“I assumed you wouldn’t either.”
She’s right. I won’t tell Blake. I won’t tell anyone.
“Send me the address,” I say.
“It’s already in your calendar.”
I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at the screen.
A new event.
Tomorrow. Noon.
My jaw tightens. “You’re bold.”
“You’re flattered,” she counters.
I hang up without saying goodbye.
I stand there, phone in hand, pulse steady but wrong. Not racing. Focused.
This isn’t fear.
This is worse.
This is the sensation of being studied by someone who speaks the same private language you do.
I walk into the bedroom and open the closet, staring at my clothes like evidence. Tomorrow I’ll choose carefully. Neutral. Controlled. Nothing that invites interpretation.
For the first time since I walked out of prison, I feel exposed.
Not to the world.
To myself.
I don’t tell Blake. I don’t need his read on this. I don’t need anyone softening it or reframing it.
Tomorrow, I’ll sit across from a woman who claims to share my blood—and my instincts.
Tomorrow, I’ll find out if she’s bluffing.
Or if she’s the first person in my family who sees me clearly and doesn’t look away.
And that?
That might be the most dangerous thing of all.
Chapter Nineteen
The Watcher
[PODCAST TRANSCRIPT – UNREDACTED: EPISODE 4 - “THE ICON UNMASKED”]
Host: The Watcher
Title: The Vending Machine of Need
[Opening sting: a low hum, one piano note struck twice. Fade under.]
