Page 154 of Tracked and Taken

Flossie, quieter, after Petra has cleared:

“Tael, lovey.”

“Flossie.”

“How is she doing?”

I close the report.

“She is doing good.”

“Mm.”

“She is at her desk. She has a docket she is working through. The mark is warm. Her pulse is seventy-six. I do not, since last night, need the overlay to know that. Her breathing is even.” I stop before I tell Flossie the rest. Every few minutes my mate thinks about me and the thought hits me in the gut.

“You are, lovey, reading your mate’s vitals at a desk many meters away while you write a report?”

“I am.”

“That is not professional.”

“No, Flossie.”

“It is, however, very sweet.”

“Yes, Flossie.”

Petra, back at her desk, delighted: “Mate. He didn’t even flinch.”

“I have not, ever, flinched in this office, Petra.”

“Vosk, you flinch every time the kettle clicks.”

“That is not a flinch. That is a tactical reposition.”

“It is a flinch.”

“It is calibrated.”

“Vosk.”

“Petra.”

“Walk gently. My mate is waiting.”

1217 hours, and I am leaving early.

I have, in the entirety of my recorded operational history, been early once. Day one. Natalie’s office. JINX caught me at it on the public channel, and I have, in the six days since, been calibrating the public channel to ensure JINX never catches me at anything again.

JINX, in my earpiece, after a pause: “You are walking at sixty-eight percent of your standard pace.”

“Mute.”

“Tael.”

“Mute, JINX.”

“You are early, you are strolling to be less early, and you are broadcasting at a volume I can feel from here.”