Chapter 2
The reflection in the car window broke apart when I turned toward him.
He stood where I had last seen him, several steps away beneath the fluorescent light, his black hood still drawn over his head. The sunglasses hid most of his face, but not the careful way he held himself—shoulders loose, hands visible, feet planted as if he had decided not to make any sudden move.
I kept my phone closed in my right hand. The light-colored case felt slick against my palm.
“Eli,” he said.
His voice was lower than I expected. Not warm. Not threatening either.
I didn't answer.
He lifted one hand toward his sunglasses, then paused. “I'm going to take these off.”
It sounded like a request, though he didn't wait for permission. He removed them and folded them into the pocket of his loose black jacket. His eyes were dark and tired, and without the glasses his face looked younger than the rest of him.
“I've been watching the foundation's exits,” he said. “Not hunting you.”
The word settled between us.
I glanced toward the ramp. Empty. The garage carried every small sound too far: a pipe ticking overhead, tires turning on concrete somewhere below us, the faint electrical buzz from the lights.
“What foundation?”
He looked at the white dress, my handbag, then the phone I was holding. His attention moved away again before it felt like a stare.
“Vale Civic Foundation.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
He reached inside his jacket slowly and pulled out a visitor badge. The plastic sleeve was scuffed, the photograph clipped beneath a gray logo. His name was printed under it. Eli Park. Temporary Investigator. The dates on the badge had been marked in blue ink.
Then he opened a small black notebook.
“I wrote down the exits I could access,” he said. “Dates, times, who left. Two of these dates line up with messages sent to you.”
The garage seemed to narrow around me.
I hadn't told him about the messages. I hadn't told anyone except myself, and the phone held more than messages. It held photographs of grant paperwork, screenshots, and a recording I had made before the event while my hands were still steady enough to press record.
I kept the phone against my thigh.
“You could have gotten the dates from anywhere,” I said.
“Yes.”
“So this proves nothing.”
“No.”
That answer unsettled me more than an argument would have.
I shifted the handbag higher on my arm. The burgundy laces of my sandals had begun to pinch my ankles, but I didn't look down. “I was followed after work. That's all. I don't know who you are, and I don't know why you're showing me a notebook in a parking garage.”
His mouth tightened briefly. “That explanation is false.”
Heat moved up my neck. “Then you already know why I'm here.”
“I know you're withholding something.”
The words weren't accusing. That made them harder to dismiss.
A car engine started on the level behind us. The sudden rumble rolled through the concrete, and I turned before I could stop myself. Headlights swept across the parked cars, whitening the dark window beside me.
Eli stepped back, not toward me. He gave me a clear path around the car.
“The elevator lobby is over there,” he said. “It's public.”
I looked at the notebook, then at his empty hands.
“Are you coming?”
“If you want me to.”
I didn't want him beside me. I wanted the distance. I wanted the option to see him clearly.
“Behind me,” I said. “Far enough that I can turn around.”
He nodded once.
I walked toward the elevator, my phone still locked in my hand. At the call button, I pressed it and watched the red light blink. Eli stopped several yards away near a concrete pillar.
The elevator arrived with a dull chime. Its doors opened on a scratched metal interior and a security camera in the corner.
I stepped inside, then turned to face him.
He hadn't moved closer.
“Whatever you're investigating,” I said, “don't use me to get there.”
“I won't.”
“And don't contact my job.”
“I haven't.”
I believed neither promise completely. But I believed that he understood the boundary.
The doors began to close. Just before the gap disappeared, he said, “If Martin Vale asks you to erase anything, don't.”
My breath caught.
May you like
He didn't know the worst of it. He didn't know Martin had already asked.
The doors sealed between us, leaving me with my reflection, my phone, and the decision not to hand either one over.
