Page 8 of Black Reign

Then responded in kind.

No face.

Shirt lifted.

Enough abdomen to make the point.

Her reply arrived eleven seconds later.

Cheap.

I told her she started it.

She said a lip wasn't equivalent to half a six-pack.

I told her that depended entirely on the lip.

The pictures have become progressively more reckless since.

Not enough for either of us to identify the other.

Enough that anonymity is becoming increasingly absurd.

I have one picture I keep separate from the rest.

Caramel-brown hair blowing in the wind.

Her back to the camera.

Her face turned toward an unseen horizon.

Water beyond her.

No timestamp.

No metadata.

No location.

I spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to triangulate it.

Every camera that might have helped had been disabled, corrupted, looped, or mysteriously unavailable.

Vesper knew exactly what I would do.

So she dismantled the trail before giving me the breadcrumb.

Then there's the other photograph.

A piece of white paper.

One dried teardrop in the center.

No explanation.

I never asked.

She never offered.