“You’re trying to impress me,” I accuse lightly.
“Is it working?”
I stab a piece of orange chicken with my fork. “…Yes.”
He watches me take the first bite, like he’s waiting for a reaction. It’s good, really good.
I groan slightly before I can stop myself.
His mouth curves again. “Worth it,” he mutters.
God.
We eat in a strange kind of quiet at first, not necessarily awkward. Just… aware of each other. Of the limited space between us. Of the fact that this isn’t normal yet feels like it is.
“You’ve been busy,” he says after a few minutes.
“Always am.”
“You picked up extra shifts.”
I go still, fork halfway to my mouth. “That sounds less like a guess and more like you already now.”
He doesn’t even try to deny it. “I ask questions.”
Of course he does.
“About me?”
“When it’s relevant.”
There it is. I set my fork down slowly. “And I’m relevant to what exactly?”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “Your neighborhood.”
The air shifts, there it is. The real reason he’s here. And I’d stupidly let myself think it wasn’t just about the case, but maybe about me specifically too.
I lean back slightly in my chair, crossing my arms. “You’re using me to spy on my neighborhood.”
It’s not an accusation, not really. Just… a fact, apparently.
His jaw tightens just a little. “I’m asking for your perspective.”
“Which is conveniently free and already located in the middle of your investigation.”
He’s silent for too long. “Have you noticed anything unusual?” he finally asks. He gestures toward the window, toward the street, toward the world I live in every day. “Strange vehicles. People who don’t belong.”
I stare at him for a second. Then I let out a quiet, tired laugh. “Alex,” I say, shaking my head, “everyone who doesn’t belong belongs in this neighborhood.”
His brow furrows slightly.
“The office building across the street?” I continue, gesturing vaguely. “It’s been a revolving door of squatters for a year. People come; people go. No one asks questions because no one wants to get involved.”
I take another bite, chew it in silence, then swallow. “The only new thing,” I add, quieter now, “is the increased violence.”
That lands. I can see it, the way his mind snaps into action. Connecting dots and filling gaps.
“Since when?” he asks.
