he who hesitates is toast

She's running hard up against the edge of when even she has to admit she needs to call in or rouse suspicion, but she hasn't found anything yet. Steve isn't answering his phone and neither is Nat – both good signs, she tells herself – and there's nothing in his apartment when she does a sweep. Even tracking Steve's race across the rooftop yields no results but shattered glass and a few bootprints that offer no answers.

But she can't go back to the Triskelion.

She's climbing back down the edge of the neighboring building when her phone goes off, the caller ID showing a number she doesn't recognize. Sharon hits accept and lifts the phone to her ear. "Who is this?"