Page 74 of With Spite

Katana’s eyes were puffy and red, but no tears had slipped free.

I didn’t look much better, I was sure.

“Uhh.” He looked from me to Katana. “Everything okay?”

She nodded. “Fine. Gotta get back to work.”

He watched her go until she was back inside The Mercantile.

He kept watching the door until I said, “What’s up?”

He cleared his throat and looked back to me, his face a mask of blankness.

“Came by to get your approval on something,” he said as he showed me. “This is a camera. I want to put it inside the house. It’s not your regular camera, though. You put it low. Out of eyesight. It’s meant to be unobtrusive, really. Not recording faces but gaits. It protects the privacy of the house owner. You don’t see anything important. But the camera technology can decipher who it was in the house based on biometrics with the person’s gait. Picks up stride length, amount of time a foot stays on the floor during each step. All kinds of things that make a gait unique.”

“Inside the house.” I nodded. “Where would this go?”

“I was thinking the main living room. Right beside the front door so it’ll pick up the front and the back door at once.”

“Do it,” I urged.

He nodded. “Okay. I’ll get it in. I just need the code to her place.”

I gave him the code, and he left.

I went back to the apartment and found Bernice on the couch watching her phone.

She had the show pulled up, and she was scrolling with her finger, a small smile on her face.

That’s when I noticed what she was watching. “Are you looking at spoilers?”

“Yeah,” she replied guiltily. “I like to know if there are any bad things happening. I have to mentally prepare myself.”

I grinned. “Let me go change into some sweatpants. I can think of nothing worse than sitting there under a blanket with jeans on.”

She smiled. “Hurry.”

Eighteen

Don’t be everyone’s cup of tea. Try gasoline and set shit on fire.

—Bernice’s secret thoughts

Bernice

I was dead tired.

It was three in the morning, and we’d literally just binge-watched sixteen episodes.

The only break we’d taken was for Hux to go pick up his cat and some dinner.

We’d eaten pizza while his cat had wandered around the apartment sounding angry that she was cooped up in such a confined space with no way out.

The next episode started to play, and Hux reached for the remote and pressed pause.

“Can’t do it anymore,” he grumbled low.

I nodded against the couch cushion that I’d all but melted into. “Me neither.”