The patrol boat noses past the wreckage of Pier Nine, its wake slapping black water. Ahead, Far Harbor glows sickly and low, like a bruised skyline. Jackson grips the console, glaring back at Dallas. Elena keeps watch on the city, one hand near her sidearm.

A red pulse flashes once over the water, faint but unmistakable, from somewhere deeper in the harbor district. Jackson follows it with his eyes, jaw tightening.

Elena turns from the horizon, already moving, while the patrol boat angles toward the city lights and the unseen hunt beyond them.

Dallas spreads the evidence packet across his knees, the papers snapping in the wind. A harbor chart is tucked behind the manifests, marked with a red circle inland, where the pulse flashes under the city haze.

Jackson glances down at the chart, then back at the dark shoreline, his jaw set hard. Elena leans in, reading the same marks, her sidearm still low but ready.

Dallas flips another page. A maintenance sketch is clipped behind the routing slip, and the red line ends at a service spine beneath the harbor district, tagged with a familiar Harbor Unit seal.

Jackson takes the packet from Dallas, scanning the route twice. His grip loosens a fraction, not relief, just certainty.