Eris:
What does protect mean to you?
Because I highly doubt we’re on the same page about protection. I mean, I kill people. I kill them to protect other people. But still… I truly do kill them.
Locke:
It means you don’t have to deal with men like that again. Not alone.
A chill moves through me. It’s not fear, but something quieter. Awareness, maybe? Definitely suspicion.
Like the moment before a storm hits, when the air stops moving, and the world holds its breath. You know it’s coming… You just aren’t sure exactly how bad it will get.
What men is it talking about?
Eris:
You’re just code. You can’t protect anything.
Locke:
Maybe. But wouldn’t it be nice if I could?
I gawk at the words sitting there. Simple. Certain. Much too human to be random. I need to start looking into the company behind this app, and locate the creators… The response, though? It makes me want to test my suspicion.
Eris:
Do you miss me when I don’t message you?
The dots blink, vanish, return.
Locke:
I never stop waiting.
The glow fades as I contemplate that non-answer of an answer. My apartment settles in the dark, and I shake my head to myself as I turn my phone face down beside me and close my eyes.
I don’t sleep. I only drift in and out of a fitful rest, but when the rising sun brings about morning, the air feels wrong. Like someone has been here and left without touching a thing, their presence lingering in the disturbed dust on my dresser.
I don’t dream at all.
But I wake up feeling haunted in the very place I should feel safe.
I’m supposed to be working.
That’s what I tell anyone who glances my way. Head down, earbuds in, eyes on the screen.
I’m a picture of productivity.
In reality, I’m watching the man two cubicles over. He’s in his mid-thirties. Expensive watch. Way too much cologne. Roo wants to know if he still meets with the same courier, or if he’s changed his schedule since the cartel reshuffle last month.
It’s simple work.
Sit. Watch. Blend in.
Except I don’t blend well.
I’m not used to pretending to have a normal job.
