“I AM not leaving town.”
The words sat heavy in the dim room, spoken more to the silence than to anyone who might be listening.
Jeremiah stood near the window of the safehouse, one hand braced against the cracked wall, the other holding a burner phone he had not turned on yet. Outside, snow pressed lightly against the glass, softening the edges of the streetlamp across the way. It felt like a lie. Everything did lately.
The safehouse was small, forgettable. One bedroom. A narrow kitchen. Furniture that looked like it had been abandoned rather than chosen. It was the kind of place men came to disappear for a while, not to live. That suited him just fine.
Jeremiah exhaled slowly and finally powered on the phone.
No missed calls.
That was worse.
He moved deeper into the room, shrugging
