John stopped at the last second after his Matrix Vision changed colors.

’Red...’ he trailed off.

That only happened when he was about to do something that could cost him his life. A warning that rarely appeared, and never without reason.

His cognitive abilities was in the same rank to Samantha, but it worked in a different way.

Forensic Sight focused on recreating past events.

Matrix Vision, on the other hand, gave him a form of x-ray vision and warned him of danger, almost like a pre-cognitive sense.

He used it not just for assassinations, but also to choose his path. It let him avoid danger and slip through most conflicts without harm.

When he pulled his finger back, the lines shifted to green again.

"We need to retreat." His tone stayed low but firm. There was no room for second-guessing.

Carefully, he lowered the rifle, took it apart, and slipped out. Moments later, he reached Samantha’s room.

Moments later, he reached Samantha’s room.

"Let’s go." He commanded

Pain showed on her face as she forced herself to speak.

"Where? I thought we would leave at dawn?"

"Change of plan. This place is compromised."

Hearing how serious he sounded, she decided to follow his lead without question.

She forced herself up and walked slowly behind him. He helped her from time to time, steadying her so she would not fall.

Ten minutes later, a park black van came into view. He helped her into the back, shut the door, and they drove off.

Through the rear window, the abandoned warehouses shrank into the dark.

He kept watching the road behind them.

Only after a full five minutes passed without any sign of pursuit did he let out a sigh of relief.

Whoever was inside that building was bad news—for him and everyone else.

.

.

.

Fifteen minutes later.

Francis slowly opened his eyes.

’Who was that?’ he wondered to himself. Earlier, he sensed danger for a split second, and it vanished just as fast.

He pretended not to notice, hoping the other party would make a move.

But nothing came.

Looking to the side, he saw his energy level had recovered slightly, so he made a move and checked the area.

Outside, he moved through the warehouses one by one, scanning each corner.

Most of the buildings were empty or half-collapsed, but one structure pulled his attention away from everything else.

About a kilometer out, it stood higher than the rest. Two stories tall, built in a way that gave it a clear view over the entire area.

From there, anyone could watch movement across the warehouses without being noticed easily.

He moved toward it and broke into a run. If someone was really after him, this was the best moment to strike and stop him from getting closer.

But nothing came. No attack, no movement, no pressure from the shadows.

He reached the building without resistance.

The moment he stepped inside, the smell of blood hit him.

His expression changed slightly, and he moved deeper into the place right away.

There were dried drops of blood on the floor, making a clear trail. It did not take him long to reach his destination.

It was a room.

Empty medicine boxes were scattered across the floor.

Used, bloodied bandages lay in small piles. A sheet, once white, was stained dark with dried blood.

’Someone else is using this place to hide,’

That meant it was all a coincidence.

’But who was it? There is no way a normal person could make me feel threatened like that.’

He stood in the doorway and scanned the room again, this time with more focus.

Now that his thirst for revenge was temporarily quenched, his mind settled back into its usual calm and calculative state.

The medicine boxes were not all in one place. They were spread — some near the bed, one kicked toward the far corner, another sitting upright beside the wall like it had been set down carefully mid-task.

Judging from the amount of blood, there was no way that one person could have done all of this alone.

The scatter pattern only made sense if a second set of hands was involved — opening, discarding, reaching across without thinking about where things landed.

He started checking the other areas, and his eyes drifted toward the window.

The dust on the ledge was disturbed in two places. Parallel marks, each roughly the width of a finger.

He crouched and looked closer.

’Bipod feet.’

The spacing and depth told him enough. High-caliber. Heavy rifle. Set up professionally.

He straightened up and looked out through the window.

The angle was clear. Open sight line across the yard, through the gap between the outer fence posts, and directly toward the warehouse where he was.

He followed the line with his eyes.

Then he stopped.

From here, the sniper would have seen the building.

Nothing more. The interior was blocked by the structure itself — no window on that side, no gap in the roofing.

Francis touched his chin.

’So how did they know I was there?’

A standard scope could not see through solid walls. Even infrared had limits against dense materials.

Which left one possibility.

An ability.

Something that extended perception beyond normal range.

Not just enhanced sight — something closer to x-ray vision.

He looked at the bipod marks again.

Whoever set up that rifle was ready to take the shot.

And then decided not to.

That was the part that stayed with him.

Ordinary bullets would not be able to pierce through so many obstacles at once. That meant what he was dealing with was not a standard-issue sniper.

’A special category trying to save someone in this rundown place instead of going to a hospital?’

Only reason to do that was if they did not want the law to find them, or if they were being chased by someone tied to it.

Just as he started piecing things together, a strange idea came to him.

’Don’t tell me...’

He quickly returned to the first room and began flipping through the items.

Slowly, he opened it.

A laugh almost slipped out from him.

Inside was something he would never mistake for anything else.

Samantha’s bloodied, discarded clothing.

’So she did survive after all,’ he could not help but smile. ’She really has luck on her side.’

Back then, he decided not to kill her and let fate decide her outcome. It was uncharacteristic of him, yes, but her father not treating her right made him pity her.

It seemed she was rescued by her father’s men.

There was no way a wealthy and influential man like that would not know about the setup.

It would not even be surprising if he intentionally let things to escalate to that point for his own personal agenda.

With his question finally answered, he paced toward the window and stopped there.

He stood still for a moment, eyes fixed outside. The darkness had not changed much.

Only the wind moved through the broken edges of the building.

’I hope you learned your lesson, and stop being so trusting in the future,’

He muttered to the wind, like a father quietly wishing for his daughter’s well-being.’