"Yeah. I promise."
She nodded, but I knew she didn't buy it. She squeezed my shoulder, then, impulsively, hugged me so hard my ribs nearly cracked. "I'll check in later," she added.
"Tell Mom I said hi."
"Will do."
They left together, Katrina shooting one last glance at me over her shoulder. As I walked them into the hallway. The elevator doors closed behind them with a clang.
I stood near the doorway of my apartment for a few seconds, then went back in and locked the deadbolt.
The place was silent except for the faint sizzle of traffic in the street. Still, my home felt different now—safer, yes, but also more like a bunker. Like I'd just sandbagged myself inside.
I walked a circuit, checked every window, every latch, every blind, even behind the curtains and behind my plant.
I didn't know what I was searching for until I stopped in front of my desk. I pulled the drawer open and there it was—the burner—where I'd stashed it right before Katrina and Jazz had arrived to avoid any questions.
I grabbed the phone and hesitated for a full minute before punching theCustomer Servicenumber.
The line barely rang once. "Operative Seven. Are you in danger?"
His voice was ice-cold, but it was a weirdly comforting temperature. Like someone dropping a snowball down your shirt—jarring, but it woke you up.
I could have lied and said yes, but the truth slipped out before I could catch it. "No. Not really."
He didn't say anything. The silence wasn't quite patient. It was more like a space carved out for efficiency.
I didn't expect him to hang up on me, not really, not anymore. He in fact remained there.
"I just—" I started, then coughed to clear the thickness in my throat. "I got the locks installed. Like you said."
There was another moment of nothing. I pictured him sitting somewhere, phone glued to his ear, eyes probably scanning surroundings for threats, or maybe watching a wall of security monitors.
"Good," he finally said. Same tone as before.
I wanted to laugh for some reason. "That's all?"
"Affirmative. Is there anything else?"
"Am I safe now?" I asked. I meant it as a rhetorical question, but it hung in the air like a challenge.
He didn't answer for a while, and I thought maybe he was reviewing a checklist in his mind, scoring my situation, weighing variables I wouldnever know. Or maybe reading a script he'd long forgotten because no other clients except me called him.
"You're safe as long as I'm nearby."
"Are you…nearby now?" I heard the wobble in my voice and hated myself for it.
Another silence. Longer this time. My heart was so loud I was certain it would travel up the line.
"Yes," he replied.
I closed my eyes, felt every muscle in my body tighten, but not because I was scared. "Will I see you if I look out the window?"
"If you do, then I'm shit at my job."
I walked over to the switch, then I flicked off the overheads and let the apartment go semi-dark. The only illumination was the table lamp, the white smear of moon in the sky, and the occasional blink of headlights coming from the outside through the partially closed curtains.
I inched to the window, phone still clutched in my hand.
