The apartment was silent except for the hum of the computer screens and the occasional whisper of wind through the cracked windows. The safe house had become our war room—a place where plans were drafted, strategies refined, and every move Elliot made was countered as best as we could.But the longer we stayed in hiding, the more restless I became.“Elliot won’t stop until we take the fight to him,” I said, pacing the room. My voice was tight, every syllable laced with frustration. “We’re only reacting. That’s what he wants. We need to flip the script.”Leo, sitting on a worn couch with his head in his hands, looked up at me. “And how do you suggest we do that? Walk up to his front door and knock?”“Maybe,” I said, stopping in my tracks.Marcus, who had been typing furiously on his laptop, froze and looked at me over his glasses. “You can’t be serious.”I crossed my arms. “Why not? He thinks he’s untouchable. That’s his weakness. He’s overconfident, so he won’t expect us to go directl