“Yes.”
“Pieter got you through check-in?”
“He did.”
“Any issues?”
“None.”
“Good.”
I wrapped one hand around the mug. The ceramic had already cooled at the rim. “You have now completed your airport logistics checklist.”
He took a second with that.
“Noted.”
“I assume there’s a second form?”
He laughed under his breath, brief and inconveniently effective.
The background noise shifted. A heavy door opened or closed on his end, muffling the ranger voices and yard chatter. His breathing changed when the room went quiet around him.
He had stepped somewhere private, an extremely inconvenient thing for my pulse to notice.
“Your house quiet?” he asked.
“Too quiet.”
“The reserve isn’t.”
“I know.”
A pause moved through the line, long enough for the espresso machine to click off behind me.
“I noticed,” he said.
“That it’s loud?”
“That you’re not here.”
My fingers tightened around the ceramic handle. Heat remained trapped near the base, against my palm, but the rest had gone lukewarm. Outside, the first hint of sunrise had begun to gather over the dark palms.
“Good,” I said, keeping my voice level. “I’d hate to be forgettable.”
A grunt. “Not your problem.”
“Did you call every guest who left the reserve yesterday, or am I receiving enhanced service?”
“You called me.”
“Yes. And somehow you still found logistics first.”
“That surprises you?”
“No. I found it reassuring.”
A low sound moved through the line, more exhaustion than humor.
