Page 125 of Fractured Allegiance

Past pawn shops and liquor stores and faces that don’t look up. Through lights that change too fast and intersections that feel like dares.

And then I end up outside her building.

I look up to the second floor, north-facing window.

It’s dark.

Not empty.

Just... dim.

Like she left the lights on for someone who isn’t coming.

I don’t go inside.

Instead, I sit in the car, roll the window down and light another cigarette I won’t finish.

And I whisper, “Fuck you, hero complex.”

A passing stranger glances at me like maybe I’m dangerous. Or deranged.

He’s not wrong.

I flick the ash out the window and close my eyes for a second.

That’s all it takes.

One second.

When I open them, someone’s standing in front of the car.

Not close.

Far enough not to be threatening. Close enough to be deliberate.

They’re wearing a hoodie. Black. Hood up.

Face shadowed.

Hands in pockets.

I straighten, hand already on the grip under the steering column.

But the figure turns and walks off.

No hurry.

Just... like they wanted to be seen.

I throw the door open and follow.

Fast.

But by the time I turn the corner, they’re gone.

No footsteps.

No echo.