I messaged Yvonne that evening. Friday. Are you ready? Her reply came in under a minute; she’d been waiting. I told her to come to the house on Calloway Street. She didn’t ask why. She had learned, over thirty-one days of careful alliance, to trust the even before seeing the full blueprint. I respected that.
On Wednesday, I was almost caught. Gary came home early. I had the encrypted file open on my personal laptop and closed it in the three seconds between his key in the lock and his footsteps in the hall. He looked at me. I looked back. “Good day?” he asked. “Productive,” I said. We were both telling the truth.