Nicholas Pov
Nathan rubbed a hand over his face, hair sticking up from sleep as the coffee machine sputtered to life. He leaned against the counter, squinting at the glow of the screens.
"You look like you're trying to solve the end of the world," he said hoarsely.
"Feels like it," I replied without looking up. I scrolled again, pausing on a still image pulled from a traffic cam. A woman in scrubs. Mid-thirties. Tired posture. Empty eyes. "These are the ones who hit the retired soldiers. Three confirmed. Two women, one man."
Nathan poured himself a mug and came closer, peering over my shoulder. "They don't look like mercs."
"That's the point." I tapped the screen. "Nurse. IT contractor. Warehouse supervisor. No priors. No known affiliations. Ordinary lives."
"But?" he prompted.
"But look at them." I switched between photos. "Same stare. Like something's already burned them out from the inside."
Nathan's jaw tightened. "Sleep deprivation? Drugs?"
