Page 59 of Faron
Then walked on.
Didn’t look back.
I didn’t move. Couldn’t.
Eventually, I crossed the street, heart thudding, and crouched next to the man she’d spoken to.
“You okay?” I asked.
He nodded. “That lady’s an angel. Comes every Thursday. Calls me ‘sir.’ Nobody calls me sir.”
“She’s special,” I murmured.
I watched her disappear down the sidewalk. I wanted to run after her. To shout her name.
But I didn’t.
Not yet.
She had a life now—built from pain and survival. If I barged in, I could wreck everything. I had to be sure. I had to do this right.
I texted Tag.
She’s alive. She’s everything I hoped. I’m going to find the right moment.
He replied a minute later:
Let me know if you need backup.
I smiled. Then turned and walked away.
54
Aponi
Something was off.
Icouldn’t explain it, not in a way that made sense. But I’d been a cop long enough to trust my instincts—and today, they were screaming.
It started during lunch. Same sidewalk. Same food cart. Same blinking security camera. But when I turned, I could’ve sworn someone was watching me.
Gone now. Just traffic. Pigeons. L.A. chaos.
Still, I felt it crawling down my spine.
“You good?” Alvarez asked, handing me coffee.
“Yeah,” I lied. “Just tired.”
He didn’t press. That’s why I liked him—he knew when to shut up and let me think.
The rest of the day blurred. Paperwork. Interrogations. Angry suspects. But the unease never left.
That night, I went home—a two-bedroom apartment, one room used for storage. The walls were mostly bare except for one framed photo: me, Mom, and a boy with storm-colored eyes and dark hair. I was maybe six.
I didn’t remember much about my childhood. Just bits—dusty wind, horses, my brother reading stories during thunderstorms. My mother told me he died. She said my father died too. She told me the reservation didn’t want us anymore.
She was white. Bitter. And she hated where we came from.
