Every movement leaves a signal,
Every spark draws eyes.
You can shake the mall,
You can wake the block,
But the past remembers your name.
When numbers rise and crowds believe,
Authority always knocks to see
If you are still the boy
Who fell through the bag…
Or the man who climbed back out.
On the monitor, Officer Reynolds stood outside beneath the streetlamp’s glow, his silhouette steady and unmistakable. His presence was both expected and unwelcome.
Nicc glanced at another screen where the Wishlist app numbers climbed rapidly, proof that the neighborhood had heard him. A third monitor replayed footage from earlier that evening, his confrontation with the mall Santa looping in silent repetition.
Reynolds remained still on the screen, a familiar figure now standing between momentum and consequence.
Nicc picked up the phone and dialed, his voice calm and familiar, though a trace of caution lingered beneath it. “Reynolds.”
“Hey, Nicc. Got a minute?” Reynolds’ voice carried a concerned tone.
Nicc watched Aubli and Sali slip quietly through the concealed door leading to the hidden workshop. With no illusion of sanctuary, he stepped outside into the cold to meet Reynolds, the night air sharpening his focus.
“Evening, Officer. Didn’t expect to see you after hours,” Nicc said, keeping his tone light.
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