Page 10 of Make Them Bleed
Gage: (gif of Kermit flailing) Maybe ask me after caffeine.
I grin. Even at 4 a.m. I’m not alone.
That thought settles something inside me. This operation may be built on lies, but the foundation—keeping Juno alive—is rock-solid truth. And as I queue up a script to scrape police blotters for fresh leads, I promise myself again: I’ll walk through hell in a Herbert Hoover mask if that’s what it takes.
For now, hell can wait until daylight.
5
Juno
Morning sunlight sneaks through the gap in my blackout curtains, doing its best impression of an interrogation lamp. I groan, burying my face in the pillow that still smells faintly of lavender detergent and broken sleep. Images from last night flicker—rubber Hoover mask, tinny voice modulator, pinky promise under a busted alley light.
Did I really meet a stranger from the dark web?
Yup. Sure did. And somehow, instead of feeling like I should hand my life over to a risk-assessment therapist, there’s an unexpected bubble of relief in my chest. I have an ally. A weird, historically themed ally—but an ally.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.Friday, 8:14 a.m. Beneath the time sits a text thread labeled Arrow:
Arrow: Outside with caffeine. Do I get a hero’s welcome or nah?
I smile despite the knot of secrets squeezing my ribs. Arrow’s weekly-morning coffee delivery is sacred tradition—predating Arby’s death, predating even my influencer glow-up. Like clockwork, my best friend arrives with steaming lattes and whatever pastry the barista claims is “life-changing.”
I drag myself out of bed, shrug on a giant cardigan that doubles as a blanket, and shuffle to the front door. When I open it, Arrow stands there in jeans, a gray Henley, and a smile bright enough to power small appliances. He brandishes two biodegradable cups like trophy goblets.
“Behold,” he declares, “the elixir of functionality.”
“And sugar?” I ask, taking mine.
“Four pumps vanilla, two pumps hope,” he confirms.
I snort a laugh and step aside. Arrow slips in, and surveys my living room. The couch is still strewn with notebooks, the corkboard looms like a crime-drama prop. I cross my fingers he doesn’t notice the fresh manila folder labeledDARKLINK INTELtucked beneath a throw pillow.
He lifts his cup in cheers. “To surviving another week.”
“Barely,” I mutter, sipping. Vanilla hits my tongue like a merciful sedative. “What about you? Crash before midnight?”
Arrow’s smile tilts. “Not really. I had… tech stuff.”
That tracks. He freelances computer security for Maddox Security—big hangar-style compound out near the train depot. Nerd paradise. “Patch any digital holes?” I ask.
“A few.” His gaze flicks to the corkboard, then quickly back to me. “So, uh, what did you get up to after I left?”
My heartbeat attempts parkour.Lie like your life depends on it, Juno.“Oh, nothing dramatic.” I fake a yawn. “Watched trashy reality TV until my brain melted. Fell asleep on the couch.”
Arrow’s brow arches. The expression screamshuman lie detectorand I suddenly wonder if he’s installed software in my face. “Reality TV, huh? Which show?”
“Love… Island… Monsters,” I improvise, instantly regretting everything.
His lips twitch. “That the one where contestants date while wearing horror-movie prosthetics?”
“Exactly!” I latch onto the lifeline. “They did a whole Franken-couple episode.”
Arrow chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re a fascinating creature, Junebug.” He sets his coffee on the side table. “Any big plans today?”
You mean besides compiling evidence for a masked vigilante meetup? Totally chill. “MightKonMarimy closet,” I say breezily. “All about sparking joy.”
He hums, unconvinced. “No investigative rabbit holes?”
