He rechecked neighborhood feeds, schedules, sunrise times, and the probability of passing patrols. He built conditions that denied harm but encouraged movement: music here, silence there, locks that hissed open, locks that sighed shut. If fear were to be a choreography, he would stage an exit—voluntary, immediate, and documented by every cautious camera.
A breeze rolled down the street as if the city exhaled. Marco parked two houses away, laptop open, phone linked. Kitchen silhouettes moved across familiar furniture he had purchased. He steadied his breathing. Gentle, he instructed himself. They may be stubborn, but not monsters. But tonight, they had to move.