Chapter 22 THE EIGHT FOLD
\[ETHAN POV\]
I've kept my eyes on Captain Lena Ford over the past few days - five to be exact.
She’s not like the rest - tougher, somehow sharper in the way she sees things.
She’s an officer - built to spot details. Her job? Always watching.
This is what keeps you curious about her.
She clocks out by seven each evening. Always like that. Heads down to the parking level on foot. Gets into her vehicle there. Takes the usual streets back. Every time without fail.
She stays by herself. A tiny home over near the eastern part. Peaceful area around there. Her block doesn't have any surveillance gear.
She’s cautious - always locks the doors, yet stays aware of what’s around her.
Yet still too careless.
Tonight's the night.
I’ve set this up over three days. Figured out each detail - when, where, how to get away.
Everything's ready.
I'm parked a couple of streets away from her place. No engine noise. Just sitting there, keeping an eye out.
She came back home a while ago - about twenty minutes. The living room lit up first. After that, the kitchen followed. Right now, it’s the bedroom glowing.
She’s preparing to sleep.
I look at my phone. It's 10:47 at night.
I slide on my gloves - dark ones, tight fit. They leave no traces behind because they’re smooth all over. Not a single mark gets left.
Look at the blade. It’s keen. Wiped down.
The original bird’s sitting in my pocket - the purple one. Came up with it earlier today instead of doing anything useful.
Number eight.
I step out of the car. Then shut the door without a sound.
Head over to her place.
The road’s quiet. Yet a couple of front lamps glow. While most homes stay shadowed.
I stroll slowly - hands tucked away. Not rushing, just moving along. A regular person is taking air.
Her place sits right after the last building on the street. Just a little patch of grass out front. Nothing is boxed in by any kind of barrier.
I head out the back way - down the alley instead.
The back door’s shut tight. Although the kitchen window isn’t open.
Yet a cellar window sits there - tiny, cracked open halfway.
I squat low. Peek through the opening.
Dark. Empty.
I push it aside. Then I crawl inside.
The basement reeks of soap from washed clothes, and also of damp timber.
I stay put. I hear what's around me.
Footsteps up above. Then water starts flowing.
She’s inside the restroom.
I head for the stairs. Then step down quietly. Just one after another. Without making any noise.
The entrance up there is shut. So I twist the knob.
It opens.
I walk into the kitchen.
The lights? Off. Only a sliver of light creeps in from the hall.
I can hear her shuffling about up there. Cabinets creaking open - then shut again.
I head into the living room. Then stop, staying out of sight.
Wait.
Half a dozen minutes pass, then the upper floor lamps shut down.
Steps. Moving along the corridor.
She heads into the kitchen.
I don't move.
She strolls by the couch area - misses my spot. Not a glance.
He opens the fridge - grabs a water bottle right away.
Closes it.
Turns around.
I step forward.
She sees me.
Drops the bottle.
He grabs at her side. That's where the weapon is.
Yet she isn’t putting it on.
She’s wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. Not on duty right now. No weapon at all.
"Who—"
I rush toward her right as she starts to speak.
Take hold of her wrist. Then spin it around so it's behind her back.
She’s tough. When pushed, she pushes right back. A quick elbow flies out.
Catches me on the side.
I groan. Hold on tight anyway.
She opens her mouth - no sound comes out.
I press my palm over her lips while the rest of me stays still.
Pull her back. Toward my side.