Chapter 21: EYES EVERYWHERE

Chapter 21: EYES EVERYWHERE
Mark’s eyes were already moving before I’d processed the timestamp on that photo. The kind of scan that came from years of checking shadows for things that could end you. He turned in the booth, looking past me toward the window, but the sidewalk outside was just... sidewalk. A few people moving in that distracted New York shuffle. No one staring in. No one holding up a phone.

“That’s impossible,” he muttered, already sliding out of the booth.

I followed, coffee forgotten, because apparently my survival instinct wasn’t content to just ride shotgun anymore... it was now in charge. Mark pushed through the door, and the little bell jingled like it was mocking us. We stepped onto the street, the night air thick with exhaust and fryer grease from a food cart down the block.

Nothing.

No mysterious figure with a camera. No shadow slipping into an alley. Just normal city noise pretending to be harmless.

I hated that the normal was what made it worse.

Mark did another sweep, then turned to me. “I’m walking you back.”

I snorted. “What, you think they’re gonna jump out of a bush?”

“This is Manhattan,” he said, already heading in the direction of my car. “We don’t have bushes. Just trash bags and people who don’t make eye contact.”

I caught up to him, my boots clicking against the pavement. “So what, you think it was taken from a building?”

“Could be. Could be someone with a good lens parked across the street. Could be...”

My phone buzzed.

Steve’s name lit up the screen.

Of course.

I answered. “Hey.”

“Where are you?” His voice was cool. Clipped. Like he was asking for a weather report, not my exact coordinates.

I glanced at Mark, who was very much listening without looking like he was listening. “Out,” I said.

“Out where?”

“Getting air.”

Silence on the other end. The kind that says I know you’re not telling me everything, but I’ll let you live with it for now.

“Be careful,” he said finally, and then the line went dead.

Mark raised an eyebrow. “Boss?”

“Yeah.” I slipped the phone back into my pocket. “Apparently my social calendar needs clearance now.”

We reached my car, and Mark did the whole cop scan again before letting me get in. He leaned on the roof for a second, like he was about to say something important, then just said, “Text me when you get home.”

“Sure thing, Dad.”

His mouth twitched like he wanted to smile but didn’t trust himself with it. He stepped back, and I drove off, the weight of that unseen camera still sitting heavy in my gut.

By the time I got home, Aaron was out cold in his room, and the apartment was dark except for the faint glow of the streetlights bleeding through the blinds. I locked up, twice... and kicked off my shoes, aiming for bed and unconsciousness.

Sleep didn’t play nice.

I drifted in and out, every time slipping into the same montage: the Queen of Spades, its edges sharp against my fingers; that voice from the rooftop, sliding under my skin like a cold blade; the black SUV idling across the street. The scenes shuffled, no order, just fragments looping until I didn’t know if I was dreaming them or remembering them wrong.

Somewhere in there, the dream shifted. I was standing in my hallway, and the door was open, a slice of dark hallway yawning beyond it. I could feel the air moving, like something had just gone through. My feet wouldn’t move, my voice wouldn’t work, and that low voice was back, whispering right at my ear—

I jerked awake, heart pounding.

It took me a second to realize it wasn’t just the dream.

The door.

My apartment door.

It was open.

Not wide. Not swinging. Just… ajar.

Enough to see the black slit of the hallway beyond.