grabbed me. What was I supposed to do?"
Footsteps thudded inside. A door creaked shut.
Silence.
Lex backed away, crouched behind a dumpster, and flipped open the burner.
Found him. Inside with one of theirs. Doesn't look like a crew move.
Kevlar replied almost immediately.
Copy. Sit tight. Try to get names. Don't get seen.
Lex snapped the phone shut.
This wasn't a sanctioned grab.
Which meant someone was freelancing.
And that kind of mistake always had a cost.