𝙱𝙾𝙾𝙺 𝚃𝚆𝙾 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙷𝙴𝙸𝚂𝚃 𝚃𝚁𝙸𝙻𝙾𝙶𝚈
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The reckoning is fathomed in 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃. Three months after the heist, the chase isn't over, it's just the imminent beginning. Meanwhile, Harry and the te...
*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ THE SECOND *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ THE PROLOGUE *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
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[[ 3 MONTHS AFTER D-DAY ]]
[[ HARRY. ]]
SOMEWHERE OFF THE SOUTH COAST OF THE PHILIPPINES 📍
I sat by a bamboo stick table, in front of an open window that faced bright turquoise waters as the sun left traces of sparkles on its surface. With a pencil in hand, I scribbled a few words, before I cursed, shaking my head. I leaned it into my hand, sighing. I was just about to write something else down before I heard footsteps behind me from the opened door. Turning around, I glanced over at the elderly woman with the kindest eyes and glasses that sat at the bridge of her nose. She had been a woman that helped me and the rest of the mafia find shelter when the first thing we thought of doing was staying off the reservation, of course after we had stowed the money away safely, a majority of those bills hidden on debit cards. Thankfully, there had been a way to screen the name out on those things yet implement the same coding within the shiny piece of carding according to Max. Long story short, transporting that money the best way we possibly could had to be the first thing done before we'd head anywhere, and it had to be done fast. Otherwise, it'd feel like the past would catch up to us inevitably.
"Ano, sumagot na ba yung mahal mo?" She asked in a joking manner in Tagalog. I believed that closely translated to 'Did my lover respond?' A smile grew brightly on my face, though I felt the remnants of sadness lingering.
Calling this small built teepee-like house my home for a month, and knowing Joselyn throughout that time as well had been quite difficult since English hadn't been her first language, but it'd be a bunch of head nods, nuh-uh's, and hand motions that got us through communication for a few days fortunately. She then decided to sit me down in front of the tv to a filipino soap opera with english subtitles one day. It had been a show we sat down to for weeks on end, to a point I had caught on to some words and made sure to note them. From there, we had been exchanging short answers and sentences since and communication hadn't felt so difficult.
"Hindi." I said, smiling weakly. It meant, 'no.' Though I had been private about the words I scribbled on these papyrus sheets. Joselyn kindly gave me them when I expressed I needed something to write on, and she kindly abided.
Over the month, I've written over the course of about thirty different letters, the sadness, the grief of the past, and my hope for finding her. Though Joselyn never knew I couldn't send them. For the safety, for her life and for the secrecy of what went down in the national bank of New York City, I couldn't tell her. Not a single word.
