She answers on the third ring. Game audio behind her. Chat a low roar through the earpiece.
"I'm mid-stream—"
"I know." My voice comes out level. I make it come out level. It takes more effort than anything I've done in years. "Wrap up when you can. Don't make it a thing. Just wrap up."
A pause. Game noise continues. She's doing the thing I've watched her do fifty times — listening to me properly while performing normal for four thousand people. The split attention that looks effortless because she's been doing it her whole life.
"How long do I have," she says. Same light register. Like she's asking about something ordinary, like a pizza delivery.
"Whenever you're ready."
I hang up. Go back to the file. Add the message. Timestamp, account ID, keyword flags, the detail about the light. Open a second document. Start writing the action plan.
The action plan is what there is. Forward motion. Steps in sequence. As long as I'm building the plan I'm the professional version of myself. The controlled one.
Three sections in. Her stream goes offline.
I watch the monitor. Chat draining. Goodnights. The community dispersing. The stream indicator goes dark.
My phone rings immediately.
"Okay," she says. Quiet now. Just her voice. "What happened."
I look at the message. The coffee shop. The blue door. The light on her windows.
"I need you to pack a bag," I say. "Come to mine tonight."
A beat.
"Declan—"
"Tonight, Billie."
Silence. Then: "Are you coming to get me?"
I want to say yes. The wanting is immediate. I set it aside.
"I can't. Not tonight. If someone's been watching your building, my car outside at midnight is a problem." Ronan's name doesn't need to be said. She knows what I mean. "I'm booking you an Uber. It'll be there in ten minutes. You don't go down until you see the plate number match on your phone. Door to car. Don't stop."
A pause. She's processing. I can hear her moving. The small sounds of her apartment.
"You've thought about this," she says.
"I've built my life around security. It’s all I know. And you need to listen to me." More edge than I mean. "Pack enough for a few days. Laptop, charger, headset. Everything you need to work."
"Declan—"
"Please," I say.
That stops her. I don't say that word often. We both know it.
"Okay," she says quietly. "Okay."
I book it before she hangs up. Premium. A driver with a rating I can verify. A route I can track. I text her the plate and the make.
I sit with my phone and I watch the car icon move across the map toward her building.
Seven minutes. The car pulls onto her street.
