The morning after the warehouse incident was surreal. Kofi woke up feeling like he had been run over by a truck, his body a collection of aches and bruises. But the exhaustion was overlaid with a strange, buzzing energy, the lingering adrenaline of the previous night's events.
He found Thea in the kitchen, making toast. The quiet, domestic scene was a bizarre contrast to the memory of dark alleys and roaring motorcycles.
She looked up as he walked in, her eyes immediately going to his tired face. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "Just tired."
She put a piece of toast on a plate and pushed it toward him. "You should eat."
He took the plate, a new, comfortable routine settling between them. They were partners now, co-conspirators in this strange, complicated life.
His phone buzzed. It was a text from the unknown number.
> Unknown: Who the hell are you? Who was that on the bike? What did you do?
