Nolan sat hunched at his desk, the glow of three monitors casting pale blue light across his tired face. The apartment was quiet, save for the tapping of keys and the occasional mechanical whir of the external drive churning beneath his desk. On-screen, the curated life of "Kieran Nolan Everleigh" stretched across a dozen tabs. LinkedIn profiles, charity records, event photographs, articles every piece of digital fluff that built the illusion of a man who didn't really exist. But Nolan couldn't afford cracks in the mask.
He tweaked a byline on an old press article about "Kieran" sponsoring a rooftop garden initiative for low-income housing, updated the timestamps, made sure metadata aligned. Then he pulled up a fictional yacht rental invoice and adjusted the dates to make it look like Everleigh had been in Monaco last winter. The kind of elite travel that someone like Leonard Harrow might expect of a potential business partner.
Once satisfied, he leaned back and took a deep breath. "Okay," he muttered to himself. "This identity could walk through the mayor's front door."
Quentin gave an approving hum from the back of his mind. "It's airtight. If they dig, they'll just find dirt we planted."
Nolan nodded once, saved his work, and stood. He slipped his hoodie on, locked the screens, and grabbed his gym bag.
The gym was three blocks away, tucked into a partially-abandoned office building. Its entrance was inconspicuous exactly why Nolan liked it. As he scanned in and pushed through the glass door, the familiar scent of metal, rubber, and disinfectant hit him. A steady bass thumped in the background. He kept his head low.
He started with the treadmill. Thirty minutes, uphill incline. Focused breathing, even steps. Then weights. He kept to the free weights section, counting reps silently, the rhythm clearing his mind. Each lift burned through the tension. He felt each personality quiet down, like they respected the ritual. This part of the day was Nolan's alone.
It didn't take long for Nolan to start feeling sore, his knuckles healed up nicely and with a little makeup and fake skin they could look good as rain, I mean if Leonard didn't notice them I'm sure no one else would.
But what was under the sweatshirt is the true problem. The bruises still ache.
After wiping down the bench, he threw his hoodie back on and left the gym, earbuds in, head down.
The grocery store was next. He didn't go to the same one twice in a row. This time it was a twenty-four-hour market off West End—cash only, no cameras. He pushed the cart down the aisles, loading it with shelf-stable goods: canned beans, tuna, protein bars, crackers, peanut butter, water bottles. Things that didn't expire quickly and could survive being hauled across the city.
He made a second pass for toiletries sanitary wipes, toothpaste, small soaps and filled a separate bag with prepaid burner phones and spare batteries. The cashier didn't ask questions. Nolan slid over the cash, bagged everything himself, and wheeled the cart out through the back alley exit.
He loaded it into the trunk of the beat-up sedan he was borrowing, rolled his shoulders, and drove.
The drop-off location was beneath the old underpass near the edge of Burnley. The place was a labyrinth of tarp tents, half-fallen concrete, and quiet desperation. His people knew to meet him there those from the network who helped distribute burners, collect information, and keep an ear to the ground.
He popped the trunk and waited. Slowly, shapes emerged. Familiar faces. One man, missing most of his teeth, gave him a nod and a low, "You're the good one, you know that?"
Nolan offered a brief smile but didn't answer.
He handed off the supplies in silence, slipping the burner phones into a hidden flap of a duffel bag. There were nods, handshakes, grunts of thanks. Then he got back in the car and drove off, the sun dipping lower behind him.
It was nearly evening when he reached the safehouse. He parked a block away and approached on foot, hoodie drawn low. The building was old, Victorian bones beneath graffiti and chain-link fencing. He rang the bell twice, paused, then once more.
She looked older since he'd last seen her tired in the eyes, but still sturdy. "It's you," she said, stepping aside. "She's in the back."
He stepped in, removed his shoes, and glanced toward the rear room. Sherry's granddaughter sat curled up on the couch, a book in her lap, but she didn't lift her gaze.
"She still won't look at me?" Nolan asked softly.
Sherry shook her head. "She's getting better. She just… doesn't trust anyone yet."
They stepped into the kitchen, and Nolan leaned against the counter while Sherry poured tea.
"Anyone been snooping around?" he asked.
She shook her head again. "No strange cars. No weird questions. You've kept her off the grid."
"I intend to keep it that way," he said. He glanced toward the back room once more. "If anything changes, you call me."
Sherry nodded and pressed a warm mug into his hand. "You're a strange one, Nolan. You have all of this money now but you still act like one of us."
He gave her a half-smile. "You were there for me when I needed kindness."
They sat in silence for a moment, steam rising between them. Outside, night settled over the city, thick and cold.
Eventually, Nolan stood and pulled his hoodie back on. "I've got something big coming," he said. "Something complicated."
Sherry raised an eyebrow. "Bigger than the girl upstairs?"
He shook his head. "Different kind of big."
"Well. Don't lose yourself in it."
"I won't," he said, though he wasn't sure it was true.
He left through the back door, fading into the alley's shadow as quietly as he came.
"Darling why don't you talk to him? He's a nice guy." Sherry said to her granddaughter
"He hurts." She said softly
"What do you mean?" Sherry asked in concern kneeling at the bedside
"He hurts to look at, I told you I hear thoughts. He hurts so bad." Tears fell from her eyes
"I'm sorry." Sherry finally said bringing her into a hug
A/N: Remember when the police first saw him he was extremely thin, bruised, cuts. Skin pale as shit, disheveled etc etc. now he is wearing nice suits, gaining muscle mass, skin clearing up, clean shaven etc etc. he looks completely different. If they saw him again I'm sure they would think (where do I know him from?) and not (that's the guy we had for less than 24 hours!)