Page 59 of Flint's Arrow
His snake settled slightly. Arrow had chosen differently. He had walked away from that world, and from that version of himself. The only reason he was wearing that mask now was because Flint needed him to.
“So this building,” Bancroft was saying, pulling Flint’s attention back to the wire. “You say the party’s in a construction site?”
“Post-construction,” Arrow corrected. “As I mentioned, the owner’s a friend from business school. The building won’t open officially for another month, but the penthouse is finished. Consider it a very exclusive preview for the right people.” He lowered his voice. “Between us, I think he’s looking for investors.”
Bancroft practically salivated. “Real estate in Tribeca? What’s the buy-in?”
“We can discuss it on the walk over. It’s only a few blocks.”
Flint checked his watch. 8:47 p.m. Right on schedule.
They settled their tab - Bancroft insisted on paying, and made a big deal about it - and headed for the door. Flint was already moving, breaking down his rifle, but keeping his ear focused on the wire. The rooftop he’d secured earlier sat directly across from the construction site’s seventh floor, with clear sightlines through the empty window frames. Arrow would walk Bancroft through the building under the pretense of showing him the different units, and when they passed that specific window...
Flint packed his gear and made his way down the fire escape. New York at night was all noise and light - taxis honking, pedestrians shouting, and music spilling from open doorways. It was an easy place to disappear, which made it easy to work in.
Fifteen minutes later, he was set up in his new position. Through the scope, he could see Arrow and Bancroft entering the building’s lobby. There was no security yet. The construction crews had knocked off at six, and the night guard wouldn’t start his rounds until ten. Arrow had timed everything perfectly.
“Floor four,” Arrow said through the wire. “Heading up.”
Flint tracked their movement through the building’s skeletal structure, watching Arrow point out features, as if playing anenthusiastic tour guide. Bancroft followed, probably already dreaming of profit margins and return on investment, completely oblivious to the rifle trained on his position.
“This is where the restaurant will go,” Arrow was saying, gesturing to an open space on the sixth floor. “It will have three-hundred-sixty-degree views thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Imagine hosting clients here.”
They moved through the space, Arrow keeping up a steady stream of commentary. He wasn’t flirting, just being a professional, and yet Bancroft was eating up his narrative as if Arrow was seducing him. All Flint could notice was that there was nothing like the warm, affectionate mate who’d kissed Flint goodbye earlier that evening, while promising to be careful.
That’sbecause he’s working,Flint reminded himself.The same as you.
“And up here...” Arrow led Bancroft toward the seventh floor. “This is where it gets interesting.”
They climbed the stairs, Bancroft breathing a little harder now. Through his scope, Flint could see them emerge onto the seventh floor, backlit by construction lights. Arrow moved toward the window, positioning himself carefully to the left.
Bancroft followed, stepping into the frame.
Flint’s breathing slowed. His heart rate dropped. Everything narrowed to the shot - windage, elevation, the rise and fall of Bancroft’s chest as he panted. Flint’s finger rested against the trigger, the curve of it familiar and sure.
“The master suites on this floor are…” Arrow stopped mid-sentence, tilting his head like he’d heard something. “Hold on, did you hear that?”
Bancroft paused, listening. “Hear what?”
“I thought I heard voices downstairs.” Arrow frowned. “Security might’ve started their rounds early.”
“Should we…”
Flint squeezed the trigger.
The suppressed shot barely made a sound. Bancroft dropped, dead before he hit the ground. Through the scope, Flint watched Arrow step back, pull out his phone, and send the cleanup signal as he made his way back to the stairs.
Flint waited another thirty seconds, confirming no response from the building and that there were no unexpected complications. Then he broke down his rifle again and packed everything into his nondescript backpack.
Three blocks away, Arrow emerged from the building, tie loosened, suit jacket slung over one shoulder. He looked tired, the charming mask completely gone now. Just Flint’s mate, ready to go home.
Flint jogged down the fire escape and met him at the corner, falling into step beside him without a word. They walked in silence for a block, then two, putting distance between themselves and the site.
Finally, Arrow spoke. “What do you usually do now? After a job?”
Flint considered. “Get away clean, check in with whoever’s running cleanup, then...” He shrugged. “I find somewhere quiet so I can decompress.”
“How do you decompress?”
