Day 030 Hour 14: Ink and Distance
I sat up slowly, spine tight, breath steady.
Then I reached for the ledger.
The faux-leather cover made a soft creak, like it had been waiting for this moment longer than I had. The pages inside smelled faintly of dust and something older — ink and sweat, maybe. No title. No table of contents. Just page after page of neatly handwritten entries, each labeled by a section and a phase.
Phase 1 – Eastern Block.
I turned to the correct spread.
Five entries.
Each one listed with a cross street, a landmark, and a time in red ink.
Location 1:Vasco Alley & Third. Behind the wall with the "SHAPARD'S TEETH" graffiti. Arrive at 08:45 on Day 031.
Location 2:Corner of Rust & Hollow. Bus stop with cracked plexiglass. Arrive at 14:00 on Day 031.
Location 3:Flatbridge crossing near the flood trench. Middle span. Facing west. Arrive at 19:15 on Day 031.
Location 4:Outside 22B, Ash Row. Stairwell landing. Arrive at 07:10 on Day 032.
Location 5:Market Square behind the old garment factory. Northwest pillar. Arrive at 17:55 on Day 032.
I read them twice.
They were all walkable. None farther than a few miles. But none of them close, either. I'd have to stretch my time thin between each, navigate tight windows and tighter alleys, avoid running into anyone who might ask questions.
And more than that — I'd have to blend in at each.
Stand still. Wait. Snap the photo at just the right second.
No panic. No fumbling.
No second chances.
I sat back again and picked up the phone — the cheap one France had given me. I turned it over in my hand. Its lens was scratched, its shutter delay unpredictable. You had to hold it perfectly still for three full seconds just to avoid blurring someone's nose.
Would it be enough?
Could I really trust this to document whatever the Club expected me to capture?
A camera might be better.
Cleaner. Faster. More control.
But that meant spending part of the first $100.
And with that came its own risks.
Even though they said it was a gift… I didn't believe in gifts.
I believed in strings.
And maybe they'd judge me — not for how I spent it, but for what I thought I needed to do the job right. Maybe they were watching to see if I doubted the tools I already had. If I thought too much of myself. If I thought too little.
I ran a hand down my face.
A camera would give me better photos.
But the phone was already part of the story.
I left the ledger open on the floor, markers still untouched beside it.
Tomorrow, I'd start moving.
But tonight, I'd make a decision.
And live with the fact that, either way, it wouldn't feel right.
The ledger lay open on my floor like an offering.
I ran my fingers over the page. Each entry was written in the same careful hand — small, deliberate, as if whoever had penned it didn't just know the places… they designed them.
The five locations were all buried inside the slums. They weren't destinations; they were detours. Places most people ignored on purpose — alleys behind spray-painted sermons, cracked bus stops, stairwells that never led to front doors. Familiar in the way a scar is familiar: known, but better left alone.
I didn't write them down.
I didn't mark the map.
I didn't even touch the red or blue markers.
Because I already had them memorized.
The names and turns formed a quiet circuit in my head the moment I finished reading them. They clicked into place like a lock I'd forgotten I'd ever closed. I folded the map once, tucked it beneath the futon, and left the markers untouched in their plastic sleeves.
They were never for me.
I picked up the phone next.
Cheap. Scratched. Frustrating.
But it worked.
And more importantly — it was already part of the mission.
I held it in my palm like it was heavier than before. Not because it was. But because I knew the temptation was gone now. I wasn't buying a camera. Not with the "gift" money. Not with anything.
I remembered the score they'd sent me after the last task.
93% score. Bottom 3% of all members. No extra rewards. No records set.
That had stung. More than I let myself admit.
And even though they told me I could keep the change… it didn't feel like a gift.
It felt like bait.
So the first $100 stayed buried. Untouched.
And this time, I'd make do.
Not to prove anything to them.
To myself.
That I didn't need better tools. Just better decisions.
I sat back and stared at the clock. It ticked over to 14:26.
Twenty-six minutes into the new task, and already the countdown pressed on my chest like a weight I'd strapped on willingly.
But I wasn't panicking.
Not yet.
I was ready.