Episode 3: She Said No
787 Words
Back at the flat, Maya was still at the desk with an extra stack of files. She looked up and set her pen down. “Early. How’d the samples go?”
“Fine,” Avery said, slipping milk into the fridge and bread onto the rack. She washed her hands, leaned on the counter, thought a beat, then told her about the alley. “Someone tailed me. Someone stepped in. Pushy ‘business’ types. I told them to email.”
Maya’s brows rose, worry unhidden. “Where? Why didn’t you call?”
“By the supermarket,” Avery said, sliding a card from her notebook to the table. “He says he works nearby. He…helped.”
Maya read the company name and paused. “I’ve heard of them. The Security company. Do you know him?”
“I don’t.” Avery shook her head. “Saw him at the night market. Again at a café. He didn’t do anything to me.”
Maya tapped the card with her pen. “Skip the alleys for now. Stick to the crowds. If those two show again, call. We can report and file at the police station.”
Avery nodded. “Okay.”
“And—” Maya flipped the health-centre card and snorted. “Places like this pop up with all kinds of names—real and not. Keep your distance. I know someone in media through one of my professors—if you need, I can ask what they’ve heard.”
“No need,” Avery said, tucking the card away. “I’ll wait for an email. If they can’t be clear, it’s a no.”
Maya watched her, then softened. “If you decide to refuse, refuse. Don’t carry it for politeness.”
“I know.” Avery exhaled—small, but grounded.
Evening dimmed. Maya packed her books into a bag. “I’m off to campus. Might be late. Lock up.”
“Safe trip,” Avery said.
When the door shut, the flat settled. Avery straightened the table, took out her notebook, and wrote down each small thing from the day—clean sentences like footprints forward. At “alley,” her pen paused for a long moment, then set a simple period. She capped it, made a simple dinner, ate, washed the dishes, and turned off the kitchen light.
The street thinned later on; now and then a car hissed over a damp patch. She stood at the window a while, then drew the curtains and lay down. The pillow kept her warmth. She turned on her side and let her eyes close. The abrupt stab from last night didn’t surge back—only four or five scenes from today overlapped and drifted apart. “She said no” sounded very clear, like spoken right at her ear. Thinking of those four words, she felt nothing else—only that it had been the steady choice of the day.
Across the city, Luca sat in the car, arm on the window frame, eyes cool. Jonah leaned from the passenger seat. “You sure you don’t want her address on a blocklist? Could get messy.”
Luca shook his head. “No.” A beat. “Put someone on those two salesmen. Don’t get close.”
“Understood,” Jonah said. He glanced out at the corner, then back, weighing a phrase. “You passed near her a couple times today. She might think we’re on her.”
“She can,” Luca said mildly. “We won’t get close.”
The radio chirped—short bursts. Jonah shifted to take it. Luca rubbed his brow and eased back. Light slid over the windshield. He closed his eyes and opened them again almost at once. “Head back.”
The car merged into the thin flow after the peak. The streets had dried in patches; the lights cut the road into bright panes like sliced cloth. He said nothing more and let the car carry the quiet.
Back at the flat, Avery fell quickly asleep, breath even. The clock ticked; time moved on. Everything sat where it belonged—no extra noises, no stray signs. That was the day. Tomorrow, the usual—finish the orders, then the night market for a spark, if she felt like it.
She’d already stacked tomorrow’s tasks in her head: revise that sample, reply to the owner, slip the health center card into the back of the notebook, wait for their email and decide. Nothing else.
In the dark she turned once and pressed her palm lightly to her chest, as if confirming the rhythm there—steady, moving the night forward with the far, faint whisper of cars.
- Writer
