Jesse leans forward slightly, studying me with open curiosity.
“You again,” he says solemnly.
I grin despite myself.
“Yeah, kid. Me again.”
Tilda adjusts her grip on him.
“We’re leaving.”
“Before or after we talk?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Oh, I think there is.”
Her jaw tightens.
Jesse looks between us with increasing interest.
“Are you friends?” he asks.
“Complicated,” I say.
“Bron,” Tilda warns.
I take a slow breath.
Then I decide to stop dancing around the question.
“Is he mine?”
Jesse tilts his head.
Tilda goes completely still.
For a long moment she doesn’t say anything at all.
Then she exhales slowly.
“We are not doing this here.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“Because you don’t get one.”
“Tilda—”
“Not here.”
Her voice is sharp now, and I notice the camera drone drifting lazily through the commons behind me.
Ah.
That explains part of it.
I step sideways so the drone can’t get a clear angle on her face.
