Hundredsof files suddenly appear in the finder window, a seemingly endless list. Images. PDFs. Web bookmarks. Text documents. Spreadsheets.
What thehell?—
My eyes bulge when I open the first image.
The grainy photo looks like it’s been taken from a distance. It’smehere at Knightsblood, walking across the quad in my uniform, a backpack over one shoulder and some books clutched in my arms.
I scroll down, and my confusion mounts when more and more photos of me on campus appear.
Sitting on a bench, reading a book.
Talking with Wren and Arianna in the cafeteria, clearly zeroed in on me.
Out for a run.
In class, taken through the window from outside.
Others of me studying in or walking around my room, also taken through the window.
My face heats at the photo of mewrapped in a towel, brushing my hair in the women’s locker room at Montclair Gymnasium.
For a second, I want to feel horrified. But then, as I navigate back to the first “little prey” folder, a thought hits me.
Is it possible these were taken byAchilles?
I dive back into the folder and click on another image. Relief floods through me when my theory is confirmed. This shot is of me sitting in the grass on the quad, reading my e-reader tablet…the blush on my face suggesting that I’m probably reading something Galina recommended…but in this photo, the handnotholding the camera or phone taking the actual picture isextended into the frame, palm up, making it look like a tiny me is sitting in the hand's open palm.
A smile creeps over my face.
I know that hand, intimately.
Theseweretaken by Achilles.
I shake my head, rolling my eyes as I think back to what Kirill said about this thumb drive being better than a bullet. I mean, give me a fucking break. Are some of these photos Achilles took of me crossing a little into “creep-shot” territory? Maybe. But do I care?
Nope.
I snicker to myself. “Nice try, Kirill,” I mutter quietly.
Then I scroll to the next photo, and my smile falters a little.
Holy…what?
It’s me, fully asleep, snuggled in bed.
Okay, this one gives me pause. But, I mean, I’m fully on board with the mangoing down on mewhile I’m asleep, so should I be bothered by him taking fully clothed, covered photos of me sleeping? Maybe not.
I keep scrolling, and I smile slightly when shot after shot of me, fast asleep, flickers across my screen. Okay, maybe it’s atouchcreepy, but it’s so on-brand for him that it’s actually kind of sweet.
In the next shot, his hand is visible again, glowing slightly in the light of the e-reader that I fell asleep with. The shot after that is zoomed in on my bookshelf screen, and I blush fiercely at thespicy titles that BookTok and MaskTok recommended I try. My blush only grows fiercer when the next photo shows a zoomed-in shot of the cover ofLethal Games, thisinsanelyhot BookTok title Galina turned me on to, which involves a masked stalker with a knife who chases the heroine through various scenarios in her life—her job, her sister’s house, a cocktail party she sneaks into to spy on her cheating coworker—and then fucks her brutally, usually with the knife against her throat.
I groan in embarrassment. It’s not like Achillesdoesn’tknow I’m into those things. But to think he’s seen precisely what spicy smut I consume…a little mortifying.
Just before I swipe to the next creepy-cute photo of me sleeping, I hesitate. My brow furrows as I look back to the front cover ofLethal Games, which shows as 72% finished.
That’s not right.
I turn and reach into my backpack, pulling out my e-reader and clicking onto my bookshelf. Sure enough,Lethal Gamesis sitting there, showing as 100% completed.
