Prologue: Patterns and Prey
Friday. 4:47 PM.
The target exits the George N. Leighton Criminal Courthouse through the north entrance.
Same door. Same time. Seventh consecutive business day.
The pattern is established.
She descends the marble steps with her briefcase at her side, posture precise, movements efficient. The sun catches her at the same angle it has all week, predictable light, predictable timing, predictable subject.
He takes the photo at 4:47:23.
Clean frame. No obstruction. Her expression exactly as expected: focused, contained, unaware.
He doesn’t look at her.
He studies the image instead.
The tension is there today. Subtle. Around the eyes. In the set of her mouth.
It wasn’t there on Monday.
The message is written, revised, shortened.
Nice day in court, Barrette. You’re prettier when you smile—
He leaves it unfinished.
Deliberately.
Complete threats escalate.
Incomplete ones linger.
They occupy space. They demand interpretation.
She’ll try to decide what it means before she decides what to do about it.
That delay is useful.
Earlier, inside the courthouse, she walked past them eight times.
Eight.
Close enough to touch. Close enough to notice.
She didn’t.
One at the water fountain.One seated with a newspaper.One standing where he belonged.
Nothing out of place.
That’s the point.
By 6:17 PM, the lights in her house turn on.
Entry.
6:22 — kitchen. 6:45 — bedroom.
He watches the sequence from across the street.
Not directly.
Reflections are cleaner.
Six days have built the outline.
Established Patterns:
Departure window: 4:45–4:50 PMSaturday groceries: 9:30 AMMonday coffee: same location, same orderThursday run: three miles, same route
Minimal variation.
No counter-surveillance.
Creatures of habit are easy to follow.
Creatures of habit are easy to break.
There’s a moment on the courthouse steps, near the fountain, where she pauses.
Barely.
Her grip tightens. Her gaze shifts, scanning without focus.
She feels it.
She dismisses it.
The body notices first.
The mind corrects it.
It always does.
The debt isn’t hers.
It belongs to the brother, the one overseas.
Unreachable.
Which leaves her.
The other brother made his own contribution.
Years ago.
Efficient work. Clean execution. Three bodies where there should have been none.
One of them mattered.
Dimitri was effective.
Brutal.
Predictable.
He zooms in on the photo again.
Not her face.
Her hand.
The way her fingers tighten around the briefcase handle.
That’s where it starts.
The second message is already written.
Not sent.
Spacing matters.
She needs time to dismiss the first one.
To file it away.
To decide it isn’t worth reporting.
Sunday passes quietly.
Lights on. Lights off.
Movement contained. Routine intact.
She doesn’t change anything.
Good.
By Monday, she’ll return to the coffee cart.
Same time. Same order.
She’ll stand where she always stands—attention turned inward, focused on her day before it begins.
She won’t notice him until he wants her to.
“Cortado with Honey, right?”
That’s all it takes.
Recognition without context.
Awareness without control.
He doesn’t need to threaten her.
Not yet.
Understanding is more effective.
The message is sent Sunday evening.
Timed.
Measured.
Placed.
He doesn’t watch her read it this time.
He already knows what it will do.
Soon is not immediate.
It’s not vague.
It’s a narrowing.
Somewhere between routine and realization, people begin to understand they’ve been seen.
People begin to understand they’ve been seen.
Not casually.
Not briefly.
Completely.
She still believes this is something she can understand.
Something she can manage.
By the time she realizes she can’t—
she’ll already be inside it.Friday. 4:47 PM.
The target exits the George N. Leighton Criminal Courthouse through the north entrance.
Same door. Same time. Seventh consecutive business day.
The pattern is established.
She descends the marble steps with her briefcase at her side, posture precise, movements efficient. The sun catches her at the same angle it has all week, predictable light, predictable timing, predictable subject.
He takes the photo at 4:47:23.
Clean frame. No obstruction. Her expression exactly as expected: focused, contained, unaware.
