I increased the audio slightly.
“…I know, I know,” he murmured. “You’re not scary. You just have terrible public relations. How can anyone not love how perfect you are?”
A smile pulled at my mouth, and I lowered the audio again.
The explanation was sound. Cove belonged here. I had brought him here because he wasn’t just a caretaker—he was an exhibit all of his own. The pièce de résistance for my collection.
And yet, the word collection had changed since I first applied it to him.
For months, the idea had been simple enough to examine. I wanted him here. I wanted access to him. I wanted the right to observe him whenever curiosity demanded it, wanted him close enough that his movements became part of the house’s daily rhythm. I had wanted to remove him from the public aquarium, where other people interrupted him, misunderstood him, and expected him to lessen himself into something easier to manage.
I had wanted him in my space.
That was collection.
Selection.
Acquisition.
Containment.
Preservation.
It had always been clean, in concept.
Now he was here, though, and the shape of the wanting had become less clean.
Cove was not like the others.
The ghost shark required dim water and stable conditions. The sea snakes required quiet, controlled access, an exact understanding of risk. The cuttlefish required enrichment, shelter, and attention to subtle shifts of color and texture.
Cove required all of that and more.
He required conversation.
He required reassurance, though he rarely asked for it directly. He required permission to take up space, even when the space had been built for him. He required reminders that his value was not in question. He required the illusion of choice in places where I would have preferred obedience.
That last part complicated matters.
I wanted him to choose this house.
Not merely the job. Not the salary. Not the visa security or the rare animals or the cushy office.
The house.
Me.
That realization remained on the edge of thought, difficult to look at directly.
I preferred direct things.
This was not direct.
If I wanted Cove in my collection, what did that mean in practice? Not simply that he worked here. That was already done. Not that he arrived every morning and left every evening under Ben’s care. That was an improvement, but not enough.
Did I want him housed here?
Yes.
