Free Web NovelChapter 344: Chapter 344 Now Is The Time To Move
Ethan
"You won’t stream from the Crown’s gate," I say. "PR doesn’t have the clearance. And if you go live at eight for a stunt, I’ll pull our cars at seven fifty-nine and let you address a square without the Alphas you wanted in the frame."
His jaw tightens. "You’ll embarrass your own pack?"
"I’ll keep my team safe and on time," I say. "PR can post two stills after the session. Your stunt doesn’t change the work."
He stares at me like he’s trying to find a soft piece to press. ’Hold. Don’t give him one,’ Blake says.
"I built this place," he says. "You’re moving furniture."
"I’m moving people into the rooms where they belong," I say. "If you put a chair in their way tomorrow, I’ll pick it up and put it outside. Then we’ll talk about it when we get back." He looks past me like he’s already dialing someone else.
"Get out," he says. I don’t turn my back on him until I’m at the door.
In the hall, I text Daniel: Garage; lock. Gate; no unscheduled PR loads. If my father asks for a spare key, it doesn’t exist. If he tries to swap drivers, call me or my mom.
Daniel: Already set. PR tried to float an 8:00am "coffee with friends" card. I pulled the plug. Luna told them to post the book tent schedule instead.
Me: Good.
I send mother a single line; He threatened a breakfast live. I blocked it.
She replies with a dot and, a moment later, Thank you.
At 9:30am we have a convoy brief with the drivers, and they line up for earpieces and packets. I hand each the laminates; route, turn-by-turn, Crown gate procedure, "no recording" rule, the sinkhole note in case someone’s phone tries to call hollow-moor on the highway. Daniel demonstrates the polite lock screen we’ll push if any device loads a pixel. "You hand the phone back to the owner and you don’t read their messages. You log the MAC and move on," he says.
"Equipment check," I say.
"Van loaded," Ezra answers. "Cones x12, whiteboard, ward batteries, med kit and evidence case."
"Locks?"
"Tag and seal intact," he says. "Case tethered."
"Good."
Fallon confirms the six-o’clock sweep tomorrow, prints the map, and adds a thick arrow to the SM approach. "We’ll sweep S7/S8/31a again at dawn," he says. "I’ll text if anything twitches."
"Thank you," I say. "Bring two ward batteries. Not because we expect to need them, but because we expect to not need them and they need to be there anyway."
"Copy," he says.
At 10:20am Councilor Hart steps into Ops for a pre-read on the §14.2 draft. He scans my bullet points, flips the packet, and taps the footnote that cites Rhea 1896.
"Good law," he says. "Bring an elder, bring the ledger and don’t say ’purity’ in front of men who think it’s a compliment."
"I removed the word from our internal style guide," I say. "Skill, conduct and contribution only."
"Better," he says. "You’ll get noise, but that is good. They all need a little rattle to know what to move and when to hold. Now is the time to move." I nod in agreement, while Blake growls his satisfaction in my mind.
Around 11am I carry Allison’s packet to her at the library so she can put hands on it before somebody imagines a hallway conversation later. She stands at the counter with a small stack of returns. No crowd, no noise.
"Convoy packet," I say. "Row two. Share location in shared buildings. If the guard asks for your name and role, you say ’Allison Grey, Visitor/Ops, training support.’ If anyone says ’Luna,’ you don’t answer. I will." She nods in understanding, and I leave before I do things I am going to regret for both of us later.
6:10pm and father tries the garage. The door camera catches his badge, hits the reader and flashes red. He doesn’t try again, he calls someone on his mobile and walks away toward the square. Daniel forwards the clip with a time stamp. I don’t reply. freēwebnovel.com
’He’s going to move the pieces he can still touch,’ Blake says.
’PR,’ I say. ’Phone calls. Words that don’t travel with our cars.’
I send one last set of instructions to Gate; No vehicle enters the staff lot after 9pm. If Alpha Jack brings a car, log it and park it in the guest row. No movement before 7:30am without my voice or Luna’s.
Gate: Received. Logged. Copy.
8pm bring the final checks. Drivers collect keys, wafers, and packets. Earpieces go into charge docks and I walk the garage and touch each hood. It’s superstition and not. I’ve found loose wipers at dawn because I did this.
The equipment van sits loaded and I tug the case seal one more time. Intact, cones stacked and whiteboard sleeve strapped. Ward batteries glow a steady green. Elijah rolls in late with a sack of sandwiches like he thinks feeding the drivers will count as a favor later.
"Don’t bribe my people," I say, mock scolding.
"It’s not a bribe," he jibes. "It’s protein."
"Fine," I concede. "Label them." He grins and writes names with a marker as Ezra stands at the van, hands on the rack, reading the labels like he can steady the morning with his eyes.
"You added the clinic note," he says.
"Yes," I reply, because why wouldn’t I? They all think I am so close minded and cold hearted. They should know just how it is to be me.
"Good," he says without diving deeper into that particular conversation. Allison steps into the doorway with a small roll of tape and a pen.
"I wrote the panic-breath box cleaner," she says. "Same content, better line breaks."
"Load the new slide," Ezra says. She does. It looks like it was always that way.
Later, when I’m alone and without judging eyes or ears wanting specific words, I text my father because leaving him out gives him an excuse he doesn’t deserve.
Me to Jack: Convoy leaves at 7:30am. Manifest is final, guest listed per policy and gate will not admit unscheduled press. We’ll post stills after the session. If you have a pack business for me to sign before we depart, bring it to Ops before 6:30am.
He answers six minutes later: Bring me back something I can use.
I don’t reply.
’You told father,’ Blake says. ’You set the locks, you wrote the routes. That’s the job.’
"It is," I say to the room, to him and to myself.
I lock Ops and walk the square once. The lights are on their timer and the gazebo is just a gazebo again. The book tent banner is folded and tied. No chalk knots on the paths. The cream trash can liner in front of the library is empty because Daniel makes a habit of emptying it himself on nights like this.
At the library window, Allison is closing out the last stack of returns and setting her badge on her bag so she won’t forget it. She doesn’t look up and she doesn’t need to. We wrote a plan where everyone can see it, now I just hope it’ll be enough.
On my way back, I pass my father’s office. The light is on, voices inside. I won’t stop. He can scheme with whoever will listen. The garage door will not answer to his badge tonight, and the gate will not raise for his whims in the morning.
I sleep because the checklists are finished, the locks are set, and the people I’m taking will be where they said they would be when the clock says go.
