SSS-Class Profession: The Path to Mastery-Chapter 311: Beneath the City

We had thirty-one hours left.

That number sat in the back of my mind as I stepped through the precinct doors the next morning, the hum of the flickering lights overhead somehow louder than usual. The air was thick, heavier than the rain that had fallen all night, a pressure that settled in my lungs, making every breath feel like a chore.

We had less time every second...

And yet, for the first time since this nightmare began, I felt something that almost resembled calm.

Hope.

A plan.

The one I saw in the movie, tucked between the gunshots and sirens and cuffs on wrists, an idea so simple it was almost laughable.

I just needed to make it work.

I moved quickly, cutting through the bullpen with purpose, ignoring the questioning looks from officers, the whispers that followed in my wake. They didn’t matter right now. None of it did.

I needed to find Grant.

I found him in the break room, hunched over a cup of coffee that smelled like burnt tar, his eyes red, his tie crooked. He looked up when I entered, his brows pulling together in that tired, cautious way they did whenever I walked in too quietly.

"Reynard," he said, his voice a mix of relief and exhaustion.

"Come with me," I replied, my tone even.

He didn’t question it. Just stood, leaving the coffee behind as he followed me down the hall. We moved past the rows of desks, past the patrolmen and the detectives pretending to be busy, until we reached the back hallway where the lights were dim, the old security cameras hanging like dead insects from the ceiling.

I paused, glancing up at the cameras, letting them see me, letting them hear the rustle of my coat as I shifted.

They would be listening.

Hyena would be listening.

That was the point.

I turned to Grant, who was watching me carefully, confusion flickering across his features. I pulled a piece of paper from my pocket, pressing it into his hand, my fingers tight around his for a brief second before letting go.

I made sure to have it in the camera’s blind spot.

His eyes flicked down.

"Play along."

He looked up, the confusion clearing, his eyes sharpening as he understood.

I took a breath.

"We need to block off the sewers," I said, loud enough for the cracked intercom in the corner to pick up. "The ones from Sector 45 through 50. They lead straight to Sectors 51 through 56. If Hyena decides to make a run for it, that’s the route he’ll take."

Grant blinked, a slow, deliberate motion, then nodded, slipping the paper into his pocket.

"We don’t have the resources to block them off right now," he replied, falling into the lie without hesitation, his voice casual, as if we were talking about the weather. "But it should be fine. No one knows about that route, Reynard."

I shook my head, stepping closer, lowering my voice just enough to sound like I was trying to keep it quiet, but not so low that it wouldn’t be picked up by the hidden mics Hyena undoubtedly had in the building.

"It doesn’t matter if no one knows. We can’t risk it. I’ll have someone check them out, just in case."

Grant sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, playing the part of the overworked captain perfectly. "Fine. If it makes you feel better."

"It does," I replied.

And it did.

Because there was no sewer connection.

Not in the way I described it.

The sectors were separated by reinforced barriers underground, old floodgates from before the sectors were even drawn up, sealed and welded shut decades ago during the last restructuring. The only way in or out was through specific maintenance tunnels that were controlled, monitored, and easy to block off with a single call.

Hyena didn’t know that.

Hyena thought he had control of every camera, every channel, every hidden line in this city.

But I was counting on that arrogance.

If Hyena believed the sewers were an escape route, he would take them. They were hidden, unmonitored, or so he would think, and far less risky than trying to walk through the sector in broad daylight with police men in tow.

He would think he was clever, slipping beneath the city, avoiding our eyes, our drones, our patrols.

And we would be waiting.

It was an old trick, but one that worked.

Let the rat believe the tunnel is clear, then snap the trap shut when he’s halfway through.

I leaned back, letting out a breath, letting the cameras catch the tension leaving my shoulders as if this conversation had eased my mind.

Grant gave a slow nod, his eyes meeting mine, a silent agreement passing between us.

Play along.

We stepped back into the bullpen, letting the door click shut behind us, letting the precinct return to its illusion of order and routine. Officers moved around us, carrying files, coffee, half-eaten sandwiches, their eyes flicking toward us, then away, pretending not to notice the quiet intensity that always followed me.

I made my way to the operations board, where a half-finished map of the city was pinned with red and blue markers, strings running between sectors like veins. I added a few more lines, dragging a marker across sectors 45 to 50, circling the sewer lines with a red ring, making a show of it for the cameras.

Let him see.

Let him think.

Grant stepped beside me, crossing his arms, his eyes scanning the board.

"You think he’ll take it?" he asked, whispering so quietly that I might have missed it.

I nodded. "He’s desperate, but not stupid. He won’t risk the borders if he thinks there’s a safer option."

"Let’s hope you’re right."

I said nothing, stepping back, letting the board fill my vision.

It was working.

The pieces were moving, falling into place one by one.

Anthony was still out there, crawling through dead channels, trying to trace Hyena’s signal, trying to crack the uncrackable. And maybe he would. Maybe he wouldn’t.

But now it didn’t matter as much.

Hyena thought the sewers were safe. He would plan his escape there, prepare his route, his contingencies, his backup plans.

And when the time came, when the clock ticked down to its final minutes, we would fulfill his demands, just as promised.

Then, after freeing the families, he would flee into the tunnels, thinking he had won, thinking he was escaping clean—

We would be there.

Drones in the dark, lights flicking on one by one, the old maintenance gates slamming shut, sealing him inside, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

The predator thinking he was hunting, only to find himself caught.

I felt something in my chest, something warm, almost like laughter.

It had been so long since I had felt that.

Grant glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. "You’re smiling."

I hadn’t realized it.

I reached up, adjusting the mask on my face, as if it hid the curve of my lips.

"Am I?" I asked.

Grant shook his head, a small, tired grin pulling at his mouth. "It’s obvious from under the mask."

"Don’t get used to it," I replied.

But the smile stayed, hidden under the mask.

Because for the first time since Hyena made his demands, since the families were taken, since the clock started ticking down from forty-eight hours to zero—

I wasn’t afraid of the time running out.

I wasn’t afraid of Anthony failing.

I wasn’t afraid of the demands we couldn’t meet, the threats we couldn’t counter, the fear that hung over the city like a storm cloud ready to break.

Because now, we had him.

He just didn’t know it yet.

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