There's nothing direct on Chloe's end that points towards Charlie being the target of that obscenely loud crash on the rooftops above her; still a cursory glance over her shoulder to see the pegged officer means the gears are turning when she swings into an alleyway connecting with Charlie's failed nest.

It's a tight fit, even for her, but it buys time, and more importantly it lines her up with the tail end of a battered pickup left running while a shopkeep unloads. Or was unloading before everything started turning to chaos.

The plaster to her right splinters from a wild shot as she squeezes herself out, dust catching her eye (prompting a mild bit of swearing when she goes for the door of the truck) it's just a comforting thought that the one responsible for firing at her won't have the luxury of fitting himself through the alley in her footsteps.

Now to find the boys without a radio.

Bollocks.