Episode7: Filled Blanks
914 Words
Avery caught the subway at the campus gate. The air inside was close; she leaned against the door, palm pressed to her bag strap. She refused to dwell on details, fixing her eyes on the thin strip of metal at her feet and counting the light running along it. At her stop, she followed the crowd up to the street. The air carried heat, wind flicking the hem of her coat.
Her first stop was the shop. She handed over three revised samples; the owner sniffed, nodded. “This one’s solid. Customers will like it.” They agreed on the next steps. Avery said she’d review her emails later. The owner waved her off with a grin. “Don’t overdo it.”
Avery picked up a simple lunch and took a window seat. Halfway through, her phone buzzed: an email titled “Oral Meeting Notes.” She opened it. Five points, mostly accurate, but padded with vagueness. She forwarded it to Maya: “Look before I reply.”
Afterward she browsed the supermarket, basket light with a few basics. The checkout line crawled. She stood at the end, hands on the handle, gaze drifting. A man stood in the corner on the phone, broad-shouldered, dark coat. Her heart ticked faster—then eased. Just a resemblance.
She carried her bag home. The sky was brighter; people walked dogs, shopkeepers stacked racks. Passing a kiosk, she paused to tuck away change. Footsteps shadowed her for a few paces, then fell away. She didn’t look back. She shifted the bag forward, fingers pressed against the zipper.
At her building she glanced at the windowsill. No movement inside. She unlocked, changed shoes, set groceries down, sat at her desk. Maya’s notes were already back: points to tighten—“list exact sites; name responsible manager; who signs; protocol for exceptions; publicity clause.” Avery folded them into her draft and added, “Any future meeting must be in public. No on-site signing or trial packs.” She hit send, shut the laptop, rubbed her knuckles.
Her phone lit: a short text. “Want me to have someone walk you home?” Signed: Luca.
Avery looked out the window, then at the message, and typed: “No. School and shop all day. Home now.”
No instant reply. She washed her face, wiped her bench, reset her tools. Then the phone buzzed again: “Understood. Don’t go anywhere quiet. Text me if needed.”
She answered with one word: “Okay.” She didn’t want to spin the thread too long over text. She made soup, sliced bread. The scent spread. The lock turned; Maya stepped in, tossed her bag down, washed up, hurried to the kitchen. “Smells good.”
“Simple,” Avery said, handing her a bowl.
They ate at the table, trading a quick recap. Maya repeated the health center’s points, then said, “You handled it well. Stick to those lines, and you won’t lose ground. Don’t worry about being troublesome.”
Avery nodded. “Mm.”
Dishes cleared, twilight thickened. Maya shut herself in with materials. Avery cleared the desk, reviewed the ratios of the three samples, and drafted index cards. She preferred to keep things tidy early, not pile them later. Darkness pressed down; traffic outside shifted cadence. She closed half the window, drew the curtains, quieting the flat.
Another email: a supplement from the health center. She read line by line. Usage spelled out now, site listed with an address, though blanks remained. She wrote back: “Fill these blanks, then we’ll discuss next step.” She sent, shut the laptop, stretched until her shoulders cracked softly.
Later Maya emerged with a mug of hot water, sat opposite. “Plans for tomorrow?”
Avery thought. “Two orders at home. No going out.”
Maya nodded. “I’ll be on campus. Back at night. Lock up. If anyone knocks, check the peephole before opening.”
“Mm.”
They chatted lightly before she returned to her room. Avery clicked off the desk lamp, left the hall light. In bed, her palm rested over her chest. The beat was steady, not the tautness of the night before. Her breath drifted, calm as water.
Across the city, Luca set his phone on the desk, eyes on a brief record. Jonah tapped the doorframe. “We checked the center. Public info looks fine—plenty of partners. But a few names are familiar.”
Luca looked up. “Which side?”
“Funding.” Jonah dropped a packet of printouts, tapping twice. “These names cropped up in other projects. Same tricks—circling, evasive. No judgment yet, just flagged.”
Luca didn’t press. “Follow protocol.”
“Protocol,” Jonah echoed. He paused. “And her?”
“Normal,” Luca said, even. “She doesn’t like being tailed. Keep our people back.”
“Got it.”
Light laid crisp lines across the desk. Luca filed the documents, closed the cabinet, shrugged on his coat. One glance at the night beyond the glass; no words. He killed the lights and shut the door behind him.
At the flat, Avery slept. The kitchen still held the faint scent of soup. The hall light glowed warm, catching the corner of the shoe rack. Her phone lay face down on the nightstand, no new alerts. Curtains sealed tight, the room stilled—like a box packed with the day, shut clean, nothing leaking.
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