“You don’t know that.”
“He’s snoring.”
Gunnar listens. The man is snoring. Gunnar pokes him in the shoulder anyway, and the man smacks his lips and burrows deeper into the newspaper. Gunnar puts his hands back in his pockets, satisfied.
He’d tell you he didn’t check.
He checked.
I love him.
We keep walking.
The coffee shop on the corner is closing. A woman inside flips the sign, coat already on, keys in her hand. She sees four of us coming and holds the door on instinct, then gets a real look and stops with it half open.
“Sorry. Habit. We’re actually just closing—”
“We’re good,” Brock says, easy, already turning her toward the street like they’re old friends. “Long night?”
“Always.” She pulls her coat tight. “You looking for somebody? You’ve got the look. We get a regular with that exact look.”
“Big guy,” Brock says. “Dark hair.”
Her whole face opens. “You know Erik?”
Leif goes still beside me.
“Old friends,” Brock says. “Been a while.”
“He’s in here every single night.” She’s smiling, the tired gone off her face for a second. “Same order. Takes it to go. Tell him Priya says hi.” She stops. “On second thought, don’t tell him.”
She goes red, locks up fast, and hurries off.
He’s been living.
Fucker.
The city blurs after that.
I follow the pull.
A horn snaps me back just long enough to realize Gunnar’s wandered into the street again.
Then we’re moving.
The pull is very close now.
The building’s nothing — brick, a door, a row of buzzers. A man comes out as we reach it, holds the door, gets four of us filling the frame all at once, and decides wherever he’s going, he needs to be there faster.
The trail goes straight in and up.
The metal box at the end of the lobby is small. I know it before the doors part. Leif is not going to like this.
I hold back the laugh that wants out. Barely.
Leif looks at the open box and doesn’t move.
“You wanna take the stairs?” I ask, gesturing to the door beside it.
