The warehouse smelled of oil and secrets.
Marco leaned against the cold metal support beam, arms crossed, eyes locked on the woman sitting at the rickety table in the center of the room. She sifted through a file with clinical precision, her face blank.
No emotion. No cracks.
But Marco knew better.
He saw the tension in her fingers — the way they paused between pages, like a pianist considering the next note. He saw the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth.
He waited until she closed the folder with a dry snap.
“You should’ve let me deal with him,” Marco said, his voice steady.
She didn’t look up. Just aligned the pages again, as if perfection could hold the city together.
“He’s not looking at the business,” he added. “He’s looking at you.”
Her eyes flicked up, calm and sharp.
“And what does he see?”
“Someone who doesn’t belong in that market,” Marco growled. “Someone who smiled.”
She stood slowly, tucking the file under her arm. “People remember silence more than a smile. That’s what you taught me, isn’t it?”
“That was before he kept showing up.”
Her coat whispered against the concrete floor as she passed him.
“He won’t remember me,” she said. “Because there’s nothing to remember.”
She stopped beside him — not touching, but close enough that he could feel her breath.
“And if he does?”
She looked up at him, the smallest ghost of a smile on her lips.
“Then I’ll make sure he forgets.”
She left without another word, the door creaking shut behind her.
Marco didn’t move for a long time.
Across the city, Detective Nathan Cross was chasing ghosts.
He sat in the basement records room, thumbing through cold case files with ink-smudged fingers. Frankie DuPont — low-level runner, vanished three years back. One of a dozen like him.
He flipped through the pages until a statement caught his eye. A neighbor — old, nearly blind — had seen someone the night Frankie vanished.
“A girl,” she’d said. “Mousey. Like she could slip through cracks. Had groceries.”
Nathan frowned.
That same strange detail again. Groceries.
Like she was running errands, not disappearing people.
He closed the file slowly, leaning back in his chair.
No name. No ID. Just a whisper.
But his gut twisted anyway.
Later, Nathan walked the city without a purpose. The same market. Same fruit stall. The sky low and gray.
She was there again.
That woman — soft-voiced, unremarkable. Holding a grocery list in a torn notebook. She looked up as he passed, nodded politely.
He hesitated.
“Didn’t expect to see you again,” he said.
“Small city,” she replied with a smile. Simple. Friendly.
He nodded back, though his mind raced.
She looked harmless. Gentle, even.
But something tugged at him — something beneath the surface he couldn’t name.
Before he could say more, she turned and melted into the crowd.
Nathan stood there a moment longer, unsettled for reasons he couldn’t explain.
Behind a nearby van, Marco watched the exchange through a scope.
Every instinct screamed to act.
But Eve hadn’t given the signal.
So he waited.
Grinding his teeth.
Safety off.
But finger still off the trigger.
For now.
Baawa Unfiltered 