"Yes." The neon was out, but I saw the shape of the sign.
"Keep walking. Turn right at the end of the block. There's a twenty-four-hour coffee shop. Go inside and get yourself some fancy coffee. Preferably the one that takes time to make. Don't look back."
I nodded, then realized he couldn't see me. "Okay."
"Stay visible. I'll be there soon."
"Okay."
The call ended.
I rose to my feet and walked. Each step, my body screamed to look over my shoulder, but I didn't. The air felt heavier, and every passing car was suddenly a threat, a possible accomplice.
At the corner, I waited for the pedestrian light. The intersection was litup much better than the one by the alley, so I felt semi confident that the person following me wouldn’t try anything. As soon as I had the right of way, I rushed over the crosswalk to the other side of the street.
The coffee shop was open, lights blazing. Just like Operative Seven had said. I went inside, letting the bell over the door chime a fake note of safety. A kid in a beanie worked the register, ringing up a drive through customer.
He looked up. "Good evening. Give me a second, yeah?"
He handed two paper cups in a tray to the client through the drive-through window and then returned his attention to me.
"What can I get you?"
I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and set it on the counter. "This." Then I looked up at the drinks menu and ordered something with a long name, hoping it'd take more than a minute to prep.
The kid charged my card and told me to hang tight while he worked on my drink.
I sat at the table in the corner, occasionally checking the street through the glass wall of the shop, looking for the person who'd been following me.
I didn't know if Operative Seven would actually show up.
But I had little choice. So I waited.
I waited for him to find me.
14 kimmy
I had barely finished the water when the burner phone started vibrating in my pocket—no ringtone, just a faint buzz, as if it were embarrassed to draw attention.
I fished it out, ignoring the large paper cup of something steaming with a disgusting amount of whipped cream and crushed nuts.
Paranoid a bit, I glanced around. No one in the coffee shop was looking at me. The barista, halfway through making another foaming monstrosity for a drive-through customer, hummed along to whatever spilled from the ceiling speakers. A guy in a button-down stared at his laptop, headphones welded to his skull.
For a second, I pictured the man from the grocery store, but there was no sign of him, just the vague aftertaste of his eyes on me. I wondered if he was the one who'd followed me today.
Finally, I answered the call.
"Don't turn around," the voice said. "Use the back exit."
I pinched the bridge of my nose, forced myself to breathe, and stood up, leaving my caffeinated drink on the table. "Where is it?" My legs felt boneless, and for a second I was sure they'd fail me. They didn't.
"Employees' area."
I shoved the paper bag with my meds into the pocket of my hoodie and walked past the pastry case, feigning casual, then skirted the counter. The barista didn't even look up. The door to the back was half open, exposing a sliver of linoleum and a mop bucket.
"Do you see the hallway?" Operative Seven asked, voice a few degrees above monotone.
"Yes," I whispered, ducking inside.
