That was all it took. I broke into a run, boots pounding concrete as I followed him inside. The warehouse swallowed sound—forklifts whining, pallets slamming, men shouting over engines. He moved fast, weaving between stacks of boxes like he knew the layout better than anyone. Too smooth. Too intentional. “Stop him!” I shouted.
Two workers near the loading bay reacted on instinct, stepping into his path. The man skidded to a halt, boots scraping concrete, eyes wide now, chest heaving like he’d been sprinting for miles. I was on him seconds later, grabbing his arm as he twisted away. “I didn’t do anything!” he shouted, panic breaking through his voice. “I swear—I didn’t do anything!”