With a sigh of his own, Corbyn slid the tablet closer, turning on the screen and launching the application Sadie had shown him earlier. The stylus hovered over the screen, ready and waiting for his words. He knew he was being stubborn; she had taken more precautions to ensure the security of his work than he had with his own laptop. Slowly, he lowered the stylus and began to write. The contact was almost frictionless as he wrote a test sentence.
Detective Shaw stood at the edge of the building, watching smoke curl into the night sky.
His messy scrawl transformed instantly into clean, typeset text. He marveled at it for a long moment. There was no waiting for his left hand to stop trembling enough to type, no smudged ink on paper. Just his thoughts flowing directly onto the digital page.
“Remarkable,” he murmured, genuinely surprised by how easy the process was. He’d expected it to lag or horribly misinterpret his writing, yet his words were there, exactly as he had intended.
Riley lifted his head, ears perking up at the unfamiliar note in his master’s voice. The soulful eyes of the wolfhound tracked the stylus in Corbyn’s hand as he held it up to examine it.
“Don’t get excited,” Corbyn told the dog, his tone as dry as ever. “It’s just a fancy pen.”
Riley’s tail thumped once against the floor, clearly unconvinced.
Corbyn returned his attention to the screen, adding another line:The arson pattern had changed. The fire starter was evolving, becoming bolder, more precise.
Again, his handwriting flowed into perfect text. It was… efficient. Unsettlingly so.
He jumped, dropping the stylus when his phone vibrated with an incoming call. Ellie’s name flashed on the screen, accompanied by an unflattering photo he’d taken of her mid-sneeze last Christmas. He considered ignoring it, but capitulated on the fourth buzz. She would only keep calling until he answered.
“What?” he growled, more out of habit than irritation.
“There you are!” Ellie’s voice burst through the speaker. “Thought you might be ignoring me again.” The screen lit up as she initiated a video call, her dark hair bobbing into the frame.
Side by side, there was no denying the fact that they were siblings. They had the same dark, nearly black hair and the same sharpness to their features. Yet where he had inherited their father’s icy blue eyes, Ellie had been born with their mother’s hazel.
“I considered it,” he replied, angling the phone to try to hide the tablet from view. “What do you want?”
“Charming as ever,” Ellie laughed, her smile widening as she took the opportunity to get in a dig. “Just wanted to check in. Edie says the book is actually making progress? I half-expected her to call for an ambulance when she told me.”
Corbyn scowled and said, “You two gossip too much.”
“It’s not gossip. We both worry about you,” Ellie corrected. “Besides, how else would I know what’s happening in your life? It’s not like you’re chatty.”
He grunted noncommittally, shifting in his chair to position the phone at a more comfortable angle.
“Wait…” Ellie’s eyes narrowed, a look he recognized all too well. She’d spotted something. “Is that what I think it is?”
Corbyn looked at the box containing his image and groaned. The tablet sat there partially visible at the edge of the frame. He looked up at the ceiling for a moment and prayed for patiencewhile he dealt with his well-meaning, but annoying, younger sister.
“It’s for work,” he said defensively, knowing it was too late to move it out of view.
“It’s an actual, honest-to-God tablet, isn’t it?” she practically squealed in delight, making him cringe. “In your technophobic presence? That editor you’ve been working with got you to try using a tablet?” Her face split into a wide grin. “What sorcery is this? Did she hypnotize you? Blackmail? I need details immediately.”
Corbyn scowled, telling her stiffly, “It’s practical for the manuscript.”
“Mmhmm,” Ellie hummed, clearly unconvinced. “And how many editors have suggested ‘practical’ technology solutions that you’ve immediately shot down?”
“I’m just trying it out,” he protested, but even he could hear how absurdly defensive he was being. “Today was… difficult. She simply asked me to give it a try this evening.”
The admission hung between them, and Ellie’s expression softened at his moment of vulnerability, the teasing fading to something warmer.
“She understands the work is what matters,” Corbyn continued, the words coming easier now. “She wasn’t trying to change how I write, just… making it possible.” He stopped abruptly, aware he’d revealed more than intended.
“She sounds like she gets you,” Ellie said quietly. “That’s rare, Corbie.”
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped automatically, hating that she still insisted on using the childhood nickname. “And don’t make it into something it’s not. It’s a working relationship.”
With a slight smirk, she fired back, “I would never make assumptions about your personal life.”
