Carlisle stepped onto the sunbaked concrete, the glass door clicking shut behind him. His hand slid beneath his apron.
“Step away, Mia,” Carlisle ordered, his voice completely stripped of its usual retail friendliness. “Let me help him up.”
Mia’s blood ran cold. The warning from the caller echoed in her skull: *Do not let him touch him.* She firmly planted herself between her manager and the bleeding stranger.
The tattooed man leaned back against the red brick wall. Ignoring his wounds, he took the water from Mia, drained it, and lifted his black smartphone.
“She did what no one else would,” the man murmured into the speaker, his eyes locked dead on Carlisle.
“Not my problem,” Carlisle snarled. He pulled a sleek, suppressed pistol from his waistband. “You should’ve bled out in the alley, Cole. Now the waitress goes with you.”
Cole didn’t flinch. His exhausted expression morphed into something violently calm. He spoke firmly into the phone.
“Yeah. I’m at Sunrise Ember. We have the confession.”
Carlisle raised the gun—but a sudden, chilling chorus of metallic clicks echoed across the sidewalk.
The manager froze.
The dozen bystanders who had been “callously filming” the scene with their smartphones lowered their devices in perfect unison. They weren’t gawkers. They weren’t internet rubberneckers. Jackets unzipped to reveal tactical vests and badges. Red laser dots instantly painted Carlisle’s chest like a gruesome constellation. They hadn’t been recording for TikTok; they’d been live-streaming the assassination attempt to a federal command unit.
Cole pushed himself up, patting the thick, bullet-ridden lining of his biker vest—the exact spot Carlisle’s hitmen had targeted an hour ago.
“You were right about one thing, Carlisle,” Cole smirked, watching the manager drop his gun in sheer terror. “You are firing her. She deserves a better boss.”