He doesn’t look at her.
He studies the image instead.
The tension is there today. Subtle. Around the eyes. In the set of her mouth.
It wasn’t there on Monday.
The message is written, revised, shortened.
Nice day in court, Barrette. You’re prettier when you smile—
He leaves it unfinished.
Deliberately.
Complete threats escalate.
Incomplete ones linger.
They occupy space. They demand interpretation.
She’ll try to decide what it means before she decides what to do about it.
That delay is useful.
Earlier, inside the courthouse, she walked past them eight times.
Eight.
Close enough to touch. Close enough to notice.
She didn’t.
One at the water fountain.One seated with a newspaper.One standing where he belonged.
Nothing out of place.
That’s the point.
By 6:17 PM, the lights in her house turn on.
Entry.
6:22 — kitchen. 6:45 — bedroom.
He watches the sequence from across the street.
Not directly.
Reflections are cleaner.
Six days have built the outline.
Established Patterns:
Departure window: 4:45–4:50 PMSaturday groceries: 9:30 AMMonday coffee: same location, same orderThursday run: three miles, same route
Minimal variation.
No counter-surveillance.
Creatures of habit are easy to follow.
Creatures of habit are easy to break.
There’s a moment on the courthouse steps, near the fountain, where she pauses.
Barely.
Her grip tightens. Her gaze shifts, scanning without focus.
She feels it.
She dismisses it.
The body notices first.
The mind corrects it.
It always does.
The debt isn’t hers.
It belongs to the brother, the one overseas.
Unreachable.
Which leaves her.
The other brother made his own contribution.
Years ago.
Efficient work. Clean execution. Three bodies where there should have been none.
One of them mattered.
Dimitri was effective.
Brutal.
Predictable.
He zooms in on the photo again.
Not her face.
Her hand.
The way her fingers tighten around the briefcase handle.
That’s where it starts.
The second message is already written.
Not sent.
Spacing matters.
She needs time to dismiss the first one.
To file it away.
To decide it isn’t worth reporting.
Sunday passes quietly.
Lights on. Lights off.
Movement contained. Routine intact.
She doesn’t change anything.
Good.
By Monday, she’ll return to the coffee cart.
Same time. Same order.
She’ll stand where she always stands—attention turned inward, focused on her day before it begins.
She won’t notice him until he wants her to.
“Cortado with Honey, right?”
That’s all it takes.
Recognition without context.
Awareness without control.
He doesn’t need to threaten her.
Not yet.
Understanding is more effective.
The message is sent Sunday evening.
Timed.
Measured.
Placed.
He doesn’t watch her read it this time.
He already knows what it will do.
Soon is not immediate.
It’s not vague.
It’s a narrowing.
Somewhere between routine and realization, people begin to understand they’ve been seen.
People begin to understand they’ve been seen.
Not casually.
Not briefly.
Completely.
She still believes this is something she can understand.
Something she can manage.
By the time she realizes she can’t—
she’ll already be inside it.
***
WELCOME TO THE SNEAK PEEK! 🖤💍
Thank you so much for diving into my very first novel! This is a temporary 10-chapter excerpt (approx. 21,000 words) that I am sharing to gather early reader feedback before the full 60+ chapter book officially launches on Amazon.
What to expect from this preview:
This prologue gives you a quick, intense taste of the danger waiting in the shadows. From here, these 10 preview chapters dive heavily into the gritty, slow-burn setup of Lana’s life flipping upside down, the high-stakes protection deal, and an intense forced proximity arrangement. Trust me—the storm is brewing, and the secrets run deep!
How you can help me polish this debut:
Leave inline comments: Please highlight and comment directly on the sentences, dialogue, or shifts in tension that make your jaw drop!Share your thoughts: Did this prologue hook you? Are you already trying to guess what secrets are being kept?
Hit that next button to dive into Chapter 2... let’s see how long they can play by the rules. 😉
— T.L. Weiss
