Leon Alvarez trusted patterns more than people.
People lied. Patterns just waited long enough to tell the truth.
He stood at the corner of 9th and Mercer, coffee cooling in his hand, watching his reflection in the darkened glass of a closed salon. The neon OPEN sign across the street buzzed even though the place had been shut for months. That bothered him. Dead things weren't supposed to advertise.
Leon didn't drink the coffee. He held it because it gave his hands something to do.
Two cars passed. Normal. A third slowed just a fraction too long before the light turned green.
Leon clocked it.
Gray SUV. Rental. Clean. Too clean for this block. The driver didn't look at him, which was the tell. People who weren't watching didn't try that hard.
Leon walked.
Not fast. Not slow. The trick was never to announce the test.
He crossed the street mid-block, ignoring the light. The SUV continued straight.
Good.
He ducked into a bodega, circled the aisles without buying anything, and came back out through the side door.
The SUV was parked now. Engine off. Two doors from the corner.
Leon exhaled through his nose.
"Yeah," he murmured. "Still got it."
Still being hunted didn't mean someone was always there. It meant someone was always checking.
Leon headed east, staying off the main roads, counting reflections. A man on a bike passed him twice in five minutes. Once was coincidence. Twice was curiosity.
Leon ducked into an alley and stopped dead.
The biker rolled past the opening, glanced in, then kept going.
Leon waited a full thirty seconds before moving again.
His phone buzzed.
He didn't answer.
He waited until the buzzing stopped, then checked the screen.
NO CALLER ID
That one was new. Or old enough to know better.
He turned the phone off completely and kept walking.
His apartment sat above a defunct print shop, three flights up, stairs that creaked like they were keeping secrets. Leon paused at each landing, listening. Counting breaths. Smelling for cigarette smoke that didn't belong.
Inside, the place was stripped down to essentials: mattress on the floor, go-bag by the door, burner phones lined up like chess pieces on the counter. Nothing on the walls. Nothing worth missing.
Leon locked the door, slid the bolt, then checked the window anyway.
Across the street, a man leaned against a light pole, scrolling on his phone.
Leon smiled without humor.
He pulled the curtain just enough to watch.
The man didn't move for a full two minutes. Then he looked up. Not at the window—at the reflection of it in a parked car.
Leon felt the old itch crawl up his spine.
"Okay," he said quietly. "We're doing this."
He opened a drawer and pulled out a pistol. Checked the chamber. Loaded. He didn't love guns. He respected them. Same as fear.
Another phone buzzed. Burner #3. The one he'd given to exactly one person.
Leon answered.
"You're late," he said.
A voice slid through the line like oil.
"Still alive," the voice said. "That's new."
Leon closed his eyes.
"Crowley," he said. Not a question.
A soft chuckle. "You always were quick."
"What do you want?" Leon asked.
"Conversation," Crowley replied. "Information. Closure."
Leon laughed once. Sharp. "You don't do closure."
"No," Crowley agreed. "I do continuity."
Leon watched the man across the street push off the pole and start walking. Not away. Toward the building.
"Then say it," Leon said. "Say the thing."
Crowley paused. Let it hang.
"I'm reopening accounts," Crowley said. "You're still on the books."
Leon tightened his grip on the phone.
"I'm out," he said. "I paid."
Crowley hummed. "You paid what you owed. Interest is another matter."
The footsteps on the stairs started—slow, deliberate. Not hiding. That was the worst part.
Leon swallowed.
"You're burning people," Leon said. "I've seen the pattern."
Crowley laughed. Full this time. Amused.
"Patterns are how you know it's working," he said. "Listen, Leon. You've been very careful. Very quiet. I admire that."
The steps reached the landing outside Leon's door.
"But careful men get lonely," Crowley continued. "And lonely men make calls."
There was a knock. Polite. Controlled.
Leon raised the pistol.
"You watching me right now?" Leon asked.
Another pause.
"Always," Crowley said.
Leon ended the call.
The knock came again.
Leon stood in the center of the room, gun steady, heart calm in a way that scared him more than panic ever had.
Still being hunted didn't mean running.
It meant choosing when to stop.
And whether you stopped breathing afterward.