The bus was late.
Castro stood at the stop with his hood up and his hands buried in his pockets, watching the street the way Anderson had taught him to watch streets. Not staring. Just absorbing. Letting the information come to him instead of chasing it.
Three weeks ago he would have had a car.
Three weeks ago a lot of things were different.
The bus came eventually, hissing to a stop against the curb. Castro got on, paid, and moved to the back. Two old women sat near the front talking about something that had nothing to do with anything. A man in a delivery uniform stared at his phone. A teenager with headphones nodded to music nobody else could hear.
Normal people living normal lives.
Castro used to think that was weakness.
Now he wasn't sure what he thought.
He rode for eleven stops and got off in a part of the city that hadn't decided what it wanted to be yet. Old warehouses converted into restaurants converted back into warehouses. A barbershop that had been there since before Castro was born sitting between a juice bar and a place that sold crystals and incense. The street smelled like food from three different countries all competing for the same air.
He walked two blocks east and pushed open the door of a place with no sign above it.
Inside it was warm and close. Six tables. A counter at the back. A television mounted high on the wall with the sound off, captions running beneath footage of something political that nobody was paying attention to. The kind of place that fed people who needed feeding without making them feel like a project.
Samuel was already there.
He sat at the table farthest from the door, back to the wall, a plate of food in front of him that he hadn't touched. He was older than Castro remembered. Not in a dramatic way. Just in the way time worked on men who spent too much of it carrying things they couldn't put down.
He looked up when Castro walked in.
Castro sat across from him without being invited.
A woman came from behind the counter. Castro ordered coffee. She left.
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
Samuel cut into his food. Ate a small piece. Chewed slowly. Set the fork down.
"You look thin," Samuel said.
"I'm fine."
Samuel looked at him. "I didn't ask."
Castro said nothing.
The coffee came. Castro wrapped both hands around the mug and let it warm his palms.
Outside a car rolled past with its music too loud. The bass rattled the window briefly then faded.
"How long has it been," Samuel said. Not a question exactly. More like he was calculating something out loud.
"Since what."
"Since you've seen him."
Castro knew which him without asking. There was only ever one him in conversations like this.
"Couple weeks," Castro said.
Samuel picked up his fork again. Put it down again. "And."
Castro shrugged. "And nothing. He moves around. I see him when he lets me see him."
"He know you're here."
Castro looked at him. "Does it matter."
Samuel almost smiled. "Humor me."
"Probably," Castro said. "Anderson knows most things."
Samuel nodded like that confirmed something.
The television shifted to weather. Someone on screen pointed at a map with a lot of blue on it. Castro watched it for a second then looked back at the table.
"Street's dry," Castro said.
Samuel raised his eyes.
"Has been for a while now," Castro continued. "Nothing moving. Product. Money. Weapons. All of it just — stopped."
Samuel leaned back in his chair. "Stopped or paused."
Castro thought about that. "Paused," he said. "Like everyone decided to hold their breath at the same time."
"Who decided."
"Nobody decided. That's the thing." Castro turned his mug. "It just happened. Like the city felt something coming and went quiet on its own."
Samuel looked at the table. His jaw moved slightly.
"The crews," he said.
"Picking sides."
"Loudly."
"No," Castro said. "That's what's strange. Nobody's being loud about it. People are just — repositioning. You notice it in small things. Who returns a call and who doesn't. Who shows up to what and who sends someone else instead." He shook his head. "It's not a war. Wars are easier. You can see a war."
Samuel was quiet.
Castro drank his coffee. It was better than he expected.
"Ren," Samuel said.
Castro set the mug down. "What about her."
"Talk to me."
"She's been busy."
Samuel waited. He was good at waiting. Castro had forgotten that about him. The patience that didn't feel like patience. That felt like pressure.
"She's got her hands on most of the network," Castro said. "The parts Nine built through her. Information. Contacts. The money that moves through certain channels." He paused. "She's not grabbing at things. She's just making sure the things that were already hers stay hers."
