Day 000 Hour 13 "Uninvited"
I was half-asleep on the floor when the knock came.
I hadn't meant to sleep. But exhaustion had a way of slipping in when your back touches cold tile and your thoughts turn soft.
The room was dark by then — the kind of dark my parents warned me about.
We were never supposed to be out after sundown. That was their rule. Not out of superstition — just survival. Bad things happened after dark. People disappeared. Fights broke out in places no one talked about.
Not all shadows were cast by buildings.
Even though I'd made it home before the streetlights flickered on, I wasn't always faithful to that rule. I knew too many people, and too many of their enemies knew me. I kept my distance from all of it now, but history had long fingers.
I preferred the stillness of my four walls. They were thin, yes — I could hear entire conversations through them. But at least they didn't move. At least they weren't armed.
I'd spent the afternoon counting losses.
The Club gave me money — a mystery with a return. But no new instructions. No promises. No explanation. The rest of the day, I'd scraped the streets like I always had, and came back with empty hands.
Which was... normal.
I'd learned to stretch food. To make small money last. My mother trained me in that. She never let waste enter the house. Even my father's rare gestures — a trinket here, a surprise there — were usually sent back with a laugh.
She loved him, but she didn't love excess.
We found joy in making do.
Those were better days. Hard, but better.
There was a knock.
Two short taps. No rhythm. No warmth.
I sat up fast.
I didn't get visitors.
Didn't invite people over.
Didn't want anyone knowing which side of the hallway was mine.
No windows. No weapons. No back door.
Just the deadbolt between me and whoever was outside.
Then a voice.
"Open up, Nemi."
Calm. Familiar.
I didn't move.
"Auntie gave us your address. We've got another job. Hurry and open up."
A pause. Then the memory came.
Yuni.
I opened the door halfway. He didn't wait.
He walked in like the place owed him space.
Three others followed — wide-shouldered men I half-recognized. Then four more I didn't know. Two women, one man, all younger than they looked.
By the time the last body came through, the room was full. Claustrophobic.
I stayed near the wall and watched them settle like they'd done this before.
"Been a while," Yuni said. "You left the team. This is who we are now."
He swept his hand across the group. "You know these three. The rest are new. Last four months."
He was the same as always — towering, broad, carved from brick. He wore his strength like armor. Even standing still, he took up space. The kind of man who always had to look down at you.
I hated how high his chin had to tilt for me.
"If this was a social call," I said, "I'd offer you something to eat. But next time, send word. I'll be better prepared."
My tone was flat. Not rude. Not submissive.
Just clear.
Yuni didn't blink.
He never did.
"Little brother," he said, voice low and heavy, "we didn't come to catch up. If we wanted to do that, I'd have found you sooner."
He paused just long enough to let the air still.
"Uncle has another job. Tonight."
"No thank you," I said.
The words came fast, no breath between them. I raised my hand and gestured to the door. "Please leave."
He stared. Didn't move.
Then one of the others stepped forward — someone I knew, vaguely. Ponytail. Thin mustache. He used to be a runner for Uncle's jobs. Still looked the same, except the lines on his face were deeper now.
"Just a guard gig," he said. "Nothing dangerous. Just watch and stand. It's good money. Just one night."
Still, I didn't move.
"Please," I said again. This time softer. "Just leave."
To my surprise, Yuni nodded.
No argument. No push. No threats.
He turned and motioned to the others. They followed without a sound.
As they stepped back out into the hallway, he glanced over his shoulder.
The look said I'll find you again.
The door closed behind them. I locked it. Every latch. Every bolt.
And for the first time that day, I sighed.
What a troublesome day.