I tapped the blanket.
“Six days.”
His eyes followed the movement.
For the first time, he noticed it.
The seam.
The lens.
Small. Almost invisible.
Almost.
“What is that?” Carter whispered.
“A camera,” I said. “One of three.”
Lopez inhaled sharply.
Walsh’s face changed.
Not anger.
Not yet.
Fear.
“Turn it off,” he said.
“No.”
“That’s evidence handling—”
“You’re not in charge of evidence,” I said calmly. “You’re in it.”
The jogger was filming openly now.
Good.
Multiple angles.
Multiple records.
Multiple witnesses.
Walsh took a step back.
Then another.
“I didn’t—” he started.
“You did,” I said. “On camera.”
He looked at Carter. “You saw—he was—”
Carter didn’t answer.
Lopez looked away again.
That told me everything I needed.
“You’ve had chances,” I said quietly. “Every day. Every interaction.”
Walsh’s jaw tightened. “You don’t understand how this works out here.”
“I understand exactly how it works,” I replied. “That’s why I’m here.”
He laughed once, short and hollow. “You sit behind a desk and—”
“I slept on that bench,” I cut in. “I ate out of that cup. I watched you.”
I leaned forward slightly.
“You didn’t even notice me.”
That landed.
Hard.
Because it was true.
For six days, I had been invisible.
And that had been the point.
PART 3 — What the Camera Saw
“Six days,” Carter repeated, almost to himself.
“Yes,” I said. “And every one of them is documented.”
I reached into the inner lining of my coat and pulled out a small transmitter. Not flashy. Not high-tech looking.
Just enough.
“This streams to a secure server,” I said. “Nothing here gets lost.”
Walsh’s eyes locked onto it.
“You’re bluffing.”
“I’m not.”
He looked around, like the park itself might contradict me.
Trees. Benches. People passing by.
All ordinary.
All suddenly different.
“What… what exactly did you record?” Lopez asked quietly.
I held his gaze.
“Everything.”
A long pause.
“Monday,” I continued, turning back to Walsh. “You told a man sleeping near the fountain that if he didn’t leave, you’d ‘make him regret existing.’”
Walsh said nothing.
“Tuesday, you took a woman’s bag and dumped it into the trash because she didn’t ‘look clean enough’ to sit near the playground.”
Carter swallowed.
“Wednesday,” I went on, “you pushed an elderly man off a bench and told him he was ‘wasting oxygen.’”
The jogger lowered his phone slightly, stunned.
Lopez closed his eyes for a moment.
“And today,” I finished, “you kicked a man in the ribs, threw his coins into the dirt, and ordered him to crawl.”
Silence again.
He couldn’t deny it.
Not anymore.
Not with witnesses.
Not with cameras.
Not with time stamped and archived footage sitting somewhere far beyond his reach.
Walsh’s shoulders dropped a fraction.
Just a fraction.
“You don’t get it,” he muttered.
“Explain it to me,” I said.
He shook his head. “These people… they lie. They complain. They—”
“They exist,” I said.
That stopped him.
“They exist,” I repeated. “And that’s enough.”
PART 4 — The Backup That Wasn’t Coming for Him
I reached into my coat again, slower this time.
