Day 55 – Hour 020 “Undercurrent”

Day 55 – Hour 020 "Undercurrent"

I kept the lights off when I got home.

No reason to advertise I'd returned. The camera stayed close, bag unopened, tucked behind my futon where the moonlight wouldn't touch it. I didn't even reach for food. My body had already adjusted to the rhythm of less.

I sat near the window, curtain barely parted.

Listened.

Waited.

Not for someone in particular. Just for the quiet.

It came eventually.

Not the silence of safety, but the stillness that follows tension. Like the city was holding its breath just long enough for me to gather my own.

The longer I sat, the more my thoughts turned toward what had changed.

Not just today — but everything since Day 000.

That first envelope.

The lie I told myself that I could take the money and walk away.

I used to avoid all of this.

The underbelly. The unseen. The layers of the slums where rules were softer and knives sharper. Where names were whispered instead of said.

I wasn't innocent, but I was careful.

I worked the surface. Repaired furniture. Dug through trash. Bartered for leftovers. I lived near the line, but I never crossed it.

Not because I was afraid.

But because once you step into the undertow, it's not up to you where you go.

And now?

Now I was in motion.

Pulled not by necessity, but by curiosity. By strange envelopes. By photographs taken in silence. By tasks whose rules I never got to see until I broke them.

And I was doing well.

Too well.

The fear hadn't grown, not like I thought it would.

It had evolved into something else.

A thrill.

A current.

One I had started to enjoy riding.

That scared me more than the Club ever could.

The slums don't change. They adapt.

New gangs rise, old names fade. Corners get claimed, repainted, reclaimed.

But there's always a current beneath it all. A rhythm of danger and opportunity braided so tightly you can't tell them apart.

I used to avoid it.

Now I was becoming part of it.

And the strangest part was — I didn't feel lost.

I felt like I was beginning to understand the beat.

I leaned back from the window.

The street below was dim.

No unusual footsteps.

No knocks.

Not that they ever knocked.

I reached into the bag, pulled the film out slowly, carefully.

Ran my thumb across the casing.

I knew Marco would develop it.

I knew Vex would ask about it, probably tease me.

And Tamber?

He'd look closely, quietly.

Judging if I'd earned the praise they gave me.

I didn't care about impressing them.

Not really.

But I did care about the precision of the work.

The stillness of it.

The story in a frame.

That part — the artistry — I hadn't expected to enjoy.

But I did.

And that, too, was dangerous.

I tucked the film back in its pouch.

Tomorrow I would deliver it.

Tonight, I would sit in this quiet.

Let it sink in.

Let myself feel what it meant to drift deeper into a world I used to watch from the edge.

And maybe, just maybe… prepare for when the tide pulls harder than I can swim.