“Stay within parameters,” he says. “We don’t need incidents.”
“Then they shouldn’t have put me here,” I reply.
“They put you here because you’re effective.”
I glance back toward the fence again, where she’s resumed her patrol, every movement controlled, deliberate.
“Not at this,” I say.
“We’ll see.”
He leaves it at that and walks off, clearly done.
I don’t move.
I just watch her.
She’s disciplined.
More than I expected.
The anger is there—I can see it in the tightness of her shoulders, the way her hand hovers near her weapon—but it’s contained. Directed.
That makes her dangerous.
And interesting.
The wind shifts slightly, carrying dust and heat across the fence as the patrol cycles continue. Time passes the way it always does here—slow and grinding, marked by movement patterns and the subtle shift of shadows across the ground.
By the next duty shift, I’ve already made up my mind.
I take position early, planting myself directly across from where I know she’ll be assigned. The ground is warmer now,heat radiating up through my boots, the metal of the fence shimmering faintly in the distance.
I hear her before I see her.
Measured steps. Controlled pace.
Then she comes into view, and for a fraction of a second, something in her expression tightens when she sees me already there.
Recognition.
Annoyance.
Maybe something else.
“Miss me?” I call out, letting my tone carry just enough amusement to needle her.
She doesn’t slow as she approaches, her gaze locking onto mine.
“Relocating you isn’t in my job description,” she says, her voice cool. She stops opposite me, stance already set. “Unfortunately.”
I spread my hands slightly, casual. “I’d take it as a compliment if you tried.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she says, her lip curling faintly.
“Hard not to,” I reply. “You keep coming back.”
Her jaw tightens.
