Chapter 66: Look to your left.

Chapter 66: Chapter 66: Look to your left.

Garrett had barely made it two blocks from his building when the thought from this morning resurfaced.

His hair was still a mess, longer than he usually let it get, rough enough that he didn’t want to walk into somewhere like The Ashford Grand looking like this.

He checked the time.

Still plenty of time before seven.

’Might as well deal with it now.’

He started walking with more purpose, scanning the shopfronts as he went rather than settling for the first barbershop he passed. The first one looked closed despite the hours posted on the door. The second had a line stretching onto the pavement, longer than he had patience for today.

He kept walking, passing a couple of places that looked fine but unremarkable.

Eventually, he found one that did.

The windows were clean, and the sign above the door looked sharp and modern rather than faded from years of sun exposure. Through the glass, he could see movement inside. The place was clearly busy without looking overcrowded, with chairs occupied and clippers running.

Garrett pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The place immediately looked different from what he’d expected.

Large mirrors lined the walls, making the room feel wider and brighter. Four barber stations ran along one side, each stocked with its own arrangement of clippers, combs, and hair products, all lined up with more organization than Garrett’s own bathroom had ever seen.

The lighting was bright without being harsh, and everything looked clean and well maintained.

A row of comfortable chairs sat along the opposite wall for anyone waiting, a couple of them occupied by men scrolling through their phones.

A television mounted near the ceiling played a football match, the volume low but audible enough that a few customers kept glancing up between cuts. Every now and then, someone muttered about a missed pass or a bad call from the referee.

The barbers moved with the easy confidence of people who had done this long enough to work and talk at the same time. Conversation drifted across the room, someone laughing loudly at one station while another pair argued good-naturedly about which team deserved to win.

Garrett stood near the entrance for a moment, taking it in.

Three barbers were actively working. A fourth who looked like he was in his late thirties stood near the front station, arms crossed as he talked with one of the waiting customers.

Something about the way the others occasionally glanced toward him, the way he seemed to anchor the room without needing to be the loudest person there, told Garrett he was probably the one running the place.

Garrett made his way over.

"Clean cut please," Garrett said when the barber asked what he wanted. "Nothing complicated."

The barber nodded. "Got ya man. Sit back."

Garrett settled into the chair, and the barber got to work.

The rest of the shop carried on around him. The football match was still playing on the television mounted near the ceiling, its reflection visible in the mirror whenever the angle lined up.

Garrett stayed mostly quiet, content to let the ordinary noise of the place fill the space.

The haircut took somewhere between ten and fifteen minutes. The barber worked through the sides first, then the top, blending everything together with steady movements.

When he finally stepped back, he ran a hand briefly through Garrett’s hair and nodded.

"There you go son."

Garrett looked at himself properly for the first time since sitting down.

The difference was immediate. The rough, overgrown hair was gone, replaced by clean lines and a sharper shape.

"This is good"

He paid, left a decent tip, and got up from the chair.

Outside, the evening air had cooled slightly, the light shifting further toward dusk.

Garrett checked the time.

A little past six.

He pulled up his rider app and requested a ride to The Ashford Grand, then leaned against the wall outside the barbershop to wait.

The car didn’t show up right away.

Garrett watched the little icon move across the map, the driver still several minutes away. He checked the time again.

Ten minutes passed.

Then closer to fifteen.

Eventually, the car pulled up along the curb.

Garrett straightened, checked the plate against the app, then opened the door.

He climbed in, gave the driver a short nod, and settled back against the seat as the car pulled away.

The Uber pulled up along a wide, well-lit drive, and Garrett got his first proper look at the building through the window before the car had even fully stopped.

The Ashford Grand rose several stories above the street, its stone facade illuminated by warm architectural lighting that made the building stand out against the darkening sky. A grand entrance stretched ahead, wide enough for several cars to pull through at once, uniformed valets moving briskly between vehicles that looked like they cost more than Garrett had made in his entire life before the system.

A sleek black car pulled away from the entrance as another eased into its place. A couple stepped out, the man in a tailored suit and the woman dressed in something Garrett suspected cost more than his old monthly rent.

Neither looked twice at their surroundings.

They simply walked inside.

Garrett climbed out of the Uber and stood there for a second.

Polished stone stretched beneath his feet. Soft golden light spilled through the glass doors, and well-dressed guests moved in and out without any hurry.

It was clearly a different world from his usual one.

Garrett didn’t feel intimidated. He just noticed the difference.

"Not exactly my usual Monday night."

He straightened his jacket out of habit and made his way toward the entrance.

The doors opened automatically, and Garrett stepped into a lobby that lived up to everything the exterior had promised.

Marble floors. High ceilings. Low conversation drifting from a lounge somewhere off to the side.

He didn’t have a room, didn’t have a reservation, and wasn’t about to wander deeper into the building hoping to stumble across whoever had sent the message.

Instead, he approached the reception desk.

A woman in a sharp uniform looked up.

"Good evening, sir. How may I help you?"

"I’m meeting someone here," Garrett said. "Don’t have a name to give you, unfortunately. Just a time."

She didn’t seem surprised.

"Of course. Are you meeting them in one of our restaurants, or would you prefer to wait in one of our lounge areas?"

Garrett considered it for a moment.

"Lounge, I think. Somewhere I can actually see people coming in."

"Certainly. There’s a seating area through those doors to your right. It overlooks the courtyard."

She gave him a polite smile.

"Can I get you anything while you wait?"

"I’m fine, thanks."

Garrett thanked her and headed in the direction she’d pointed.

The lobby gave way to a quieter corridor lined with soft lighting and framed artwork he didn’t have time to properly examine.

The seating area opened onto a courtyard, half-covered by an elegant awning strung with warm lights. Tables and chairs were scattered around the space, arranged loosely enough that guests could talk without feeling crowded.

Garrett picked a chair near the edge, close enough to see the entrance without sitting directly in anyone’s path.

He checked the time. 6:51pm

He settled back and looked around.

The courtyard carried a steady hum. Guests talked quietly at nearby tables while a waiter moved between them with practiced efficiency.

Garrett watched the entrance without staring, glancing over whenever someone new came through.

None of them looked like the person he was waiting for. He still had no idea who had sent the message and there wasn’t much point guessing.

Whoever it was would show themselves soon enough.

Garrett checked the time again. Seven o’clock was close.

Garrett’s phone buzzed once against his leg.

The unknown number again.

Look to your left.

He stared at the message for a second.

Then he turned his head slowly toward his left.

At first, he couldn’t make out much.

Dusk had settled over the courtyard, and the hotel’s lighting left pockets of shadow between the warmer pools of light.

A man sat at a table a short distance away, mostly turned to the side, his face caught between the light and darkness.

Garrett studied him.

Something about the man felt familiar. Why does that feel familiar? He couldn’t place the face.

He kept looking.

The closer he got to the man’s features, the stronger the feeling became.

He crossed the courtyard at an even pace, weaving between tables without hurrying.

As he got closer, the light caught the man’s face properly.

Garrett stopped.

BRIAN.

For a moment, he simply stood there. So this was the person who had sent the message.

The person who had brought him here.