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Stop.

Delete.

Do what you came to do.

Instead, I keep watching.

I watch because I can’t stop.

Because there she is.

There we are.

Not the first time. Not the second. This one. The one that undid something in me I didn’t realize could still be undone.

My throat tightens as I watch myself reach for her, kiss her, undress her.

I didn’t take her. Not this time. I asked without words, and she answered.

My chest hurts.

God, we fit.

Even through the view of a security lens, even stripped of sound and warmth and everything that made it ours, the truth is there. In the way her body curves toward mine.

It seems almost a shame to get rid of it.

The thought is so wrong I recoil from it.

Then I keep looking anyway.

My God.

I’m worse than my father in this moment.

Not because I’m watching.

Because some part of me wants to keep watching. Because the footage is proof. Of something real.

If I delete it, it’s gone.

Maybe that’s best.

It is best.

I open the drawer beside the console. We keep blank encrypted flash drives there. I take one. I insert it.

“I’ll ask her,” I say aloud.

My voice sounds harsh in the empty room.

I’ll ask Ella.

I’ll tell her I saved a copy. I’ll tell her I didn’t watch more than I had to, even though that’ll be a lie. I’ll ask if she wants me to keep it.

And if she says no⁠—

No.