Chapter 3 Not the first

POV: First Person (Samuel Reed)

"Say that again," I said out loud to an empty apartment, staring at the message like it might rearrange itself into something less unsettling.

"Welcome,host. You are not the first. Try not to be the last".

"Who sent that." I asked nervously.

Unknown.

"That's not an answer." I said with an irritated tone.

"I don't have one to give you. The number cannot be traced through means available to me at this time." It chimed.

I sat on the edge of my couch a long time after that, reading the message until the words stopped meaning anything. Not the first. That meant someone else had this before me. That meant someone else had lost it, or given it up, or worse. Somewhere around two in the morning I fell asleep sitting upright with the lights still on.

Friday came faster than I wanted it to.

I got to the garage early, before Jake, before my mother, and stood in the doorway looking at the spot on the wall where Ethan had slapped that notice over my father's photo. I peeled it off carefully, took the photo down, wiped the corner where the tape had pulled at the edge, and hung it back up straight.

"You're up early," Jake said, coming in behind me with two coffees. "You look like hell, by the way."

"Thanks." I muttered.

"I mean it. You sleep at all?" He asked handing me a cup.

"Some." I said taking the cup from him.

He studied me a second longer than usual, the way he did when he suspected I wasn't telling him something. Before he could push it, the bell above the door rang and Clara walked in, still in her apron from the diner, holding a paper bag that smelled like cinnamon.

"Figured you two forgot to eat again," she said, then stopped when she saw my face. "You look worse than yesterday."

"Everyone keeps saying that." I said in between sipping the coffee.

"Maybe because it's true." She studied me the same way Jake had, except Clara never bothered pretending she wasn't. "What happened?"

"Ethan's coming back today. Deadline's up." I answered, staring at the coffee swirling around the mug.

"And?" She tilted her head.

"And I don't have two thousand dollars, Clara." I said with exasperation.

She didn't offer some soft reassurance. She reached over and squeezed my arm once, quick and firm, the kind of gesture that said more than a long speech would have.

"Whatever happens," she said, "you're not doing this alone."

Ethan showed up at eleven, right on time, same two officers trailing behind him like accessories to his suit. He walked in already smiling, holding a folder thicker than the one from before.

"subject detected

ethan cross

baseline, confident". The robotic voice of the system came."

"Well," Ethan said, glancing around like he already owned the place. "Two thousand dollars, Mr. Reed, or should I start measuring for the demolition crew?"

"Neither," I said.

He laughed. "Excuse me?"

"You're not getting two thousand dollars, and this garage isn't getting demolished." I said staring at him dead in the eyes.

"You don't have a say in that." He laughed.

"I know things about you, Ethan."

He laughed again, easier this time, waving a hand like I'd told a bad joke. "You think you're the first person to try threatening me? Go ahead. I'm listening."

"You've been inventing violations for three other businesses on this street." I started.

"Everyone knows that already. It's my job." Still smiling, still relaxed, arms crossed now like he was enjoying himself.

"subject state, amused

fear points, plus zero." It pinged.

"You're taking kickbacks from Whitfield to clear the block faster than the paperwork allows."

His smile thinned a little. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"subject state, uncertain

fear points, plus one hundred and ten". another ping.

"You withdrew forty eight thousand dollars in cash three months ago. One transaction. Your wife's name isn't on the account." I continued.

Ethan went quiet. His jaw shifted, and one of the officers behind him glanced over, curious now instead of bored.

"subject state, alarmed

fear points, plus six hundred". The electronic voice chimed again.

"That's private financial information," Ethan said, and his voice had lost the smoothness it started with. "How would you even." He started.

"I don't need to explain how. I need you to understand that I know."

He looked at me differently now, the way you look at something you suddenly realize might actually be dangerous. His hand tightened around the folder until the edges bent.

"Subject state, panicking

fear points, plus one thousand two hundred". Another ping.

"You think this scares me," he said, but his voice cracked in the middle of the sentence, and we both heard it happen.

"I think it should." I answered adjusting in a more comfortable position.

He took a step back. Actual physical distance, like his body had decided something his pride hadn't caught up to yet.

"Subject state, terrified

fear points, plus two thousand one hundred

current balance, three thousand nine hundred and ten". Yet another ping.

"This isn't over," Ethan said, already turning, already reaching for the door instead of standing his ground the way he had two days earlier.

"It is for today," I said. "Tell Whitfield his inspector needs a new hobby."

He left fast, officers trailing behind him without looking back, one of them practically jogging to catch up. The garage went quiet except for Jake letting out a breath he'd apparently been holding the whole time.

"What the hell was that," Jake said.

"I did my research."

"That wasn't research, Samuel. You didn't even blink." He shook his head slowly, looking at me like a puzzle missing half its pieces. "How did you know about the account? Nobody knows about that. I didn't know about that."

"Lucky guess." I shrugged.

"That wasn't a guess." He shot back.

I didn't answer, and Jake didn't push further, but I caught the way his eyes lingered on me a moment too long before he turned back to the lift, filing something away he wasn't ready to say out loud yet.

Clara hadn't said a word through any of it. When I glanced at her, she was still watching the door Ethan had disappeared through, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Then she looked at me, and I realized I was smiling. Not a big smile. Barely anything at all. But it had been sitting there a second too long, and she'd noticed it before I had.

"You okay?" she asked, quieter than before.

"Fine," I said, and made myself stop.

She didn't look convinced.

"Observation complete

host performance, satisfactory

observer interest, increased".

I froze at the counter, my hand still resting on my father's photo frame.

"What was that," I said quietly, more to myself than anyone in the room.

"What was what?" Jake asked.

I didn't answer him, because the voice wasn't finished, and the words that came next felt colder than anything it had said so far, less like a person speaking and more like a machine logging a result it had been expecting.

"observer request received

subject, samuel reed

status, approved for continued study".

I stood there staring at nothing, the garage suddenly feeling smaller than it had five minutes ago, Ethan's fear still sitting warm in my chest like something I'd stolen and hadn't decided yet whether to keep.

If someone approved me for study, who exactly did they have to ask?