Day 61 – Hour 007 “What I Can Control”

Day 61 – Hour 007"What I Can Control"

I woke up with a sense of ease that didn't sit right with me. Not the kind that came from peace of mind or comfort, but something else—something deeper. My muscles didn't ache. My eyes weren't heavy. And most importantly, I hadn't stirred once throughout the night.

That in itself was cause for concern.

I sat up, checking the time. My alarm hadn't even gone off. That meant I'd slept through the night uninterrupted. That had only happened before—the nights before the first envelopes arrived.

Twice might be coincidence. Three times? That would be a pattern.

Whatever they were using—if they were using anything—I didn't feel groggy or off. I just felt… rested. Too rested. In a place like this, sleep should never come that easily. I'd learned to sleep with one eye open, both ears sharp. That instinct didn't just disappear overnight. But here I was.

I pulled on a faded hoodie and stepped outside briefly to let the air touch my face. The morning streets carried their usual sounds—vendors opening stalls, early chatter from people too tired to yell. And as I stepped over a crack in the concrete, the thought resurfaced: They might be drugging me.

They knew when I slept. How deeply. And where I would be. That kind of access didn't come from surveillance—it came from design. The Club was never sloppy. If this happened again during my next assignment, I would have proof. For now, I had suspicion—and suspicion was enough to change how I moved.

Back inside, I sat cross-legged on the floor with my ledger open across my lap. The Club had given me 29 days until the next mission. It was the most time they had ever given me to prepare. And with the new gym membership, free meals, a trainer, and the freedom to disappear into a private facility, I had something I hadn't had in years: options.

I drew a straight line across the top of the page and wrote in bold:

MONTHLY PLAN

Week 1: Rebuild my stamina. Strengthen legs and core. Understand gym layout and establish daily routine.

Week 2: Photography drills in low light and motion tracking. Try both with and without people in frame.

Week 3: Shadow my neighborhood. Chart patterns. Time behaviors. Blend in.

Final 5 days: Go dark. Practice moving silently. Test equipment. Memorize three different disappear routes.

I closed the book for a moment and stared at the ceiling. I had the time. I had the resources. And for once, I had no excuses. If I failed now, it wouldn't be because of money or bad luck. It would be because I wasn't sharp enough.

I pulled the drawer open and brought out the three envelopes again—each from a different location. All marked with the Club's insignia. But all from serpent-run fronts. 

Three different facilities. Three serpent-run spaces.

The Club didn't just operate in the slums. They owned them. Or at the very least, they owned the people who mattered most inside them.

I leaned back and stared at the ceiling. This wasn't infiltration. This was infrastructure. Anyone could be involved. And worse, everyone might already be involved.

Even Marco.

It made me sick to admit, but he could've been compromised. Or maybe he'd volunteered from the beginning. I didn't know. The only thing I was sure of was this: the Club's grip on my world was far deeper than I first believed.

I grabbed my phone to check the time and opened a new page in the ledger.

TASK OBSERVATIONS:

No set moral guideline.

Rewards tied to results, not ethics.

Membership is merit-based but access is controlled.

Club can extract images/data directly from devices.

All support facilities were serpent-run.

Envelope always arrives when asleep. Sleep too deep. Likely interference.

I paused. Tapped the pen. Drew a line beneath the last note and wrote:

"Only if you are useful."

That was their answer. That was their truth. No sentiment. No ambition for my growth. Just my usefulness. It wasn't guidance—they were taking inventory. Evaluating parts. Waiting to see which ones broke and which ones adapted.

I thought about Ilin. About the way he spoke of his father. About how loyalty was never quite enough, but usefulness always got you one more day.

I stood and got dressed. My errands could wait. But one visit could not.

I needed to see Nolve.

He wasn't just a shopkeeper. I'd known that for a while. His store felt like a hub of murmurs. People came for things they didn't need, spoke in tones too low for strangers to follow. And Nolve? He always smiled, but he never asked anything personal. He never needed to.

I wanted to know what he knew—and more importantly, what he chose not to say.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and stepped out into the sun. The streets of the slums were the same as always. Loud. Busy. Cracked and filled with corners you didn't see until you were too far down them. But I felt different walking through them today.

I wasn't just another body navigating them.

I was starting to see through them.

And if I was right about Nolve, then today, I'd get a better view than ever before.