Part 39
Alex moved through the world like a ghost with a schedule.
Everything she did was quiet, deliberate—measured breathing behind an efficient machine.
She hadn't eaten since dawn.
She didn't need to. Hunger distracted, and she couldn't afford that.
Leah Ford's name now lived in three places on her screen: a press-accreditation record, a hotel booking database, and a car-rental receipt stamped only twelve hours earlier.
All the threads pointed south, toward the national highway that bled out of City like a vein.
He's running because he's scared,
she reminded herself,
and she's the reason he's scared.
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Alex drafted another message, this one to the label's security division—anonymous, routed through five dummy servers.
Subject: URGENT—Mr. Adrian's Risk
Body: "Journalist currently in possession of confidential material. Possible blackmail. Immediate recovery recommended."
She read it twice before hitting Send.
It didn't matter if they acted on it; all she needed was noise—enough confusion that Leah would look the wrong way while Alex stepped closer.
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At noon she left her apartment.
No disguise, just her usual white shirt and charcoal coat, the same shade as the flowers she carried in a paper sleeve.
She looked like someone on her way to a funeral—or a reunion.
The air was thick with heat and exhaust as she walked toward the station.
She could almost feel Adrian somewhere ahead of her, that invisible pull that never let her drift too far.
He would be anxious, shaking, waiting for someone to prove that he was still safe.
That was her role.
That had always been her role.
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She stopped at a payphone—one of the few still standing—and dialed a number pulled from Leah's contact registry.
When the line clicked open, she didn't speak right away.
Just breathed, steady and slow, letting silence do the work.
"Hello?" Leah's voice, uncertain, cautious.
Alex smiled, almost tender.
"You have something that doesn't belong to you," she said.
"Tell me where he is, and no one will get hurt."
The call ended before Leah could respond.
Alex replaced the receiver gently, as if tucking in a child.
"You don't know what you've taken," she whispered.
Then she boarded the next southbound bus, flowers still in her lap, the petals trembling with every turn of the wheels.