Chapter Six Abby

Turns out that you can't scream at your handler when he annoys you.

I slammed the car door a little harder than necessary, my irritation with Tyler fuming like the exhaust from my beat-up Civic. The last sliver of sunlight had just dipped below the horizon as I peeled out of the Presidio's parking lot. The night was creeping in, wrapping San Francisco in its cool embrace, but inside my car, it was just me and my racing thoughts.

As I merged onto the traffic-laden streets, heading back to my modest apartment, the snippets of overheard conversations at Red Lantern replayed in my mind. I wasn't just Abby Harper, the coffee-shop girl with the art history degree looking for museum work. No, I was Agent Harper, and that shop was my front-row seat to the underbelly of Grant Avenue.

"Stupid Tyler," I muttered to myself, thinking about how he couldn't even pretend to get along for the sake of the mission. It was bad enough that the job was eating into my social life, which, let's be honest, hadn't been all that vibrant to begin with. But now, I felt like I was playing a solo game in a world where trust was just another word for weakness.

I didn't want him to be part of my social life, really. I just hated it when he made me feel like he was the only option.

Whatever. There was no reason for me to think about fucking Agent Tyler Matthews when what I should have been concerned with was doing my job.

The Red Lantern was a gold mine of information—if you understood Mandarin, that is. Lucky for me, I did. And luckier still, no one suspected the white girl with freckles knew anything beyond ‘ni hao'. I smirked, recalling the way people's eyes glossed over me, their words loose and revealing, thinking I was just part of the scenery.

"Focus, Abby."

Speaking to myself helped, in a twisted sort of way. It made the loneliness of the job less biting. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles whitening with the effort to keep my mind sharp and my resolve firmer.

Tonight, though, I felt something shift within me—a determination that bordered on obsession. I needed to map out the players, understand the hierarchies, and find a crack in the armor of the Triads. It was the kind of challenge that got my blood pumping, the danger flirting with my senses, promising a thrill that no art exhibit could ever match.

And so, with the city lights blurring past my window, I dove deeper into the puzzle, piecing together the murmurs and laughs that echoed from the walls of Red Lantern. Tomorrow, I'd be back there, sipping lukewarm coffee, pretending not to notice the coded exchanges, the subtle nods.

Tyler had said that part of the job was waiting. But I was done waiting. I wanted things to happen.

I was ready.

Tonight, it was just me, the darkness, and the road stretching ahead—my own personal slice of solitude in a world that thrived on secrets whispered in the shadows.

My train of thought derailed at the sudden buzz of my cell phone. The screen lit up, casting a soft glow in the car's interior as I glanced down and spotted the caller ID. Dad. A smile touched the corners of my lips despite the tension knotting my shoulders.

I maneuvered the car to a stop at a red light and picked up on the second ring. "Hey, Dad."

"Sprout," his voice came through, warm and familiar, a nickname that nestled close to my heart, tethering me to memories of mom and simpler times. It was our thing—his and mine—a way to keep her spirit alive between us.

"Everything okay?" I asked, partly because it was late for him to call, mostly because I needed to hear he was safe. In this line of work, paranoia was a loyal companion, whispering worst-case scenarios with every unexpected ring or knock. And my dad was a cop in a dangerous city. Of course I worried about him.

"Can't a dad check in on his daughter?" There was a rustle on his end, the sound of papers or maybe leaves. He loved his garden, said it kept mom close.

"Of course," I replied, watching the traffic light linger on red, enjoying this small oasis of normalcy amidst the chaos of my double life.

"Missing Boston yet?" His voice held a lilt of humor, but underneath there was something else—an edge I couldn't quite place. Concern, maybe? Dad wasn't one to mask his feelings well, not from me.

"Every day." My response was automatic, the truth slipping out before I could dress it up in the half-lies that had become my second language. "But, you know, duty calls."

"Sprout," he began, hesitation coloring his tone, "just remember, if you need anything—"

"I've got it covered, Dad." I cut him off gently, not wanting to worry him further. "Really, I'm fine."

"Alright," he conceded. "Just...be safe, okay?"

"Always am." A lie so polished it gleamed like the knife's edge I was walking on."How's Hank doing?"

Hank–my dad's longtime partner on the force–was the one who had taught me Mandarin, and who had gotten me this job. I knew he was proud of me…and just as worried as my dad.

"He's good, Abby. Real proud of you, you know that?" His voice was gruff, the way it got when he was holding back.

"Tell him thanks for me. And everyone else?"

"Good, Sprout, they're all good." There was a pause, almost imperceptible, but there nonetheless. He wasn't telling me everything, but then again, we were always good at keeping our cards close to our chest.

He didn't want to worry me about things happening back home when my job was already so stressful.

"Work's going alright on your end?" he continued, steering the conversation towards the dangerous ground.

"Can't complain." The red light ahead turned , and I accelerated gently. "You can talk freely, Dad. My phone's secure."

"Maybe so," he said, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "but what about your car? Ever think it might be wired?"

I couldn't help but smirk at the thought. "Dad, if they went to the trouble to wire my beat-up Honda, then they're more desperate than I thought."

"Never hurts to be cautious, Abby." He was serious now, and I knew he had a point. In this game, caution was the difference between being a player and becoming a pawn. "How is being undercover?"

"Work's been, you know, the usual," I said, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension that had taken up residence there. "Undercover isn't exactly thrilling—mostly just pouring coffee and waiting for something to happen. And God, do I miss Boston."

"I'm not surprised. California is beautiful, but your per diem can't be covering much. Do you need money?"

I rolled my eyes, but smiled. "No. I don't need money," I said. "Thank you for the offer, though."

"Well, let me know if you do need something." His voice crackled through the speaker, tinged with worry. "And how are things with Matthews? You two managing to get along?"

"Tyler?" I let out a laugh, hollow and short. "Yeah, we're…we've got a good synergy going." My grip tightened on the steering wheel, betraying the lie. Tyler was a thorn in my side, but admitting it would only worry Dad more.

"Right–synergy." He let out a knowing laugh, one that spoke volumes. "If he's giving you trouble, I could make a call, see about getting him replaced."

I shook my head, though he couldn't see. "No, I need to handle this myself. It's part of the job, right? Dealing with all sorts of people. And he's not that bad. Just a little annoying."

"Alright, Sprout." He sighed, the sound heavy with unspoken concern. "Just remember you don't have to do everything alone. I will help you. You just…you take care of yourself, okay?"

"Got it, Dad. Trust me."

"It's not you I don't trust, Abigail," he said. "I love you, kiddo."

"Love you too, Dad." I ended the call and eased my foot onto the gas. The city swallowed me whole once again, the brief connection to my old life fading into the rearview mirror as I plunged back into the night.

Unbeknownst to me, it would be weeks before I heard his voice again. The game was changing, whether I was ready for it or not.

And all my training–every single moment of it–it could have never prepared me for what happened next.