Page 19 of Fractured Allegiance
Now I’m alone again in the logistics office. Just me, the hum of old ductwork, and a desk cluttered with papers no one will ever read.
I don’t stand, I don’t move.
I just sit there, letting the void grow heavy again, watching the space where she’d been, like it’s still holding her shadow.
My cover here is safe, built to be nondescript and civil. Supply-chain management for a distribution company with no real paper trail. No one visits unless they’re bored or bleeding.
But she came in like it was planned.
And I let her.
Didn’t stop her. Didn’t check her ID. Just… watched.
I watched her speak, move, and retreat.
I watched her notice me.
That part still presses under my collarbone. The way her eyes skimmed me, not as a threat, not as prey, but as a problem she already knew how to solve.
It shouldn’t have done anything to me. But it did, enough to throw the rest of the day slightly off balance.
The hours pass without shape.
I finish the report I was writing before she came in — made-up numbers, hollow manifests, cover invoices for nonexistent crates — then lock the drawer, grab my coat, and walk out through the back.
Outside, the usual signature scent stays the same: sea salt, diesel, secrets.
By the time I get back to my apartment, dusk has folded over everything like a hand pulling gauze.
The unit’s the same as it was yesterday. Bare. Concrete-floored. Unfurnished, except for the barstool, the counter, the gun.
I toss my keys next to the Glock and unbutton my shirt like I’m peeling skin.
Then my phone buzzes.
I check the screen and exhale through my teeth.
Naomi.
I answer. Because I know she’ll keep calling.
“Ward,” I say.
“Three weeks,” she replies.
That’s all.
Three weeks.
Three weeks embedded. It’s been three weeks of me being here, of me keeping my head down, moving quiet, blending in.
But I only got Drazen’s attention days ago.
Two bodies later, and now I’m in. Just barely.
The Bureau thinks that’s enough to start the clock.
Naomi wants blood. And she wants it soon.
