CHAPTER TWO
357 Words
Leah spent the morning scanning the shifting numbers and silent camera feeds, the hum of electronics pressing against her temples.
Henry had disappeared after a single clipped instruction: “Watch everything. Don’t touch anything you can’t explain.”
The city played out on the screens — hotel lobbies, dim bars, the glittering entrance of a jewelry store. People moved in and out of frame, strangers in their own stories. But by noon, one feed made her pause.
A woman in a red coat, standing in a parking garage. No movement. No car. She was just… waiting.
Every few seconds, she glanced over her shoulder.
Leah’s chest tightened. She knew that look — the quick, sharp flick of the eyes of someone who believed danger had a face.
The door behind her clicked open.
Henry’s reflection appeared in the glass of the nearest monitor. “See something?”
She straightened. “Who is she?”
He stepped closer, his voice low. “Someone who owes me more than she can pay.”
Leah turned in her chair, unsettled. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” he said, brushing a speck of lint from his sleeve, “you should stop asking questions you aren’t ready to hear the answers to.”
She held his gaze longer than she should have.
Something passed between them — not warmth, not even trust — but recognition. As if he could see the part of her that was always running from something.
“You’re good at reading people,” he said suddenly. “Too good for someone with no formal training.”
Leah’s throat went dry. “It’s… just something I’ve picked up.”
“From experience?” His tone wasn’t casual.
The words caught in her chest. Don’t tell him. Don’t.
But Henry was already turning away, his next sentence tossed over his shoulder like a blade. “Secrets are currency, Leah. Spend yours wisely.”
The woman in red vanished from the screen.
And for the first time since she’d arrived, Leah wondered if she’d just stepped into a place she’d never be able to walk out of.
- Writer
