Page 154 of Fractured Allegiance
It’s not adrenaline anymore.
It's an obsession.
The building sits quiet, wedged between two gutted warehouses and a half-lit bodega that’s never open on time. Naomi didn’t give details when she handed me the key, just told me where: Redhook.
I unlock the door.
Step inside.
The apartment is already furnished, enough to pass for lived-in but not burdened by any personal touches that give anowner away. Two bedrooms. One full bath. Neutral tones. Steel hardware. A couch that looks like it’s been sat on maybe twice. No dust, which means someone cleaned before I arrived.
But it doesn’t smell like anything. Not sweat, not soap, not air freshener.
Just new paint and blank intentions.
The kind of place that waits for its lies to be told.
I step deeper, dropping my coat over a high-backed chair near the kitchen pass-through. The table has no scuffs. The silverware is still sealed in plastic in the drawer. There’s a made-up bed in each room, the kind hotels dress up to look expensive, even when they’re not.
One of them will be hers.
I take the smaller one. Not because I’m noble, but because it’s closer to the exit.
The water runs clean. I test the taps. The shower's hot. No rattle in the pipes. There's a faint mark on the wall near the fuse box; someone’s knuckle, maybe. A sign that whoever set this place up didn’t use gloves. A Bureau print, probably.
Naomi wouldn't miss something like that. Which means maybe she wanted me to find it.
Fine.
I strip, step under the water, and scrub the day off my skin like it’s blood.
By the time I step out, I already know the story I’ll tell Lydia.
This is mine. It can also be a fallback for her too.
It will be. For her. I’ll make sure of it.
I towel off, change into a plain black shirt and clean jeans. A spare I always have in the car, then make a mental list, things I’ll need to get to make the place believable.
It needs to sell as mine, not just because I’ll bring her here, but because she doesn't deserve another manipulation disguised as protection. I can't tell her everything yet. But I can give her something real.
Coffee. Mugs. A throw blanket for the couch. Something in the fridge… doesn't even matter what, just enough to make it look like I come here after long nights and bad calls.
She’ll know if it’s fake.
I sleep there. Half on the couch, half conscious. The kind of sleep you only get when your body stops before your mind does. Morning’s a suggestion, not an arrival. It comes in through the window like fog.
The phone buzzes before I’ve even stood up.
Drazen: Midday. You’ll be briefed. Location comes 30 minutes before.
I stare at the screen.
Short. Vague. That means a high-level company. Maybe partners. Maybe outsiders. And Lydia will be there. Of course she will.
I stare at the message, then glance at the clock.
There’s still time.
