He pulled out his phone. Which was deeply encrypted thanks to the friend that he now had to request a favor from. [Kay, I need your help, again, please.]

The reply was close to immediate. [This wouldn’t happen to be related to the HelicopterBoyfriend hashtag that’s trending, would it?]

[…No?]

[Dozens of phones on those balconies Jacob. Dozens. Uploaded to various social media platforms, and nearly viral in under five minutes. I know I like to proclaim otherwise when it’s my turn to be dungeon master, but I’m not actually god.]

How did she type so much so fast? [I won’t ask, because I genuinely don’t want to know what a dungeon--]

Before he could finish his text, another message cropped up. [And before you die of an old man heart attack because I’ve offended your old man sensibilities, old man, it’s a nerdy game thing, not a sex thing. So please don’t ask me whatever embarrassing question you were about to ask me.]

He thought about sending it anyway, but he was asking her for a very large favor. One of many that he had yet to pay her back on. He deleted his original response and instead sent [There’s a Thai restaurant that opened up just down the street from me. I’ll treat you, whatever and however much you want.]

[I want a dozen macarons in varying flavors, and a box of chocolate. Both from Delilah’s.]

He nearly blanched, but it wasn’t as though he was going to run out of money anytime soon. Hell, his non-existent grandchildren wouldn’t have been without comfort, and that wasn't counting the interest accumulating in his bank account.

[We’ll make a day of it. Just…please?]

[Old age has made you humble. I graciously accept your offering. I can’t exactly delete the footage but I’ve already got a plan in mind. I’ll text you when I’m done.]

[Thank you.] But Jacob knew he wouldn’t receive a reply. Kay never really ended conversations, just started new ones.

He rubbed a hand over his face, and diligently tried to look on the bright side. Kay would take care of that little ‘spy’ slip up thing in some creative way, he was sure of it. If she couldn’t, then there was probably a quaint cottage in the country he would be ‘asked’ to move to, instead of the bustling city.

Jacob bitterly started considering stealing his favorite Italian restaurant’s recipes, so he could conceivably make something passable when he was stranded in the middle of nowhere, until he heard a frantic knock at his door.

Years of instincts refused to be placated by months of stagnation and relative safety. He was pressed against the side of his wall, heart thumping in steady but loud beats in his chest, and awaited the ambush that never came. He slowly relaxed, but the knocking didn’t relent.

He pressed the app on his phone so he could see outside of his door without having to approach it. Then he knocked his head back against the wall.

Damien’s features were so close they were almost distorted, but there was no mistaking that smooth olive skin and the large scar over his left eye.

There was more knocking, followed by shouting that was muffled from inside the apartment, but clearly came through on his phone.

“Agent 200! We’re not done yet! Come out here and talk—I mean--ugh, you know what I mean!”