"That's all anyone can ask."
They paid their tabs and stood to leave.His knees felt a bit wobbly.Maybe he was a bit more buzzed than he’d originally assumed.The bar had gotten more crowded while they talked, bodies pressed together in the limited space.Sarah grabbed her coat from the back of her stool and Miles helped her into it, a gesture that felt oddly intimate.
Outside, the February air was cold enough to make Miles's breath visible.They stood on the sidewalk for a moment, neither of them quite ready to part ways.The streetlights cast orange pools across the pavement and somewhere in the distance a siren wailed.
"Thank you," Miles said."For being honest with me.For not treating me like I'm broken."
"You're not broken.You're hurt.There's a difference."
They were standing close now, closer than Miles had realized.Sarah was looking up at him with an expression he couldn't quite read.The moment stretched between them, charged with something unspoken.Her eyes met his and a slow, blooming warmth spread through him.
Sarah took a small step closer.Miles felt himself leaning down, drawn by an impulse he didn't fully understand.Her face tilted up toward his.
At the last second, Miles pulled back.
"I should go," he said, his voice rougher than he intended.
Sarah stepped away, her expression carefully neutral."Yeah.Me, too."
"Sarah, I..."
"It's fine, Miles.Don't worry about it."She adjusted her coat and offered him a small smile."See you at the office?"
"Yeah.Have a good night."
She walked away toward the subway entrance, and Miles watched her go.When she disappeared down the stairs, he turned and headed in the opposite direction toward his apartment.
The walk took fifteen minutes.Miles used the time to think about what Sarah had said, about her belief that he could keep doing this work if he was willing to put in the effort.It was simultaneously encouraging and terrifying.The idea that he might be able to find his way back from whatever edge he was teetering on.
His apartment building came into view and Miles climbed the front steps.He toyed with the idea of breaking into his own scotch and just finishing the night off on a dull note—to get drunk and sleep hard.But then, as he came to is apartment, he saw something was sitting by his door on the landing.
It was a FedEx package, medium-sized, with his name and address printed on the label.
Miles picked it up and saw that there was no return address.He unlocked his door and carried the package inside, setting it on the kitchen counter.For a moment he just stared at it, feeling an inexplicable sense of unease.
He found scissors in his junk drawer and cut through the tape.Inside was a plain cardboard box packed with bubble wrap.Miles pulled away the layers until he found what was hidden at the center: a handwritten note on expensive stationery.The handwriting was elegant, almost calligraphic.Miles sensed his hands starting to shake even before he even began reading.
Dear Agent Sterling,
Congratulations on another successful capture.David proved less resilient than I had hoped, but his devotion was admirable, nonetheless.I understand he came quite close to completing his work before you intervened.So close.One wonders what might have happened if you had arrived just a few minutes later.
I have been following your progress with great interest.Seven disciples captured in eight attempts, and all eight stopped.Quite an impressive record.You possess a rare gift for understanding the minds of those who see the world differently than most.Perhaps because you are not so different yourself.
I wonder, though, how much of yourself you might lose in the process of pursuing us.How many pieces of Miles Sterling will be left when this is finished?You seemed rather upset at the museum.I worry about you, truly.
Until we meet again.
G.K.
Miles read the note three times, his hands beginning to shake.Kane knew about the museum.Knew about what had happened with Hartley.Which meant he was watching, somehow.Monitoring the news, or worse, monitoring Miles directly.
The idea that Kane had been observing him, had witnessed his loss of control and found it amusing, made Miles feel sick.The taunting tone of the letter, the false concern, the suggestion that Miles was losing himself in the pursuit.It was all calculated to get under his skin.
And it was working.
Miles looked around his apartment as if Kane might be standing there in the shadows.The space suddenly felt less secure, less private.If Kane could have this delivered to his door, what else could he do?When had he done it?And had he done it himself or sent someone?
He carried the note to his door and locked the deadbolt.Then he engaged the chain lock for good measure.The note was still in his hand, the elegant handwriting mocking him.
