The warehouse had gone quiet. It wasn't the good kind of quiet. It was that heavy, ringing stillness that happens after a scream or a shot. Lena sat in the office upstairs for a long time. She had the small silver drive in her palm. It was cold and felt heavier than it should have. She'd cut it out of Barnaby's collar with the knife Adrian gave her. The cat was sitting on the dusty desk now, licking his paw and acting like the world wasn't falling apart.
She heard the stairs groan. The footsteps were slow. One sounded heavier than the other, a dragging sound that made her stomach turn. Lena gripped the knife until her knuckles went white. She didn't breathe until the door pushed open.
Adrian was there. He wasn't bleeding, not that she could see, but he looked like he'd aged a decade in twenty minutes. His suit jacket was gone. His white shirt was grey with concrete dust and had a long tear down the sleeve. He stood in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the frame like he wasn't sure he could stand up without it.
"It's done," he said. His voice was a dry rasp.
"Did you kill him?" Lena asked. She didn't get up.
"No." Adrian didn't look at her. He was looking at the drive in her hand. "I gave him a different drive. One with enough data to trigger a federal audit of his offshore accounts. It buys time. About twelve hours before his lawyers figure out the real evidence is missing. By then, he'll be too busy with the feds to chase a ghost."
Lena looked at the silver plastic in her hand. "And the real one? The records?"
"You have them. Like I told you. Get to the boat."
"What about you, Adrian?"
He looked at his hands. They were filthy. There was a thick smudge of black oil across his palm and dirt under his fingernails. He flexed his fingers like they were stiff. "I'm staying for a bit. I have to lead them the other way. If I go with you, they'll just keep hunting the pair of us. If I stay, they focus on me. It's cleaner. Makes more sense."
Internal thoughts are flat and grey. He's doing the martyr thing. He thinks if he stays here and takes the hit, the slate gets wiped clean. It doesn't. He's still the man who watched Julian die. But he's also the guy who just handed me my life back. "You're going to die," she said. It wasn't a question or a plea. It was just a fact.
"Probably," he said. He gave a small, tired shrug. One side of his mouth twitched, almost a smile but not quite. "It was going to happen eventually. Might as well be for something that isn't a paycheck."
He walked over to the desk. He didn't touch her. He stayed about two feet away, just close enough that she could smell the gunpowder and the sharp, metallic tang of sweat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick, stained envelope. He set it on the desk next to the cat.
"Money. Passports. There's a map to a house in Maine. It's out in the woods, near the coast. It's quiet. No red velvet walls. No bars."
"I don't want your money," Lena said. She looked at the envelope. It was bulging.
"Take it anyway," Adrian said. He looked at Barnaby. "The cat eats expensive stuff. Don't buy him the cheap cans."
He turned toward the window. The sun was finally dipping low, throwing long, orange bars of light across the dirty floor. He looked like a shadow already. Just a dark shape in a room full of dust.
"Lena," he said. He didn't turn around. "Julian... he really did love you. In his own messed up way. That part wasn't a lie. Everything else was a mess, but he cared about you."
"I know," she said. There was a lump in her throat that felt like a stone. She couldn't swallow it. "I think you did too. In your own messed up way."
Adrian didn't answer. He just stood there with his back to her, watching the dark water of the river. He looked very small against the scale of the empty warehouse.
Lena stood up. Her legs felt like they were made of lead. She picked up Barnaby and shoved him back into the gym bag. The cat didn't even fight her this time. She didn't say goodbye. There weren't any words that wouldn't sound stupid or wrong. She walked past Adrian, her shoulder brushing his for a second. He didn't move.
She went down the stairs, the wood creaking under her boots. The air outside was cold and smelled like salt. The boat was where he said it would be, tied to a rusted pylon. She climbed in and untied the ropes. Her hands were shaking, but she got the engine started. It was a loud, coughing sound that echoed off the warehouse walls.
As she pulled away into the current, she looked back. She saw the office window upstairs. Adrian was a dark silhouette standing there, perfectly still. He didn't wave. He didn't move. He just watched the boat get smaller.
She turned the boat toward the open sea. The drive was in her pocket, a tiny weight that felt like a mountain. She didn't know if Maine was real. She didn't know if she'd make it past the harbor.
She just knew the velvet shadows were finally behind her.
Internal thoughts are simple. I'm alone. But the air is cold and it's real. That's enough. Just keep the boat straight.
The boat hit a wave, spraying cold salt water onto her face. Lena didn't wipe it away. She just kept her hand on the throttle and didn't look back again. The warehouse disappeared into the grey mist of the evening.