SSS-Class Profession: The Path to Mastery-Chapter 313: The Wrong Move

We had twenty-three hours left. freeweɓnovel~cѳm

Anthony’s voice was still ringing in my ear, sharper than the bitter coffee Grant had handed me, sharper than the hum of the servers and the cold blue glow of the screens.

"I got him."

But it wasn’t just that. He’d called back immediately, breathless, the crackle of cheap connections barely hiding the tight excitement in his voice.

"Reynard, I know where he’s hiding. And I know where the hostages are."

That made everything else stop.

Grant was looking at me from across the room, the other officers glancing up from their screens, pausing in their restless shuffling, their coffee breaks, their attempts at normalcy.

I pressed the phone tighter against my ear, turning away, stepping near the window to watch the city lights flicker under the early dawn haze.

"Are you sure?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

"I’ve been tracking the signal bounces for days. He’s using an old maintenance hub in Sector 50, abandoned telecom building. He’s holding them there, Boss. The heat signatures match. The comms match. It’s him. I can promise you that."

My fingers tightened around the phone, the band on my wrist snapping softly as I flexed my hand.

"How many hostages?"

"Around twenty, maybe more. Families, all alive. I can’t get them out alone, but I can start clearing floors, securing them. If someone is helping him then I can force them to hold back."

"No," I said, the word coming out too quickly, too hard.

"Boss—"

"Secure as many hostages as you can. Take up as much space as possible. Clear rooms, lock doors, hold ground until we get there. Do not try to take him alone."

There was a moment of silence on the line.

Then a soft, resigned breath. "Understood."

I hung up and turned back to the room, letting the cold of the glass bleed into my skin before I stepped forward.

"Everyone," I said, loud enough for the entire ops room to hear.

They all turned.

"I need everyone ready for deployment. Full tactical, breach and clear, Sector 50, abandoned telecom hub. Hostages confirmed on-site."

A ripple of confusion and tension spread through the room. Grant’s eyes narrowed, the lines on his face deepening.

"How the hell do you know that?"

"I have a contact. A good one," I said, pulling on my coat, adjusting the gloves on my hands. "And he’s inside. Right now."

"You had a spy?" one of the younger officers asked, her eyes wide.

"Yes I had a spy," I said, moving past him toward the gear lockers. "He’s an A-Ranker."

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the clatter of lockers opening, weapons being checked, vests being strapped on.

Then the room exploded into motion.

I keyed the radio. "Notify Sector 50 officers. I want a perimeter set within fifteen minutes. No sirens, no lights. We go in quiet."

Grant was beside me, slipping a fresh magazine into his sidearm, his eyes cold but alive.

"You sure about this?"

"No," I replied. "But we don’t have a choice."

We moved through the city in a convoy of unmarked cars, the rain starting again in a fine, cold drizzle that streaked down the windows like veins. The buildings loomed tall and indifferent, the glow of streetlights smeared by the wet glass.

Sector 50 was one of the quieter zones, a stretch of warehouses and empty lots, the bones of the city showing through in rusted fences and cracked pavement.

I stepped out, boots hitting puddles, the cold air waking every nerve. The building was there, exactly as Anthony had described: an old telecom hub, six stories of concrete and glass, some windows boarded up, others cracked like spiderwebs.

The others fanned out, moving with the silent, tense precision of people who knew what was at stake.

Twenty-two hours, twelve minutes, but at this point it didn’t matter. We were taking him down now.

I keyed the radio again. "Breach teams, check-in."

One by one, the voices crackled back.

"Alpha ready."

"Bravo ready."

"Charlie ready."

Grant was beside me, his hand on his earpiece, eyes scanning the dark windows. "Your contact, is he inside?"

"He’s there," I confirmed, glancing down at the burner in my pocket. "He’ll make space for us."

"Let’s hope he doesn’t get himself killed," Grant muttered.

"He won’t."

I led Alpha Team to the side entrance, the old security gate hanging off its hinges. The air smelled like mold and copper, the cold biting through the seams of my gloves.

"On three," I said.

One.

Two.

Three.

The door went down with a soft, controlled crash, and we were inside, boots crunching on broken glass, the beams of our flashlights cutting through the dark.

