The kitchen clock ticked with a heavy, metallic resonance, each second dragging like a lead weight.

Nia didn't look at the velvet box anymore; she looked at Jyn’s eyes. They were the color of stagnant river water just before a storm—dark, flat, and hiding currents that could pull a body under without a ripple.

"Forty-five minutes," Jyn corrected quietly, checking a heavy titanium watch that cost more than Nia's first car. "The Chong vanguard isn't known for patience. They like to strike while the rain covers the sound of glass breaking."

"You talk about them like weather," Nia said, her voice dangerously steady. She stood up, walking past him toward the hallway. "My son is sleeping in a dinosaur-print sleep sack. He has a runny nose and three teeth. He doesn't know about shipping ports, old bloodline contracts, or men who drive black SUVs. And I am not turning his life into an action movie."

Jyn didn't flinch. He followed her with the silent, gliding grace of a predator that didn't need to rush because it owned the territory. "You think staying here makes him safe? They already know his name, Nia. They tracked the pediatrician's digital files to your address three hours ago. If you stay, you are choosing a slaughterhouse."

"I'm not staying," Nia whipped around, her eyes flashing. "And I'm not running with a ghost who drops into my kitchen like a bad omen. We’re going to pivot."

Jyn raised an eyebrow, a flicker of genuine curiosity breaking through his icy facade. "Pivot to what?"

"To offense," Nia said, reaching for her laptop. "Marcus is outside in his Civic, pretending to be a spy. Zoe is locked in her apartment with a baseball bat and three energy drinks. And Grandma Gigi is sitting on a taser. If five SUVs are blocking the front street, that means they think we're cornered. It means they’re watching the front, the back porch, and the side alley."

"There are six exits on this block," Jyn noted, stepping closer. "They have four covered."

"Which leaves the storm drain," Nia said, slamming the laptop shut.

Jyn stared at her, and for the first time all evening, the legendary mafia boss looked genuinely stunned. "The municipal drainage system under Maple Street hasn't been cleared since 2018. It is full of rats, raw sewage, and three feet of standing water."

"Thor!" Nia called out sharply.

The massive dog trotted into the kitchen, his tail giving a single, heavy thud against the baseboard. In his mouth, he wasn't carrying a squeaky toy or a chewed-up sock. He was holding Jyn’s specialized satellite encrypted burner phone, gripped gently between his teeth like a trophy.

Jyn reached instinctively for his coat pocket. Empty.

Thor dropped the phone onto the kitchen table, gave a low, rumbling huff, and then walked over to the basement door, scratching at the wood with a massive paw.

"You were saying?" Nia raised an eyebrow, picking up the burner phone. "It looks like your security detail just got out-maneuvered by a German Shepherd who thinks your private communications are a chew toy. Now, are you going to help me pack Leo's diapers, or are we going to crawl through the mud?"