ARIELLE
Victor calls less than an hour after we hang up.
That alone tells me this isn’t just a casual follow-up.
It’s pressure.
The secure line buzzes against my palm as I stand in my kitchen, a cup of tea cooling untouched on the counter. Outside, the traffic hums like distant static, reminding me that the world keeps going, even as anxiety tightens my chest.
I pick up on the second ring.
“You’re slowing down,” Victor says, skipping the pleasantries.
“I’m being careful,” I reply calmly. “Just like you taught.”
I hear a sharp exhale crackle through the line. “Careful doesn’t win wars, Arielle. Momentum does.”
I close my eyes for a second, trying to steady myself. “Momentum gets noticed.”
“Only if you’re sloppy.”
His tone has changed, it's harder now, no trace of patience. The me
