Page 12 of Whispers in the Quarter

The next few hours were a crash course in becoming someone else. Alex moved through the building like a ghost, teaching me not just techniques but a whole new way of thinking.

“Every identity has layers,” he explained as we accessed the records room. “Surface details—signatures, mannerisms, the way Celeste took her coffee. Then deeper: her fears, her dreams, the nightmares that woke her at 3 AM.”

Something in his tone made me pause. “You knew her.”

His smile was enigmatic. “I know everyone worth knowing in this city, little shadow. Your sister...” he trailed off, something dark flickering behind his eyes. “She was particularly worth knowing.”

Before I could press further, he gestured to the filing cabinet. “Show me how you’d approach this.”

I moved forward, trying to apply his earlier lessons. “Check for alarms first,” I murmured, running my fingers along the edges. “Look for signs of tampering or surveillance.”

“Good. And?”

“And...” I studied the lock. “This isn’t like the door. It’s older, probably?—”

“Probably still using the original mechanism from the 80s,” he finished. “Which means?”

I smiled, reaching for my picks. “Which means it’s about to have a very bad night.”

His laugh was surprisingly warm. “You’re a quick study, little shadow. But remember—overconfidence?—”

“Gets you caught or killed,” I finished, focusing on the lock. “You’ve mentioned that. Several times.”

“And I’ll keep mentioning it until it’s carved into your bones.” He moved closer, watching my technique. “Just like Celeste. She never did like being told to be careful either.”

The lock clicked open, but I barely noticed. Every casual mention of my sister sent daggers through my heart. “Tell me about her,” I whispered. “About... about who she really was.”

Alex was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice had lost its teacherly tone. “Later. First, let’s make sure you can become her convincingly enough that no one ever questions it.” His hand squeezed my shoulder. “The best disguise isn’t just about documents and signatures. It’s about believing it so completely that others have no choice but to believe too.”

I nodded, pushing down my questions for now. “What am I looking for exactly?”

“Birth certificate, social security card, school records—anything official that makes Celeste real on paper.” He began systematically checking files. “But more importantly, you’re learning how to move in this world. The shadows, the secrets, the power that flows beneath this city’s surface.”

“Like you do?”

His smile turned predatory again. “Oh no, little shadow. I’m going to teach you to move through this world in ways entirely your own.” He pulled out a file, holding it just out of reach. “But first, let’s see how quietly you can get us out of here. Consider it your first official test.”

I took a deep breath, centering myself the way he’d shown me. “And if I fail?”

“You won’t.” His certainty sent a shiver down my spine. “You’re a natural shadow, Sarah. You just need to learn to embrace it.”

As we made our way back through the darkened building, each step a lesson in stealth and precision, I felt something shifting inside me. The grief was still there, a constant ache in my chest, but now it had purpose. Direction.

Alex was right—I was becoming a shadow. His shadow, Celeste’s shadow, a shadow of justice in a city of secrets.

And shadows, I was learning, could be far more dangerous than anyone suspected.

The memory fades like morning mist over the bayou, leaving me alone in my candlelit apartment. I trace my fingers over the maps and notes before me, seeing them with new eyes. Every technique, every carefully planned move—they all carry echoes of that first night with Alex. The night Sarah began to fade and Celeste’s shadow took shape.

“Some lessons,” I murmur to the darkness, “are carved deeper than others.”

I reach for my locket, the familiar weight both comfort and curse. Inside, Celeste’s photo seems to watch me with knowing eyes. She’d understood the city’s darkness better than I’d known. Had that understanding gotten her killed?

I never questioned.

I only ever needed to knowwhokilled her, notwhy.

Standing, I move to the window, watching the New Orleans night pulse with life and secrets. A street performer’s saxophone wails a lonely tune, and for a moment, I swear I can hear Alex’s voice:“The best disguise is believing it so completely that others have no choice but to believe too.”

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