The building was a maze of old offices and data rooms, wires hanging like vines from the ceilings, the smell of damp paper and rust thick in the air.

"Clear left."

"Clear right."

We moved room by room, checking corners, weapons raised, the only sounds our breathing and the soft thump of boots on the concrete floors.

Halfway down the second floor, we found them.

A family, huddled in a corner office, a mother clutching two small children, their eyes wide with terror. One of the officers lowered his weapon, speaking softly, helping them to their feet.

"Get them out," I ordered with Command Presence, my voice steady, even as the adrenaline buzzed under my skin.

They moved past us, clutching each other, guided by officers toward the exits.

We kept going.

Floor by floor, room by room, we found more. A man with a broken arm, a teenage girl shaking so hard she couldn’t stand, an older couple holding hands in the dark.

We cleared them, one by one, moving them out, each life a small victory against the darkness Hyena had wrapped around this city.

But with every floor we cleared, with every hostage we freed, the question grew louder in the back of my mind.

Where is Hyena?

It was too easy.

Too clean.

My Instinct skill burned at the back of my skull, the band on my wrist tightening as I flexed my hand, scanning every shadow, every dark doorway.

Something was wrong.

We’ve been here for half an hour now.

On the fourth floor, we found Anthony.

Two officers almost tackled him before I stepped forward, grabbing his shoulder, pulling him back.

"Boss," he gasped, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, his eyes wild but focused.

"You did good," I said.

He held up his ID, and the officers backed off, moving past us to continue clearing rooms.

Anthony leaned against the wall, catching his breath. "Third and fourth floors are clear. I locked the stairwell down to slow them if they’re hiding."

"Hostages?"

"Almost all accounted for," he said, his eyes flicking toward the hallway. "But I haven’t seen him. No one has."

I nodded, the cold knot in my chest tightening.

We kept moving, clearing the fifth floor, the sixth, every room, every dark corner.

Empty.

No Hyena.

By the time we regrouped on the ground floor, the hostages were outside, wrapped in blankets, huddled under the awnings against the drizzle, EMTs moving among them.

Anthony stood beside me, breathing hard, his eyes scanning the perimeter.

"Where is he?" he asked, the question hanging in the air between us.

"I don’t know," I admitted.

And that was the truth.

I pulled off my gloves and mask for a moment, running a hand through my hair, the rain starting to fall harder, dripping from the edges of my coat, soaking into the cracked pavement at my feet.

The precinct was moving around us, officers coordinating, taking statements, securing the perimeter.

But the air felt wrong.

Like the silence before a gunshot.

I reached into my pocket, pulling out my regular phone, checking it, the screen lighting up with notifications.

That was when it rang.

A number I recognized.

Lily.

Charlie’s mom.

For a moment, I just stared at it, the rain pattering against the screen, the world narrowing to that single, insistent ring.

I answered.

"Lily?" I said, my voice quiet.

At first, all I heard was breathing.

Then a sob, sharp, broken.

"Reynard," she whispered, her voice cracking, "oh God, Rey—"

"Lily, what happened?" I demanded, the quiet in my voice gone, replaced with a sharp, cold edge.

"He—someone—he broke in," she sobbed, her words tumbling over each other, panic and grief tangling together. "I—I tried to stop him, I tried—but he took—he took Charlie—"

The world stopped.

The rain disappeared.

The cold disappeared.

Everything disappeared except for those words.

He took Charlie.

Hyena.

It was Hyena.

And I realized, in that single, frozen moment, that we had made the wrong move.

We had cleared the hostages. We had cleared the building. We had followed every logical lead, every piece of the puzzle.

And he had slipped past us.

Gone after the one piece I had let myself care about.

The rage that hit me wasn’t loud. It wasn’t explosive.

It was cold.

Pure.

Controlled.

"Lily," I said, my voice steady, calm, deadly, "listen to me. I need you to tell me everything. What happened, what you saw, what he said. Everything."

She was crying, her breath coming in sharp, painful gasps.

"He—he said—he said if you don’t finish the demands now, he’ll—he’ll—"

She couldn’t finish.

I closed my eyes, letting the rain soak through my hair, drip down my face, my mask hanging useless around my neck.

Charlie.

Hyena had Charlie.

The clock was still ticking.

But now it was personal.

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