Chapter 8 (Expanded)
This time, I didn't call Charlie.
Not yet.
Calling him now would mean committing to a move before I understood the board. And I wasn't done setting the board.
I dialed the number listed deep inside an old municipal report instead. The engineer. The one who designed the property back when the mountain still mattered.
The factory had belonged to an old man with no heir. Died quiet. Assets dissolved. The mountain itself was labeled vacant now. Abandoned. Forgotten by paperwork and people alike.
No patrols.
No caretakers.
No witnesses.
Which was both perfect and terrifying.
Blind charges get people killed. I wasn't charging. I was mapping.
I pulled up satellite imagery, the most recent scans available, then stacked elevation data on top. Contour lines. Slope angles. Old access roads half-erased by time. I marked every possible entry point, every place a vehicle could hide, every spot a body could disappear.
Then came the burner SIM.
Again.
Ring.
Ring.
"Yeah? Who's this?"
"Hello, Mike," I said, voice flat, calm, engineered. "I'm looking for the blueprint of the factory property in North Mountain, City B. Any way I could acquire it?"
A laugh. Bitter. Defensive. "Why the hell would I give you that?"
I let the silence stretch. Not too long. Just enough to sink in.
"Well, Mike," I said quietly, "I know about your past. Your missing daughter. I think I can help you with that."
Dead air.
Then the shift. Sharp. Angry. Cracked.
"How do you know that?"
There it was. Fury on top. Hope underneath. Thin as paper, sharp as glass.
"I'm not here to hurt you," I said. "I'm here to trade."
A long pause. I imagined him gripping the phone too tightly, pacing a room that never felt the same after she vanished.
"…Fine," he said at last. "How do I deliver it?"
"You live in City A," I replied. "There's a barbershop three blocks from your place. Alley on the right. Old mailbox. Leave it there."
"…Alright."
I ended the call before he could ask the questions that would unravel everything.
Then came the hard part.
Going out.
For most people, that's nothing. For me, it's already a negotiation with biology. Sunlight isn't discomfort. It's a threat. Burns aren't cosmetic. They're damage.
Normal excuses don't work when your body betrays you on schedule.
I stepped out of my room, heart hammering, rehearsing lies like lines in a play.
"Mom? Can I go see Uncle Chang? My stomach hurts…"
Immediate panic.
"What? Your stomach hurts? I'll take you right now."
Fuck.
"No, wait—" I stumbled. "It's not that bad. I mean, I can go myself. I'm already an adult. I just need to check something with Uncle."
She hesitated. Worry written all over her face.
Then the universe blinked.
Dad called. Said he was bringing colleagues over. Asked if she could prep dinner.
Decision made for her.
I was cleared.
I moved fast. Too fast. Back in my room, clothes swapped in seconds. Oversized hoodie Mom bought me. Black. Stupidly cute. Cat ears. Pink accents. She still sees me as a kid. Bermuda shorts. Shin-high socks. Sneakers.
Kitsune mask.
Laptop bag packed. Power bank. Hard drives. USBs. Earbuds. Watch. Cash. Lunchbox she packed without asking.
I exited through the front door like a good son. Walked left. Counted ten steps.
Then doubled back.
Fire escape.
Metal cold under my hands. Familiar. Rooftops opened up like a second city, one only visible if you knew where to look. I moved fast, light, practiced. Past the hospital. Far enough from home that mistakes wouldn't circle back.
Taxi after that. City A.
Tall buildings clustered together at the entrance. Concrete canyons. Perfect cover.
Back to fire escapes. Back to rooftops.
The barbershop sat quiet below me. Neon sign flickering weakly. Mike wasn't there.
Good.
I dropped down into the alley, checked the mailbox.
Blueprints.
My pulse jumped.
I didn't leave.
I climbed back up.
Rooftop.
That's where the real work started.
Laptop open. Blueprints scanned immediately, converted into a digital model. Walls. Hallways. Structural supports. Service tunnels hidden behind false panels. Emergency exits designed to meet regulations that no longer mattered.
I overlaid everything onto the mountain map. Adjusted scale. Tilted elevation. Rotated angles until reality and data aligned.
Up there, above the city, wind cutting through my hoodie, I mapped a place no one was supposed to remember.
Time dissolved.
Sunlight bled orange into the horizon, then red, then gone. City lights flickered on beneath me like a constellation I didn't belong to.
I leaned back, staring at the finished model.
Every room accounted for.
Every blind spot identified.
Every exit marked.
Anonymous work. Anonymous movement. Anonymous intent.
"It's time," I whispered to no one.
And for the first time, the thought didn't scare me.
It thrilled me.