"And the parts that weren't."
Castro rubbed the back of his neck. "She's working on those."
Samuel's expression didn't change.
"She's smart," Castro said. He didn't say it like a compliment. He said it like a diagnosis. "She doesn't move until she knows what she's moving into. She watches first. Long time." He looked at the table. "Longer than most people are comfortable with."
"Anderson knows this."
"Anderson knows most things," Castro said again.
"You said that already."
"Because it keeps being true."
Samuel almost smiled again. Got closer this time.
He picked up his fork and actually ate something. Chewed. Swallowed. Like the conversation had given him back an appetite.
"He's not drinking," Castro said.
Samuel looked up.
"Hasn't been. Not for a while." Castro turned his mug again. "Whatever she did to him — whoever she was — it stuck. He's different now."
"Different how."
Castro tried to find the right way to say it. Couldn't. "Just different."
Samuel studied him. Knew he wasn't going to get more than that. Moved on.
"He's looking for Ren," Samuel said.
"Yeah."
"Carefully."
"Has to be. She controls most of the network. He moves through it wrong and she knows exactly where he is." Castro leaned forward slightly. "So he's staying off it. Moving smaller. Taking longer." He paused. "It's what Nine would do."
That landed somewhere in Samuel. Castro watched it land.
The television switched back to news. Someone was talking at a podium. The captions were running too fast for Castro to follow.
"Anthony," Samuel said.
Castro exhaled. "What do you want me to say about Anthony."
"Whatever is true."
"Anthony is Anthony." Castro shook his head. "He's moving around. Staying close enough to matter. He and Anderson are still—" He stopped. Searched for the word. "They're still them. Whatever that means."
"You don't know what it means."
"Nobody knows what it means," Castro said. "That's kind of the point."
Samuel nodded slowly. He pushed his plate aside. Most of the food still on it.
"Nine," Castro said.
Samuel looked at him.
"You going to ask about Nine or not."
Samuel was quiet for a moment. "What would you tell me."
Castro leaned back. "That nobody's seen him. Not directly. Not confirmed." He looked at the table. "But things still happen. Certain problems disappear. Certain people stop being problems overnight. No explanation." He paused. "The machine still runs."
"Without a visible hand," Samuel said.
"Without a visible hand," Castro agreed.
The woman behind the counter dropped something. It clattered loud in the small space. She picked it up and muttered to herself and went back to work.
Castro and Samuel sat in the quiet that followed.
"You should know," Castro said. "The window isn't going to stay open forever. Whoever moves first sets the shape of everything after. People know that. That's why nobody has moved yet." He looked at Samuel. "But somebody will. Soon."
Samuel looked at him for a long moment.
"You sound like you have an opinion," Samuel said.
"I'm just telling you what I see."
"I know what you're doing," Samuel said. Not unkindly. "You've been around Anderson too long."
Castro said nothing.
Samuel reached inside his coat. He set a prepaid phone on the table between them. Dark screen. Already charged.
Castro looked at it.
"One contact," Samuel said. "When something moves — not before. Not when you think something might move. When it moves."
Castro picked it up. Turned it once. Pocketed it.
"And if I can't reach you," Castro said.
"You'll reach me."
Castro nodded.
Samuel stood. He buttoned his coat slowly, button by button, the way a man moved when he wasn't in a hurry because he had already decided everything he needed to decide.
He looked at Castro one last time.
"You're doing good," he said. "Staying close. Staying quiet."
Castro looked up at him. "That it?"
Samuel put some bills on the table. More than enough.
"That's it," he said.
He walked out.
The bell above the door rang once and went still.
Castro sat alone at the table. The television murmured above him. The woman behind the counter had started wiping things down even though nothing needed wiping.
He looked at the money Samuel had left.
Looked at his coffee.
Finished it.
Sat there a little longer than he needed to.
Then got up and walked back out into the cold.