Chapter 42: Smoke Between Shadows
The morning sun over Northvale was a dull, hazy orange — the kind that blurred edges and made everything look softer than it really was. Frank and Zoey sat on a bench just outside the barracks, steam from their tin cups of coffee curling between them. Neither spoke much. The air was too thick with unspoken thoughts.
Zoey leaned back, watching soldiers jog past in neat lines. "Feels weird," she murmured, breaking the silence. "Tomorrow, we’ll be walking among civilians like none of this ever existed."
Frank exhaled smoke, slow and heavy. "That’s the point," he said, eyes on the horizon. "To disappear."
She smirked. "We’re not vanishing, Frank. We’re blending in."
He didn’t reply. His mind wasn’t on the disguise — it was on her tone. Calm. Too calm. Like someone who’d already rehearsed a life outside this uniform.
After a while, she said, "We should start looking for a place. Somewhere normal."
Frank nodded. "Yeah. The sooner we settle, the faster we can start the surveillance."
The Civilian Mask
By late morning, they left the base in plain clothes, passing through the city’s busy outer ring. The streets were loud — vendors calling out, traffic roaring, glass towers glinting in the haze. It was strange seeing Northvale from this angle: not as a battlefield, but as a functioning city.
They spent the next few hours checking apartments.The first one smelled like mold.The second had a landlord who asked too many questions.The third was decent but too close to a police outpost.
By the fourth, Zoey’s patience was thinning. "We’re not buying a house, Frank," she said flatly. "We just need something with walls."
Frank ignored her tone and scanned the last flat: a 2BHK on the fifth floor, simple layout, clear line of sight from both windows, minimal foot traffic outside. "This’ll do," he said. "Good visibility. Multiple exits."
Zoey sighed but nodded. "Fine. It’s within budget."
They signed the papers using their fake civilian names and spent the afternoon buying groceries, utensils, and a few random items to make the cover believable — wall clock, plants, mismatched mugs. For all the small talk, neither of them laughed once.
Silent Routine
By dusk, they returned to the base. No talk of operations. No mention of tomorrow. Just quiet mechanical movements — packing, organizing, cleaning. When they crossed paths in the hallway, it was with brief nods and hollow smiles.
At dinner, they didn’t sit together. Frank smoked near the corner, staring at the wall while the cafeteria buzzed with noise. Zoey, sitting a few tables away, noticed he’d gone through half a pack already. The sharp scent of tobacco hung in the air like static.
Later that night, before bed, she texted him:
Zoey: You’re smoking too much. Kindly reduce it.
Frank saw the message just before he turned off the light. He didn’t reply. Not then.
Next Morning
Sunlight crept through the barrack blinds, slashing across Frank’s face. He blinked awake, rubbed his temples, and checked his phone. Zoey’s message glowed faintly. He snorted.
"Women," he muttered under his breath, half amused, half irritated. Then he typed a short reply:
Frank: Hmm.
He tossed the phone aside, lit another cigarette, and leaned back in his chair. The nicotine hit his lungs like fuel on a low flame. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Whatever was coming, it was going to be messy. And deep down, he knew Zoey was part of that mess — whether she realized it or not.
He got up, shaved, dressed, and gathered the essentials: his ID, his sidearm, a few gadgets. At 7:15, he headed to the mess hall.
Breakfast Tension
Zoey was already there, hair tied neatly, posture sharp as ever. She waved him over. Frank sat across from her, both of them sliding into a practiced routine.
"Morning," she said casually.
"Morning." He buttered a slice of bread, his eyes steady on her. "You feeling better?"
Zoey nodded. "Yeah. Slept fine."
"Good," Frank said, voice quiet. "You should pack after breakfast."
She blinked. "After breakfast?"
"Yeah," he said, tone sharper. "The sooner we move, the sooner we start blending in. You can’t improvise your way through this, Zoey. Not this time."
Her jaw tightened. "I’m aware of how missions work, Frank. You don’t need to babysit me."
He leaned forward slightly. "Then act like it."
The silence that followed was thin and stretched, like a wire about to snap. She broke it with a forced calmness. "Don’t take this mission personally."
Frank’s knife paused halfway through spreading butter. His eyes lifted — cold, unflinching. "It is personal," he said flatly, then stood up.
"Frank—"
He didn’t let her finish. He dropped the knife on the tray, turned, and walked out of the mess hall. His boots echoed down the corridor until they faded.
Zoey exhaled, pushing her tray away. For a second, her composure cracked — guilt flickering behind her eyes. Then she stood, straightened her uniform, and left as well.
Preparing to Disappear
Back in the barracks, both packed in silence. They didn’t speak. Didn’t knock on each other’s doors. It was almost like two strangers preparing to vanish from the same place.
Frank checked every weapon twice — then locked them away. Only the essentials came with him: a silenced pistol, a burner phone, a pocketknife. Civilian, not combat. His duffel bag was light, but his chest felt heavy.
At 10 a.m., the chopper dropped them off near Northvale’s residential zone. They took a cab from there — two people who looked like any couple starting a new life. The driver didn’t ask questions. The air between them was taut, full of words unsaid.
When they reached the flat, they split tasks wordlessly: Zoey unpacked groceries, Frank assembled a makeshift desk with his laptop and surveillance tools. They didn’t look at each other. Not once.
By evening, the rooms looked half-lived-in, half-abandoned. Boxes in corners. Wires tangled. Clothes still folded in bags.
Dinner and Distance
As night fell, Zoey stood in the small kitchen, chopping vegetables, the rhythmic sound filling the silence. Frank sat in the living room, pretending to review maps of Vertex Technologies but really just staring through the screen.
"Dinner’s ready," Zoey called out quietly.
He didn’t move. "You eat first."
She frowned, but didn’t argue. She plated her meal, sat alone at the table, and ate without appetite. When she finished, she looked toward the living room again — he was gone.
Out on the balcony, Frank smoked under the faint buzz of city lights. The skyline looked endless, the kind of place where people vanished without notice. He watched his cigarette burn down to the filter before crushing it out. Then he pulled out his phone, ordered food from a nearby restaurant, and muttered to himself, "Partnership’s off to a great start."
A Wall Between Them
When the delivery came, he ate quietly in his room. Zoey, in the other room, stared at the ceiling — guilt clawing faintly at the edge of her calm. She thought about sending another text, something light, maybe sarcastic. But she didn’t. She turned her phone face down instead.
The clock ticked past midnight. The hall was still littered with unpacked bags, untouched takeout boxes, and the faint smell of tobacco. Their new "home" looked nothing like one.
Both lay awake — two minds, two missions.Frank, suspicious but unsure.Zoey, regretful but resolute.
Neither trusted the other anymore, though neither dared to admit it.
Outside, the city lights flickered, and somewhere in the distance, the hum of Vertex’s servers filled the night like a low, mechanical heartbeat.