Fifteen minutes later, Clara entered a town car idling a block away. Inside, the man seated beside her wore a dull Gray suit and mirrored glasses.
He didn't greet her.
He just handed over a folder. Clara took it, flipped through it quietly.
Photos. Screenshots. A list of names she already knew.
The same classmates.
One new addition.
Clara raised a brow. "She's not in the main circle."
"She's careful," the man said. "And not close enough to Jay to see his faults. Which means she'll see his patterns."
Clara nodded once, closed the folder, and leaned back.
"None of them suspect yet," he added.
"Not yet," she echoed.
A pause stretched between them.
"She saw me today."
"Jay?"
"No." Clara smiled faintly. "Someone else."
The man turned toward her.
"Do we intervene?"
Clara's voice didn't shift. "No. Observation only. If she's clever, she won't mention it. If she does—then we know who she trusts."
The man leaned back. "And Jay?"
Clara looked out the window. The sun was shifting now, casting long shadows down the narrow streets.
"Still walking the line," she said quietly. "Still pretending the edge doesn't exist."
Thursday, May 23 – Midtown
The Street Knows First
The day didn't begin with alarms or messes or anyone knocking at the door.
It began with quiet.
Jay sat at the edge of his bed, hands in his lap, listening to nothing.
No estate orders. No teacher calls. No Tyler dragging him into chaos. Just the hush of his apartment and the faint traffic brushing the edges of the city.
He stood, pulled on a hoodie, grabbed his phone, and left without a plan.
Sometimes he liked that.
Not having a schedule made it feel like the day belonged to him.
Midtown was easing into late morning. The weather was warm enough to avoid jackets, but not hot enough to be unpleasant. Jay passed a street musician setting up his guitar in the usual alley, nodded at a security guard near the café, and stepped into the corner store like he always did — like nothing in his life had changed.
It wasn't until he stepped back outside, bag in hand, that he noticed it.
Nothing sharp. Nothing obvious.
Just… a flicker.
Someone across the street turned too quickly when Jay glanced their way. Not toward him — away. As if they hadn't meant to be caught looking.
He narrowed his eyes. But the person had already disappeared around the corner.
It could've been nothing.
But Jay had lived in two very different worlds long enough to know the difference between coincidence and timing.
He didn't chase. He didn't look again.
He just kept walking.
He turned off onto a side street leading toward the old public library — not St. Ivy's main campus, but the quiet civilian one nestled between the flower shop and stationery store.
He didn't plan on going in.
But he slowed as he passed.
Out of instinct.
Through the window, he could see the back of the help desk and a few students inside. College kids mostly. A teacher reading something on their tablet. Normal.
But in the corner of the second-floor café across the street…
Jay saw her.
He didn't stare. Didn't stop. He just kept walking as if nothing had registered.
But he had seen Clara.
Seated neatly by the balcony rail, a book in one hand, coffee untouched. Eyes not on him — but not far from his path either.
It wasn't fear that tightened in his chest.
It was confirmation.
She hadn't left.
Tyler's Texts and Ghost Cars
By early afternoon, Jay had looped back toward the edge of the park. He sat on a bench with a juice bottle in his lap and his phone in hand.
Tyler: "Practice moved to 4. Coach wants us dead, I think."
Jay: "Bring flowers to your own funeral."
Tyler: "That's what Iris is for. You should come."
Jay: "Rain check."
Tyler: "Fine, emo prince. Be mysterious."
Jay smiled faintly.
It didn't stay long.
A black sedan rolled past on the main road, then again five minutes later — same car, same model, but now with tinted windows that weren't tinted before.
Jay leaned back against the bench.
Midtown wasn't a safe zone.
Not really.
It just felt like one.
And maybe that's what Clara wanted him to remember.
He stayed out longer than he meant to.
At one point, he looped by the bookstore — not to buy anything, just to check if a certain face was there again.
She wasn't.
But the space she left behind lingered.
The Note That Shouldn't Be
He returned home a little before six.
The hallway was quiet. The elevator had that familiar faint hum. Everything looked normal.
Until he got to his door.
There was something resting on the floor, precisely cantered on the welcome mat. Not skewed. Not blown by wind. Deliberately placed.
Jay crouched slowly.
It was a plain white paper, folded in thirds. No envelope. No name. No stamp.
He picked it up and turned it in his fingers. The paper felt smooth. Clean. He didn't open it right away.
He unlocked the door, stepped inside, shut it behind him, then unfolded the message over the kitchen counter.
There were no threats.
No blood.
Just one sentence in neat, deliberate handwriting:
"The Markov name isn't something you can walk away from."
That was it.
Jay stared at the page.
Not because he was shocked.
But because of how simple it was.
She hadn't signed it.
Didn't need to.
No seal. No date. Just one single reminder that peace, in his world, had always been temporary.
He left the paper there and walked to the balcony, breathing in the early evening haze.
Midtown stretched out below him, golden at the edges. Streetlights clicked on one by one. Someone laughed three stories down. A siren blinked once, then vanished around the block.
He wondered if Clara had stood on a balcony just like this earlier. Watching. Calculating.
He hadn't seen her leave.
Which meant she was still here.
Jay Alone, Again
He made tea later that night.
Not because he needed it. Just for the heat.
He left it on the table.
Didn't touch it.
He sat cross-legged on the couch, staring at the note again.
And next to it — the invitation.
Still unopened. Still untouched since the day she handed it to him.
Jay picked it up. Weighed it in his hand. It felt like any other card. Nothing special.
He set it back down and leaned back.
His phone buzzed once more.
Emma: "Found a poetry book I think you'd hate. Want it?"
Jay replied after a pause.
Jay: "I'm flattered. Deliver it with coffee and I might pretend to care."
He stared at the screen after the reply sent.
Then turned it face-down.
Somewhere out there, Clara was moving pieces he couldn't see.
But she wasn't the only one who knew how to keep quiet.
Jay sat in the dark, letting the silence stretch.