And I had beenveryclose to establishing both.
Cove had begun to settle. I had seen it in the way his shoulders began to relax, and in the way his words came more easily once he realized I was not going to interrupt him or dismiss what he was saying. He had forgotten his role for a moment.
That was when he was most valuable.
Mosthonest.
I adjusted my suit jacket as I stepped through the main entrance of the aquarium, the familiar shift in temperature and humidity welcoming me back like an old friend.
It had been three days.
Long enough for the initial discomfort to settle, but not long enough for the interaction to have been forgotten.
I doubted I would be so easily dismissed. No. I was sure Cove had been ruminating over the whole interaction.
I continued forward at an unhurried pace, hands clasped behind my back, blending seamlessly into the role I had been assigned here: donor, observer, benefactor.
I let my gaze move across the gallery without appearing to fix on anything in particular. It was a practiced habit—one that allowed observation without invitation. People rarelynoticed they were being studied unless you gave them something obvious to react to.
Families clustered near the larger tanks. Children ran around with a look of wonder in their eyes. Volunteers hovered nearby, offering rehearsed facts in bright, engaging tones.
None of them were relevant.
My attention was on the staff—specifically, who lingered, who moved with purpose, who deferred to whom, and, more importantly, who was or was not there.
Cove was not on the floor.
Unfortunate, but not completely unexpected.
After all, avoidance, once established, tends to become a habit.
My steps carried me further into the aquarium, moving from one exhibit to the next at a leisurely rate. There was no benefit in appearing as though I were searching for anything.
I paused briefly near a tank I had already seen dozens of times, my reflection in the glass, superimposed over drifting bodies of silver and blue. Behind it, the corridor entrances remained visible—dark thresholds set just beyond the curated glow of the exhibits.
He had retreated through one of those before.
I turned away from the tank and naturally adjusted my course toward the nearest staff corridor.
There were, of course, restrictions—‘no entry’ signs and doors that were supposed to be locked but remained slightly propped open for the convenience of staff held up the illusion of separation between public and private space, but these restrictions did not apply to me.
Nor to anyone with the amount of money I had.
No one stopped me as I stepped past the threshold, and the noise of the gallery dulled behind me, replaced by the quieter, more sterile atmosphere of the back areas.
I continued down the corridor, my gaze flicking to each open doorway as I passed.
Empty.
Occupied.
Irrelevant.
Then—
Voices.
Faint and ahead.
