The person stopped.
Without a word, someone in a crisp black uniform, no insignias, no name tag, only the faintest hint of the organization's scent, set a paper bag down at my feet. The movement was fluid, rehearsed. In and out in seconds. Before I could even look up, the person had melted into the crowd, vanishing like smoke.
I sighed, my fingers tightening on the bench's cold metal edge.
Same old trick. The organization never changed. They didn't need words or threats anymore. They had their ways of reminding me where I stood.
Slowly, I reached for the paper bag and pulled it closer. My instincts screamed at me to leave it there, but my hands moved anyway.
Inside, neatly arranged, lay a brand-new phone, its screen dark but heavy with implication. Beneath it, a slim laptop, matte black and unmarked, its weight too familiar in my hands. At the bottom, a black credit card gleamed like an abyss, its embossed rose insignia reflecting the dim light of the mall.
No note. No message. Nothing but silence.
But I knew what it meant.
It was a leash.
A promise.
A reminder that no matter how far I'd run, they could still reach me.
I closed the bag again and sat there for a long time, staring at the flow of strangers passing by.
Once again, my quiet life had been pierced by their shadow.
When I powered on the new phone, the screen bloomed with the familiar red rose insignia, and then, without asking for a passcode, my profile opened automatically.
I froze.
The organization had updated everything, every record of me, my documents, my assets, my movements. But what made my stomach drop wasn't any of that. It was the new section on my profile.
Family Members.
A husband had been added.
Under his name, Richard Jing.
Photographs, birthdate, family tree, school records, even his current GPS location, all neatly compiled like a classified dossier. The organization had already done what I had been hesitant to do. They had mapped out his life, every step he took.
I didn't even need to press "Track" to know exactly where he was. His movements were already being logged in real time, down to the coffee shop he'd been to in the morning, the hospital visits, the classes he was attending.
A knot twisted in my stomach.
I should be relieved that they were watching over him, but instead, I felt violated, as if someone had peeled away a layer of my life I didn't even know existed. The organization had wrapped its tendrils around not just me but him, too, and he didn't even know it.
I sighed and powered the phone off, sliding it into my bag.
I couldn't.
I couldn't look at where he was right now. Not while I felt this way.
I stood up and walked out of the mall, my steps carrying me to the one place where I could at least feel like I still had a choice, a salon a few blocks away.
The cool air inside brushed against my skin as the scent of shampoo and hair dye filled my senses.
"Good afternoon, ma'am," the stylist greeted me warmly. "What would you like today?"
I dropped into the chair like a stone, staring at my reflection in the mirror, a face I wasn't sure I recognized anymore.
"A trim," I said quietly. "Wash out the hair color and make it black again. And… I need good curls."
The stylist leaned closer, examining my strands.
"I see," she said softly. "You were born with curly hair, ma'am. Natural, strong curls."
Her words echoed louder than they should have, as though she was saying something more.
Natural.
Strong.
Curly.
Things about me I'd tried to straighten, dye, hide. Parts of myself I'd tried to erase.
And now, just like the organization, the past was curling back to the surface.
After the salon, I didn't head straight to the hotel.
I drifted from one appointment to another like a leaf carried by the current, first a facial, then a full-body massage, and finally the dentist.
Each place smelled different, lavender oils, mint mouthwash, sterile gloves, but they all blurred into one muted haze.
I let the therapists press their hands into my skin, kneading away knots I hadn't even realized were there. My face was scrubbed, my pores unclogged, my teeth polished until they gleamed under the dentist's light.
But no matter how much they scrubbed or kneaded, I still felt the same hollow ache inside.
It didn't matter if I went home late.
It didn't even matter if I ended up sleeping in the streets.
The organization would take care of everything.
That was the deal I had once signed with them, my skills for their protection. Even now, years later, the invisible threads of their network still encircled me and my family like a net. Anyone who so much as thought of harming us would vanish before I even knew their names. They would handle it all quietly, efficiently.
The thought used to make me feel safe. Now it just made me feel… watched.
As I left the dentist's office, the sky was already fading into a bruised purple, the streetlights flickering on one by one. People passed by me laughing, talking, living ordinary lives they thought they controlled.
I envied them.
I slipped my sunglasses back on and walked slowly, not toward the hotel but nowhere in particular. I had no destination.
Because no matter where I went, the organization would know. They'd be there, two steps ahead, clearing the path.
I wondered if Richard felt it yet, the shadow of the net tightening around him, too.
Someone suddenly bumped into me with enough force to jolt me out of my thoughts.
It wasn't the careless brush of a stranger in a hurry. This was deliberate.
My body tensed, instincts kicking in before my mind caught up. I shifted to dodge, ready to throw the person off if needed, but a firm hand caught my wrist.
I spun around, already calculating my next move, and then froze.