The porch light flickered twice before settling into a dull, steady glow. Jenny stood beneath it, coat zipped high, hands stuffed into her pockets. She didn't flinch when the note was pressed into her palm—just looked up, caught Mia's eyes from the shadow of the hedge across the yard, and gave a single, solemn nod.
No words passed between them. None were needed.
Mia stepped back into darkness, her breath visible in the cool night air. The hedge scratched at her sleeve as she leaned in to watch Jenny retreat inside. The door clicked shut with a soft finality. A light flipped on behind one of the windows. Curtains shifted. Then stillness.
Her pulse slowed.
For now, Sarah was not alone.
⸻
The note had been short. Plain paper, neat ink. A list of details: possible patrol patterns, license plate fragments, descriptions of lingering strangers. Mia had written it under the weak lamp at her motel, hand steady, mind tense. It was the kind of note that bore weight without volume.
"Watch the corner between 8 and 9 PM. Porch shadows. Unfamiliar figure in a gray jacket seen twice this week."
Jenny had read it once, folded it precisely, and slid it into the lining of her bag.
Mia had trusted few people. But Jenny—ever perceptive, ever quiet—had proven herself over time. They didn't need to speak to understand what was at stake.
⸻
Later that night, Mia sat on the rooftop of the duplex across the street. Her journal rested on her knees. She scribbled quick entries beneath the harsh beam of her flashlight.
Log: 9:46 PM. Jenny received note. Compliance confirmed.
Threat level: Indeterminate. Presence confirmed three nights in a row.
She paused, glanced up.
The house sat still in the dark, only the porch light glowing. In the upper window, Sarah's silhouette passed once. Then again.
Safe. For now.
But Mia didn't relax.
She watched the corner of the block, the quiet rhythm of night traffic, the periodic blinking of a faulty streetlamp two houses down. Her senses were heightened, attuned to every motion—the rustle of leaves, the distant slam of a dumpster lid, the chirp of tires turning too slowly.
Every detail catalogued.
She wasn't just observing anymore.
She was preparing.
⸻
Inside, Jenny moved through the kitchen, flipping light switches as she went. The folded note remained untouched in her coat. But its words echoed. She peeked out the window over the sink. Nothing unusual. Still, she didn't like the quiet.
Some silences had shape. This one felt too sharp.
She checked the locks. Turned off the hallway light. Slid her phone beside her bed.
And waited.
⸻
Mia hadn't planned to involve Jenny. But after the budget cuts, the unstable schedule, the fraying support structures—she couldn't monitor everything alone. She needed eyes. Reliable eyes.
She remembered the day she met Jenny. A block cleanup project last year. Jenny had pulled a rusted swing from a drainage ditch with bare hands. She hadn't said much. But she'd stayed until the street was clean. That was all Mia needed to know.
She trusted the silent ones more.
Now, from her vantage point above, she watched the street until her vision blurred.
And then she saw it.
Across the road, half-shadowed by the frame of a telephone pole, a figure lingered.
Not moving.
Just watching.
Her breath caught.
The figure didn't approach. Didn't turn. But Mia's instincts sharpened. She adjusted her angle, pulled a pair of compact binoculars from her jacket pocket, and peered through.
Gray jacket.
Dark boots.
Same as the previous night.
She noted the time.
Then, slowly, she climbed down from the roof.
⸻
The street felt colder than before.
She didn't cross it. Just walked two blocks in a wide arc, letting herself pass near enough to see—but not close enough to be seen.
The figure remained.
At one point, a car passed. Headlights washed over the sidewalk.
When the light faded, the figure was gone.
Vanished like smoke.
⸻
Back at her motel, Mia wrote by lamplight.
Threat confirmed. Frequency escalating. Recommending sustained monitoring.
She hesitated before writing Jenny's name.
Then did.
Ally engaged. Risk acceptable. Trust warranted.
She underlined the word "trust."
Then added, almost as an afterthought:
It's not just protection anymore. It's allegiance.
She stared at the word for a long time.
Allegiance.
It meant consequences.
⸻
Jenny, now seated in her bedroom, unfolded the note again.
She'd read it five times.
Not out of fear. But to memorize it.
Outside, a breeze shook the bushes by the fence. Jenny's eyes narrowed. She reached up. Turned off the lamp.
Then watched.
She wouldn't miss anything.
⸻
Back in the hedge's deepest shadow, Mia's fingers hovered over the zipper of her coat. Her senses stayed alert. Her notebook remained sealed.
She wasn't recording anymore.
She was just waiting.
Then, somewhere between breath and heartbeat, a shape moved near the corner.
Mia didn't blink.
She marked it.
A glint of metal—a phone? A blade?
She exhaled through her nose. No sound.
The figure crossed the street, slow, casual.
Mia watched the way he walked.
Weight evenly distributed.
Not casual. Calculated.
She took one step back, then another, letting the bush obscure her silhouette fully.
The figure stopped in front of a mailbox.
Opened it.
Nothing inside.
Then turned.
Faced the house.
Mia felt her grip tighten around the small flashlight in her coat.
She didn't flick it on.
But her thumb hovered over the switch.
Just in case.
⸻
Inside, Jenny stood motionless near the front curtain.
Her eyes had locked on the shape outside.
She reached for the landline phone.
Then paused.
Waited.
The man didn't move again.
For nearly three minutes.
Then, as if changing his mind, he stepped away.
Mia tracked him until he disappeared around the corner.
She held her position a full minute more.
Then turned.
Slipped away.
⸻
Back in her room, Mia didn't write.
She just sat.
Hands still.
She could still feel the presence in her chest, like static.
She had never wanted to name the man.
Never wanted to assign the possibility of what he might be.
But now she had to.
She opened her journal.
New Term: Target Pending.
Then below:
Not all patterns are accidents. Some are deliberate.
She didn't sleep that night.
But she didn't leave either.
Sarah needed more than protection now.
She needed a wall.
And Mia would be it.