Page 172 of Black Reign

I look again at her profile.

The tiny piece of face she has finally allowed me.

I want the rest.

Not digitally.

I want to stand in front of her and see whether her eyes change when she lies. Hear her voice when she insults me in Italian. Find out whether she talks with her hands when she’s angry and whether that caramel hair really feels like what I’ve imagined for far too long.

I type:

GHOST: Keep leaving pieces behind and you’re eventually going to get what you’re asking for.

VESPER: And what am I asking for?

I take my time.

GHOST: Me.

Nothing.

A full minute.

Then:

VESPER: There’s the ego again.

But she doesn’t deny it.

Interesting.

I type:

GHOST: Where are you?

VESPER: You’re looking at it.

GHOST: Where are you now?

VESPER: Nice try.

GHOST: Still in London.

No answer.

I smile.

GHOST: That wasn’t a question.

The typing indicator freezes.

There.

Got you.

Only slightly.

Still satisfying.