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Mercer has a routine.

He repeats locations. Changes times. Watches entrances. Talks to different people. Never stays anywhere long enough to become memorable.

He's searching.

And I get the feeling he's getting closer to something.

He returns to the brick building from yesterday. Only this time, he goes inside.

I wait, clocking the time.

Eleven minutes later, he exits the building.

No bag. No visible change.

But when he reaches his car, he pauses.

His head slowly turns as he looks across the street.

My body stills.

Mercer doesn't move for several seconds.

Then he gets into his car.

He felt something.

Bishop was right. He notices people.

Which means I can't afford mistakes. Especially not one with blonde curls, green eyes, and absolutely no fucking sense of self-preservation.

My phone buzzes.

I glance down.

Chaos: Hypothetical question.

Fuck. Here we go again.

Me: No.

Chaos: I haven't asked it yet.

Me: Still no.

Chaos: If someone wanted to find out where another person lived…

My entire body goes rigid.

Me: Callie.

Chaos: You called me Callie. Not Chaos.

Me: Don't.

Chaos: Don't what?

Me: Whatever you're planning.