Day 059 – Hour 022"Preparation Looks Like Stillness"
The apartment didn't look like mine anymore.
There was food on every shelf—enough to last two weeks, maybe more if I stretched it. The cracked tiles had been scrubbed. The blanket folded over my futon wasn't the one I'd patched up three times already, and the new shoes near the door still held their factory creases.
I hadn't seen anyone in four days.
No Vex.
No Marco.
Not even the neighbors, not really. Just the sound of them—muffled voices, water pipes, that one radio that never knew the right time to be loud.
I needed the quiet. Or something that resembled it.
Since handing the money to Ilin, I hadn't touched the rest. Whatever remained was meant to last. I'd done my laundry, threw out the old shirts, and wore clothes that fit me properly for the first time in maybe a year. A thin jacket that didn't itch, pants that didn't sag. Even my socks didn't fight my toes.
These weren't luxuries. They were armor.
The food was simple.
Dried rice, canned lentils, packets of seasoning, sealed bread.
It wasn't a feast, but it was planned. Controlled. And most importantly, it kept me from having to step outside. I didn't want to be seen. Didn't want anyone calling out to me. Not Auntie. Not France. Not even the little kids who used to follow me around asking for discarded electronics.
There was no way to explain the look in my eyes now. I didn't even know what it was myself.
But I knew what it wasn't—peace.
For the first time in weeks, I didn't feel watched.
That worried me more than being watched did.
The Club was always two steps ahead. I knew that now. Whether through Marco or others, they'd been threading their hand through my every move. But for the past four days—nothing.
No odd texts. No strangers waiting in alleyways. No dropped hints from Tamber or Vex. Not even a casual "you're still alive" glance from anyone in Marco's circle.
Nothing.
I thought about calling France.
Not for another favor—just for something ordinary. A repair, maybe. An upgrade.
There was enough money left to swap out the basic phone for one with more memory, better reception, longer battery life. One that didn't look like it belonged to a decade ago.
But I didn't.
Not because I was being frugal.
Because I didn't want to get used to comfort.
Because I remembered what the Club said—that the first $100 was a gift. The second was the start of the game.
And because I didn't want to tempt fate with another choice that might cost me more than money.
The sun had gone down an hour ago.
There was nothing left to organize. No shelves to rearrange. No tasks unfinished.
The apartment was still.
The air didn't move. The walls held their breath.
I tried to read, but the words blurred.
I tried to think, but my mind looped the same four or five questions I couldn't answer.
Where would the next task take me?
Would I make it back?
What if I failed?
What if I passed?
I leaned back on the futon.
I'd felt tired before.
Bone-tired.
Soul-tired.
But this was different.
It was like something beneath the floorboards had been humming for hours and just now settled down, and my body noticed the absence of tension by collapsing into it.
The drowsiness didn't feel earned. It wasn't natural. Not the kind that comes from working a long day or walking home with groceries that cut into your fingers.
It was soft. Creeping. Seductive.
Too smooth to be safe.
I didn't fight it.
I should've.
But I didn't.
As my eyes drifted shut, I told myself the same thing I always did when I didn't know what tomorrow would bring:
You've already said yes.
And then, sleep took me.
Just like before.
Before the knock that never came.
Before the envelope that always did.