Page 72 of Brutal
Not Vexley.
Not directly.
But close enough to feel it.
A firm that handles quiet problems. A firm that specializes in things going away without ever being called what they are.
My pulse picks up again.
This is bigger than I thought.
Not just one night.
Not just one death.
I sit back and let that settle.
This is where a normal person would stop.
Where a normal person would look at this and think it’s not worth it. This was fifteen years ago, and it’s too big, too dangerous.
I think about my apartment being searched.
I think about Samson standing in my space like he owned it.
Like he owned me.
If anything, that pushes me forward.
Because whoever came into my home didn’t take anything. They didn’t need to. They wanted me to feel it. To understand that I’m being watched.
Fine.
Then I’ll make sure they don’t like what they see.
I close the spreadsheet and open a new document. I begin to outline everything I have so far.
Lots of gaps, lots of questions… But the shape is there now. I can’t unsee it.
I push back from the table, stand, and stretch out the stiffness in my shoulders.
I turn slowly, scanning the space again.
Everything looks normal.
Except now I know better. Now I know how easy it is for someone to walk in here and touch what’s mine.
A shiver runs through me. I cross to the door and check the lock again. It’s still secure. I rest my forehead briefly against the wood.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Get it together.
I move to the window and look out over the street below. Early commuters. A delivery truck. A woman walking her dog like this is just another morning.
For them, it is.
