A metallic click.
Soft.
Precise.
Not from the officers. Not from the mop bucket. From the shadowed service junction near the armory access corner.
The woman’s eyes locked on it instantly.
Everything about her changed without looking dramatic. The softness vanished from her frame. The mop shaft turned, subtly, into something like an extension of intent. Sloan was still half-smiling when Ryan finally understood what he was seeing.
She had not been ignoring them because she was timid.
She had been listening past them.
Ryan took one step back. “Sir,” he said quietly, but too late.
A man in contractor coveralls emerged near the armory door with one hand inside his jacket and the other reaching toward the coded access panel. The officers froze in confused disbelief. The janitor did not.
