Page 96 of ICED
“Brilliant timing, mate,” Owen mutters.
Daz, Ollie’s cousin, is already leaning on the door leading into my flat. Daz is thick-necked and broad, shaved head and faded tattoos curling out from under the sleeves of his hoodie. But when he smiles, it’s soft. Genuine.
“Afternoon, love,” he says. “I hear you’ve got a grumpy alarm.”
“Something like that,” I say, stepping back to let them in. “Come through.”
I gesture toward the keypad by the door, and Daz pulls a toolkit from his backpack like a magician about to do a trick.
Ollie drops onto the arm of the sofa like he owns the place, while Daz begins prowling the perimeter like a sniffer dog, eyes on the walls, the sensors, the doorframe. I hover near the kitchen, arms wrapped around myself.
“Owen said you’d take a look,” I say to Ollie, keeping my voice even.
He nods. “Daz is solid. Works private security gigs. Does installs for clubs, high-end flats, even a few ex-footies. We figured better safe than sorry.”
I manage a nod, even though my stomach is twisting itself in knots. It doesn’t matter how many times someone tells you you’re safe. If your body doesn’t believe it, none of it sticks.
Daz opens the fuse cupboard and clicks his tongue. “Old system. Not terrible. But cheap. You get this installed or was it here when you moved in?”
“It came with the flat,” I say. “We didn’t have many options when we left.”
He glances over his shoulder at me. Not pitying, but sharp. Knowing.
“Right,” he mutters, returning to the panel. “Well, let me poke around and run a quick diagnostics test. Won’t take long.”
Ollie rises and comes to stand beside me with Owen, they’re both unusually quiet. I watch Daz plug something into the control panel, the little screen flashing lines of code I don’t understand. He pulls out a small notepad and jots something down.
“Any tea on?” Ollie asks, breaking the silence.
“I made a pot,” I say. “In the kitchen.”
He grins. “Perfect.”
I busy myself pouring cups, hands finally steadying when I hear Daz hum under his breath.
“Alright,” he says after a beat. “So, there’s good news and weird news.”
My spine locks.
“Go on,” Ollie says, stepping back into the room.
Daz wipes his hands on his jeans. “The good news is there’s nothing damaged. Wiring is intact. No sign of forced entry or external tampering from the obvious points.”
I exhale.
“The weird news,” he continues, “is that the alarm didn’t trip from any of the usual sensors. It activated from a secondary trigger, one that doesn’t usually go off unless someone physically messes with the inside panel. But there’s no sign of that either.”
“So, what does that mean?” I ask.
He shrugs one thick shoulder. “Could be a glitch. These systems are old. They short if the wiring shifts or the power supply drops. You said it’s gone off twice?”
“Yeah. Once last week. Then again last night.”
Daz nods slowly. “I’ll replace the panel, rewire the hub, add a few discreet window sensors. Should stop any false triggers. Could just be age and bad luck.”
He turns to Owen. “I can start now if you’re alright with it.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Please. Do whatever you need.”
