He called her at 8am.
She picked up on the second ring.
"I wondered when you'd call," she said.
They met in person.
Her request.
A quiet room in a hotel neither of them owned.
She arrived before him.
Of course.
She was always early when it mattered.
She had chosen the table — center of the room, neither of them facing a wall, equal sightlines.
Small things.
She never overlooked small things.
He sat across from her.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
This was not unusual.
They had known each other for twelve years.
They had developed, over those twelve years, the specific communication of two people who had been strategic allies long enough that the performance layer between them had worn thin.
Not gone.
Thinner.
"Tell me what you came to say," Alehandra said.
Kendrick: "I think you already know."
"I want to hear it."
He looked at her.
At the composed expression.
At the steady eyes.
