4338.206 · July 25, 2018 AD
Whispers and Invitations
Two men found her in the carpark darkness. One slipped from shadow with warnings he wouldn't explain—cryptic, urgent, gone before she could corner him. The other arrived with a smile and a name that shouldn't still have power: Wrest Point. Between whispered secrets and polished charm, Beatrix stood caught in crosscurrents she hadn't asked for. Both men wanted something. Neither was telling her what.
The evening should have ended with a quiet exit and a drive to collect Gladys. Instead, it ended with ambush.
Leigh found her first—lurking beside her car like a warning given form. His questions about the package were pointed, but when Beatrix pressed back—demanding explanations, reasons, anything resembling truth—he offered only fragments. Something larger was moving. Eyes and ears everywhere. Before she could pin him down, Jarod's voice rang across the carpark, and Leigh melted into shadow with nothing but a promise: tomorrow.
Then came the invitation.
Wrest Point. The name landed like a stone dropped into still water, ripples spreading outward into memory. Jarod spoke of old times as though they were something to celebrate—quick hands, shared schemes, the thrill of getting away with it. He didn't mention what came after. Neither did she.
Some histories are better left unexamined. Some doors, once opened, refuse to close again.
She said Friday. Watched him grin like he'd already won something. And as she drove away through the vineyard dark, she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd just agreed to far more than a night at the casino.
