Page 24 of Broken Blades

Movement in the corner of my vision. Right on time.

Flash.

The burst came sharp and white—professional camera, high-powered lens cutting through lantern glow and shadow.

Flash.

Second shot. Different angle.

The photographer had listened. Positioned exactly where I'd told him. Captured the moment I'd designed.

Her braced against stone. Me behind her, close enough that no camera could catch the actual distance between our bodies. Masks creating ambiguity. Her bare back and my hands on her zipper telling a story that had nothing to do with torn fabric.

Intimacy.

Secrecy.

Scandal.

She gasped—sharp intake of breath that meant the flashes registered even if comprehension lagged behind. Her body jerked forward instinctively, shoulders hunching like she could make herself smaller. Harder to photograph.

Too late.

I had what I needed.

She spun toward me, eyes wide behind her mask. "What was that?"

Fear in her voice. Confusion threading through mortification.

I stepped back immediately. Smooth. Unhurried. Put three feet of empty air between us like nothing had happened. Like I hadn't just orchestrated her ruin.

"Probably nothing." I kept my tone easy. Dismissive. "Security lights. They reset on timers."

Lie delivered clean.

She searched the darkness beyond the hedge archway—looking for shapes, movement, proof her instincts weren't wrong. Found nothing.

The photographer was already gone. Already uploading images to the burner server I'd set up. Already ensuring tomorrow morning would detonate exactly as planned.

She turned back, mouth opening to speak.

I was already moving. Stepped sideways into shadow where the lantern light died against winter hedges. Let darkness swallow my silhouette.

"Wait—" Her voice followed me. Uncertain. Still trying to understand what just happened.

I didn't stop. Didn't look back. Didn't give her the closure of watching me leave. Just disappeared.

Let her stand there alone in the garden, dress zipped, questions unanswered, unease crawling up her spine with nothing concrete to attach it to.

Perfect.

She'd go back inside soon. Find her father. Rejoin the performance. Convince herself the flashes were nothing. That the stranger in the garden was harmless.

She'd sleep tonight believing she was safe.

Tomorrow morning, the photographs would burn that belief to ash.

And I'd be there to offer comfort when her world collapsed.