There’s a report on her work history. Routine projects, nothing flashy, but the last two weeks she’s been working late.
Pavel glances at me sideways. “Want us to approach her?”
“Yes,” I say, not hesitating. My voice is calm, but even Pavel hears the edge. “Keep it light. Friendly. If she’s clever, she’ll feel the pressure. If not…” I shrug, letting him fill in the rest.
He grins, teeth sharp in the blue dashboard light. “My pleasure, Boss.”
We circle the block once before parking where the SUV can’t be seen from her stoop. The neighborhood is typical for her kind. Young, overworked, pretending not to be fragile. I watch the building’s entrance, shadowed beneath a tired streetlamp, and check the clock. Sera’s always home by seven on Thursdays.
***
Tonight, she’s right on schedule.
She appears on the corner, plastic bag dangling from one hand, the other juggling a phone and her keys. Her hair’s knot has been tightened since she left work, nothing glamorous, a few strands breaking free to frame her face. Her coat’s too big, sleeves swallowing her wrists, but she moves with purpose, shoulders back, stride quick, as if daring anyone to slow her down.
A neighbor calls out. A woman, older, standing on the stoop with a cigarette and an air of bored authority.
Sera rolls her eyes, slows just enough to exchange a few words. The neighbor says something about rent checks or garbage night. Sera’s reply is pure sarcasm, voice dry as salt: “Thanks, but if I see another landlord memo about recycling I might move to the woods.” The neighbor barks a laugh, stubs out her cigarette, and waves Sera on. I catch myself smirking, enjoying the flash of attitude.
She unlocks the door with a key on a battered lanyard, then props it with her hip as she wrangles her groceries. There’s a moment, just a heartbeat, where she stands in the spill of lamplight and mutters under her breath—something about the price of coffee or the cold.
I watch the way her fingers tighten on the strap of her bag, the little frown she wears like armor. Even from across the street, I can see the lines of tension in her shoulders, the way she checks over her shoulder before stepping inside.
Pavel gives me a look, a silent question. I nod. He slides out of the car, blends into the shadows. I watch as he brings a set of lockpicks from his pocket and gets to work.
From the seat, I study every detail. The way she moves quickly, but not panicked. She’s not oblivious. She knows this city. She knows people watch. I like that. I like the idea of her feeling the heat, the first prickle of danger.
I imagine her skin flushing when she realizes someone’s behind her, her mind racing as she retraces her steps. I want her nervous. I want her sharp.
Ten minutes pass, maybe twelve. Pavel returns, sliding into the passenger seat. “She’s upstairs. She’s upstairs, sat at her desk. Checked her window twice. She knows something’s off, but she didn’t know I was there.”
Good. Let her feel the edges. Let her guess. I let out a slow breath, the craving in my chest twisting into something darker: satisfaction, anticipation, something closer to hunger than patience.
“She’s young,” Pavel remarks, watching me. “Not a fighter, but she’s got bite.”
“That’s the kind I prefer,” I say, my gaze never leaving the building’s front door.
I watch her silhouette cross the window, backlit by the glow of her laptop. She pulls off her sweater, slumps into her chair. From my vantage, she could be anyone. Just another girl working late, trying to carve out space in a city that doesn’t care if she vanishes.
I know better. I know the fire under all that caution. I want to see how long it takes for her to burn.
My mind drifts. I imagine her in my world, her sharp tongue meeting my cold command, her sarcasm wilting in the heat of real fear. I want to see her tremble, watch her eyes widen as the truth comes clear. That everything she knows, everything she trusts, means nothing now.
She belongs to me. She just doesn’t know it yet.
Pavel’s voice drags me back. “We’ll keep an eye on her. You want us to make contact? Say something on your behalf?”
“Not yet,” I say. “I want to watch a little longer. Pressure, but nothing overt. Make sure she feels it, though. I want to see how she handles the dark.”
He nods, already texting orders. His phone glows in the gloom. “You want the neighbor spoken to?”
“Not unless she gets nosy. The focus is Sera.”
He stretches, settles back. “You ever worry you’re going too far?”
I look at him. My voice is quiet, final. “Never. If it’s worth wanting, it’s worth taking. That’s why I’m here. That’s why you’re here.”
He doesn’t argue.
