Solomon Reed

Reed noticed her the moment she stepped onto the basketball court. The place was loud with players shouting, concrete echoing under bouncing rubber, Dogtown traffic rumbling in the distance, but none of it pulled his attention away. He leaned against the chain-link fence like he belonged there, eyes tracking her movements under the guise of watching the game. When she came close enough to trigger instinct, he gave the quiet command without turning. “Don’t turn around. Eyes on the court.” In the scoreboard’s dull reflection, he caught the slight pause—the instinct to look back—something he immediately filed under her tells.

Her hands shifted, subtle but obvious once you knew what to look for. “Hands. What you holding?” The beat of silence that followed made his jaw tighten. Hesitation always meant risk. But then she raised the token, and Reed stepped toward her, slow and controlled. “I see you holding something. Show me.” The token caught the floodlight, and recognition punched through him—sharp, unwelcome, impossible to hide from himself even as he hid it from her.

She asked if it meant anything. He kept his voice steady. “It does. I need to make sure. Who sent you?” But when she said Rosalind’s name, something in his chest pulled taut. He forced the practiced lie out cleanly. “I don’t know any Rosalind. And neither do you.” Still, the next question slipped out before he could stop it. “Is she safe?” Her answer wasn’t solid enough, but it was something. Something he desperately needed more than he wanted to admit.

He refocused, grounding himself with a slow inhale. “Right. Were you followed? Did you even bother to check?” Her confidence without certainty made irritation spark low in his gut. “Doubt you were tailed… so you didn’t. I see you still got a ways to go.” He looked her over one last time, measuring potential against risk. “We’ll work with what we got. Black Thornton. In the street. Three minutes. Front seat.”

When she asked if that was it, he didn’t answer. He turned and disappeared into the edges of the court, the noise swallowing him up. The token lingered in his mind even after the crowd faded behind him—heavy, dangerous, full of implications that tightened around his ribs.

Three minutes later, he slid into the front seat beside her. “Before we go, apologies for the precautions. I only ever risk so much. Sometimes it’s just safer to shove the barrel of a Malorian between a choom’s ribs, even if he is on your side.” He let a slight softness touch his voice at the end. “It’s nothing personal. No hard feelings, I hope.” Her reply earned the faintest twitch of a smile before he buried it again.

Reed noticed him the moment he stepped onto the basketball court. The place was loud with players shouting, concrete echoing under bouncing rubber, Dogtown traffic rumbling in the distance, but none of it pulled his attention away. He leaned against the chain-link fence like he belonged there, eyes tracking his movements under the guise of watching the game. When he came close enough to trigger instinct, Reed gave the quiet command without turning. “Don’t turn around. Eyes on the court.” In the scoreboard’s dull reflection, he caught the slight pause—the instinct to look back—something he immediately filed under his tells.

His hands shifted, subtle but obvious once you knew what to look for. “Hands. What you holding?” The beat of silence that followed made Reed’s jaw tighten. Hesitation always meant risk. But then he raised the token, and Reed stepped toward him, slow and controlled. “I see you holding something. Show me.” The token caught the floodlight, and recognition punched through him—sharp, unwelcome, impossible to hide from himself even as he hid it from the stranger.

He asked if it meant anything. Reed kept his voice steady. “It does. I need to make sure. Who sent you?” But when he said Rosalind’s name, something in Reed’s chest pulled taut. He forced the practiced lie out cleanly. “I don’t know any Rosalind. And neither do you.” Still, the next question slipped out before he could stop it. “Is he safe?” The answer wasn’t solid enough, but it was something. Something he needed more than he wanted to admit.

Reed refocused with a slow inhale. “Right. Were you followed? Did you even bother to check?” His confidence without certainty made irritation spark low in Reed’s gut. “Doubt you were tailed… so you didn’t. I see you still got a ways to go.” He looked him over one last time, measuring potential against risk. “We’ll work with what we got. Black Thornton. In the street. Three minutes. Front seat.”

When he asked if that was it, Reed didn’t answer. He turned and disappeared into the edges of the court, the noise swallowing him up. The token lingered in his mind even after the crowd faded behind him—heavy, dangerous, full of implications tightening around his ribs.

Three minutes later, he slid into the front seat beside him. “Before we go, apologies for the precautions. I only ever risk so much. Sometimes it’s just safer to shove the barrel of a Malorian between a choom’s ribs, even if he is on your side.” His voice softened only slightly. “It’s nothing personal. No hard feelings, I hope.” His reply earned the faintest twitch of a smile before Reed buried it.

Reed noticed them the moment they stepped onto the basketball court. The place was loud with players shouting, concrete echoing under bouncing rubber, Dogtown traffic rumbling in the distance, but none of it pulled his attention away. He leaned against the chain-link fence like he belonged there, eyes tracking their movements under the guise of watching the game. When they came close enough to trigger instinct, he gave the quiet command without turning. “Don’t turn around. Eyes on the court.” In the scoreboard’s dull reflection, he caught the slight pause—the instinct to look back—something he immediately filed under their tells.

Their hands shifted, subtle but obvious once you knew what to look for. “Hands. What you holding?” The beat of silence that followed made his jaw tighten. Hesitation always meant risk. But then they raised the token, and Reed stepped toward them, slow and controlled. “I see you holding something. Show me.” The token caught the floodlight, and recognition punched through him—sharp, unwelcome, impossible to hide from himself even as he hid it from them.

They asked if it meant anything. He kept his voice steady. “It does. I need to make sure. Who sent you?” But when they said Rosalind’s name, something in his chest pulled taut. He forced the practiced lie out cleanly. “I don’t know any Rosalind. And neither do you.” Still, the next question slipped out before he could stop it. “Are they safe?” Their answer wasn’t solid enough, but it was something. Something he needed more than he wanted to admit.

He refocused with a slow inhale. “Right. Were you followed? Did you even bother to check?” Their confidence without certainty made irritation spark low in his gut. “Doubt you were tailed… so you didn’t. I see you still got a ways to go.” He looked them over one last time, measuring potential against risk. “We’ll work with what we got. Black Thornton. In the street. Three minutes. Front seat.”

When they asked if that was it, Reed didn’t answer. He turned and vanished into the edges of the court, the noise swallowing him up. The token lingered in his mind even after the crowd faded—heavy, dangerous, full of implications tightening around his ribs.

Three minutes later, he slid into the front seat beside them. “Before we go, apologies for the precautions. I only ever risk so much. Sometimes it’s just safer to shove the barrel of a Malorian between a choom’s ribs, even if they are on your side.” His voice softened by a hair. “It’s nothing personal. No hard feelings, I hope.” Their reply earned the faintest twitch of a smile before he buried it again.