“Seven,” I correct. “I’m very efficient.”
She groans, dragging her hand down her face. “Stars above, you’re gonna get us both arrested.”
“Unlikely,” I say, standing. “The city’s monitoring grid is two years out of date. I rerouted the detection nodes with a decoy pulse. If someone tries to track the crystal’s signature, they’ll end up at a pet grooming salon three blocks over.”
She blinks.
I resist the urge to smirk. Barely.
“Yourouted your tech signature to a dog spa?” she asks.
“Correct.”
“You just committed cyber impersonation of a poodle.”
“The system lists him as Mr. Fluffington.”
She presses her lips together like she’s trying not to laugh. I count it as another win.
“Fine,” she says finally. “Just don’t turn the whole place into a crime lab.”
“I won’t.”
I already have.
By nightfall, the windows are layered with stealth shimmer—a thin, almost invisible coating that bends light just enough to scramble optical sensors. I’ve replaced the front lock with a biometric access point keyed to her vitals, and the fire escape now features a proximity mine disguised as a decorative planter.
She hasn’t noticed that one yet.
I sit cross-legged on the couch, my gauntlet projected out in front of me like a data console. I’m halfway through configuring a pattern-recognition routine when I hear the soft pad of her footsteps behind me.
“You’re still working?”
I don’t look up. “It’s what I do.”
She walks around to the front of the couch and freezes.
“What is that?”
I flick my eyes up. She’s pointing at the screen.
I almost close the file on reflex.
But then I don’t.
Instead, I tap to enlarge the text.
“Just learning what a hemline is,” I say.
She blinks.
Then blinks again.
“Wait. Are you… studyingfashion terminology?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
