"I apologize," I said.
She blinked. "What?"
"I apologize for not consulting you," I repeated. "I acted on instinct. Assessment, engagement, neutralization. It’s muscle memory. I didn't factor in your agency."
I took a step back, giving her space.
"But the threat was immediate. He was uploading. Ghosts don't work when the enemy has a GPS lock."
She lowered her hand. She took a shaky breath, running her fingers through her messy hair.
"I still... I had a plan."
"Okay," I said. "Tell me the plan."
"What?"
"If you had spotted him," I asked, leaning against the dresser, crossing my arms. "If I wasn't here. What would you have done?"
Rowan straightened up. The question was a lifeline. It handed her back the clipboard.
"I would have used the service elevator," she said, her voice strengthening, the analytical cadence returning. "It dumps intothe basement laundry room. There’s a chute access that leads to the alley behind the Thai restaurant. The delivery trucks run a schedule; they block the sightline from the main street between 2:00 and 2:15."
She pointed to the window.
"He was static on the north side. The alley exits south. I would have walked to the tube station, taken the Northern Line two stops south, switched to the Victoria Line, and doubled back to King's Cross to confuse the tracker data."
She looked at me, chin lifted. Defiant. Competent.
"It was a cleaner exit," she stated.
I nodded slowly. "It was smart."
"Thank you."
"But it was flawed."
Her eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"
"The delivery trucks block the sightline," I agreed. "But that scout wasn't alone. They work in pairs. One static, one rover. If you went out the back, the rover would be covering the alley. A single female emerging from a refuse room with a suitcase? You’re a beacon."
I pushed off the dresser.
"And the tube? Cameras. Facial recognition. Vance owns security contracts with a variety of organizations. The moment you scanned your rail card, or even walked past a reader, you’d light up the grid."
Rowan stared at me. She processed the data. I watched the realization sink in.
"He would have logged me leaving," she whispered.
"He would have logged you," I confirmed. "And he would have been on the phone to the extraction team. By the time you hit the platform at Angel, you’d have been boxed in."
I walked over to the suitcase. I zipped it shut. It bulged with the shape of the Swingline stapler.
"Your plan was elegant," I said. "But elegance gets you caught when the enemy is playing dirty. My way was messy. But it broke the camera. It broke his nerve. And now, he’s running back to his boss to tell him there’s a monster guarding the door."
Rowan looked at the window, then back at me. The anger was fading, replaced by a weary resignation.
"You made the trail fresh," she muttered. "They know we're here now."
