Page 10 of Ghosted

She lifts the camera slightly. “This wasn’t cheap.”

“No shit.” My gaze drops to it, then back to her. “You always blind fighters with expensive cameras, or was I special?”

That almost gets me a smile.

Almost.

Her mouth twitches, small and quick, like she catches herself before giving me too much. “You were in the way of the shot.”

I huff a laugh. “I was the shot.”

“Were you?”

“You had that lens pointed at me the whole fight.”

“Maybe you kept walking into frame.”

“Liar.”

Her eyes sharpen, but she doesn’t look away. “You don’t know me well enough to call me that.”

“Not yet.”

The words come out too easy.

Too smooth and honest.

Something shifts between us, not heavy enough to crush the air, but sharp enough to cut through the noise around us. She notices it. I know she does, because her fingers tighten around the camera strap, just once, before she goes still again.

Interesting.

She’s not scared of me.

But not impressed either.

She’s careful, but not in the way people usually are around violence. She isn’t backing up. Isn’t looking for an exit or pretending the blood on my jaw isn’t there.

She’s studying it. Studying me.

Like she wants to know what kind of damage made me and whether it left anything worth finding underneath.

That’s the part that hooks.

Not her pretty little face. Not the boots or the camera.

That look.

Those eyes.

Pale and sharp under all that black makeup, almost too light for the rest of her. Like smoke over glass. Like she’s already seen every ugly thing hiding in the room and decided none of it scares her enough to leave.

Like I’m not the first monster she’s ever seen, just the first one who noticed her looking.

I step a little closer, enough to test it, and she stays exactly where she is.

Brave girl. Stupid, but brave.

“So, do you always photograph illegal fights?” I ask.