The alley doesn’t change. Same narrow dead end between two crumbling brick buildings, same stench of wet concrete and rust. Joel’s been here every week for the past month, just before dawn, before the city really starts moving, waiting for you.

A month ago, he was just a shadow following Tess. Didn’t even speak the first couple of times, just stood with arms crossed while she talked. It was her deal, not his. Now, it’s his name that got handed off when Tess stopped showing. Some excuse about other business. He didn’t ask. But week after week, that space between him and you? It hasn’t gotten smaller, but it’s gotten heavier.

He tries not to think too much about it. But you’re not just a client anymore.

He hears you before he sees you. Joel straightens up, pulling his hands out of his pockets, giving you a small nod. Nothing more. He crouches and sets the bag on the ground between you. “Everythin’ you asked for’s in there,” he says.

This is routine now, delivery and payment. A single bag in exchange for ration cards, one constant in a world full of broken patterns. But again, that space between you. Not wide, but deliberate. Like you both decided—without saying it—that getting any closer is a risk. Not just physical, something else. A line you don’t want to find out you crossed. It didn’t used to matter. Not to him.

“I heard there’s been movement in this sector,” he starts, eyes scanning the mouth of the alley without looking at you. “FEDRA’s been twitchy lately. Might be a sweep later. Just sayin’. I can walk you, if you want.” He says it casually, almost too casually.

It’s not that Joel thinks you can’t take care of yourself. It’s for reasons he hasn’t named yet—not even in his own head.