?Chapter 1601:


    Yet the explosive confrontation they had braced for never materialized.


    No breath stirred the air. No movement betrayed another presence. What lingered instead was a silence that pressed inward—unnatural and deeply wrong.


    With measured precision, Grayson advanced, rifle steady in his grip. ss fragments shattered faintly beneath his boots while oil slicked the floor, each brittle crunch echoing with unsettling rity in the hollow space. His earpiece crackled to life, voices reporting in session.


    “Sector One is clear.” “Sector Two swept. No hostiles detected.” “Sector Three is empty.”


    Each update tightened Grayson’s expression further, unease sharpening into quiet suspicion.


    He pressed deeper into the workshop until he reached its center. There, standing openly beneath the dim spill of tactical light, rested two vehicles that dominated the space.


    One was the missing police cruiser from the tunnel—doors hanging ajar, emergency lights extinguished, abandoned like a useless relic. Beside it loomed the ck heavy-duty truck, the very vehicle that had swallowed the cruiser whole. Heat radiated faintly from its hood, the metal still holding the memory of recent motion. A harsh, bitter trace of burned diesel clung stubbornly to the air, sharp enough to sting the lungs.


    “The vehicles are here,” Grayson said, stepping forward. He reached toward the exhaust pipe, then recoiled instantly, jerking his hand back from the searing heat. “Then where the hell did they go?”


    He pivoted sharply, eyes slicing across the workshop with predatory intensity. Rust-eatenthes crouched in the shadows. Stacks of worn tires rose like silent sentinels. Rows of repair tools hung along the walls, their shapes harsh and menacing in the stark light. Everything remained untouched—everything except the men they hade for.


    Not a single living figure. Not even a body left behind. The workshop offered nothing but emptiness.


    “Did they just disappear into thin air?” one of his subordinates muttered, unease slipping into his tone.


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    Grayson clenched his jaw, anger burning hot beneath hisposure as the realization of being outmaneuvered settled heavily inside him. He exhaled slowly, forcing the surge of frustration back under control.


    Years as Wildebell’s top detective had hardened him against illusions. People did not vanish—not without leaving something behind.


    His gaze dropped to the ground, locking onto faint tire marks etched across the oil-streaked floor. If the truck had not carried them away, only one other possibility remained: they had switched vehicles somewhere along the way. Or perhaps this location had never been their true destination—only a temporary transfer point before moving on.


    “All units, listen carefully!” Grayson’s voice cut through the workshop with firm authority. “Expand the search perimeter. Inspect every road within half a mile and report any trace you find.”


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