There's a pause. I can almost hear the administrator calculating — weighing protocol against political pressure, rules against the reality of who holds power in this city.
"I'll make the arrangements," they finally say.
"Good. I'll send the details within the hour."
I hang up before they can ask questions I don't want to answer.
Cody is being moved. Not for medical reasons — his vegetative ass doesn't care where he rots. But for containment. For control. Because Cody waking up is unpredictable, and I don't allow unpredictable variables in my plans.
If he wakes up and starts talking, if he starts naming names or pointing fingers, the whole carefully constructed narrative falls apart. Better to have him somewhere I control. Somewhere, his father's influence can't reach. Somewhere, Adela can't find him.
I think about her going to the hospital tomorrow, walking into that room expecting to confront the monster who destroyed her trust. Expecting closure. Expecting answers.
Instead, she'll find an empty bed.
No confrontation. No emotional purge. No neat resolution to her grief.
Just absence.
Unresolved grief is destabilizing. It eats at people from the inside, makes them question everything, and leaves them desperate for something — anything — solid to hold on to.
And when she's desperate and confused and completely untethered, she'll turn to the only person who's been there for her through all of this.
Beckett.
My buddy, Beckett, whether he remembers that or not.
The corner of my mouth lifts. It's elegant, really. Use her pain to bind her to him. Use him to control her. Use both of them to destroy everything Cody built and everyone who protected him.
I pull up Beckett's contact and type out a message: You're going with her.
Not a question. Not a request. A command.
I watch the message deliver, those two little checkmarks confirming he's received it. Then I type another: Keep her calm.
That should remind him exactly where he stands in this arrangement. Should remind him that he doesn't make decisions, he follows mine. Should remind him that getting attached to the target is a liability I won't tolerate.
I set my phone down and pull the laptop back open, navigating to a backdoor access I set up months ago. It took some doing — hospital security systems aren't exactly easy to crack — but money and the right contacts can get you into anything if you're patient enough.
The camera feeds load one by one. Hallways. Nurse stations. Patient rooms.
Including Cody's.
Or what was Cody's, since the bed is already empty, the room sanitized and ready for the next unfortunate soul who ends up in a coma. They moved fast. Good.
I check the timestamp. The transfer happened an hour ago.
Perfect.
I close that window and pull up the parking lot camera, angling it toward the main entrance. Then I settle back in my chair and wait, my fingers drumming a slow rhythm against the armrest.
Tomorrow morning, Adela will walk through those doors expecting confrontation. Expecting to finally tell Cody everything she's been holding back. Expecting some kind of resolution to the nightmare her life has become.
She thinks she's going to face a monster.
She has no idea which one she should actually be afraid of.
I smile to myself in the empty apartment, the city lights glittering below me like stars that forgot they're supposed to stay in the sky.
