Page 9 of Black Reign

Those are the pieces of her I know.

Caramel hair.

A mouth designed to ruin good judgment.

A shoulder.

A thigh.

A tear on paper.

And a mind that irritates me enough that I've spent years coming back for more.

We were supposed to meet once.

London. The bridge.

I went.

She didn't.

At least I don't think she did.

Maybe she stood twenty feet away and watched me.

The possibility still irritates me.

She had wrapped the entire area in a digital shell.

Camera loops.

Blank feeds.

Missing footage.

Corrupted storage.

Vesper could have been standing across the street laughing while I dismantled half of London's municipal camera network trying to find her.

I never did.

We haven't tried again.

Yet.

But lately the photographs have been getting riskier.

The conversations longer.

The jokes more personal.

The pauses after one of us says something too honest harder to ignore.

Sooner or later, something has to give.

I look at Haverhill's + Guest again.

Imagine asking her.