Page 37 of Bend & Break
I crack the door just enough to wedge my face through. One of the guys from last night. He has the look of someone who’s regretted this career choice since about his second shift.
“Hey,” he says, giving me a nod. “Just a quick follow-up on the gas leak report. Any dizziness? Symptoms? Weird smells?”
“All clear,” I say. “Unless the smell of three-day-old takeout counts.”
He makes a face that suggests it probably does.
I step out just enough to block his view of the laptop behind me and flash what I hope passes for my most cooperative-citizen smile. “Not to worry. No headaches, no vomiting, no mysterious fainting spells. We’re just two very normal students, doing extremely normal things on a Saturday afternoon.”
Blake snorts behind me. Quiet, but audible.
Security Guy raises an eyebrow, glances at his clipboard like he’s got a list of inane comments, and he’s checking this one off.
“Right,” he says, drawing the word out.
I pause, casual. Weight shifted to one hip, hand on the doorframe like I’ve got all the time in the world and absolutely nothing incriminating on a laptop two feet behind me.
“Hey, off topic—” I tilt my head, keeping my tone light, making casual conversation to throw him off the scent of anything being amiss. “You know who keeps sticking those campus safety flyers on my windshield? I’ve got, like, six of them now. Pretty sure my SUV’s more informed than I am.”
His expression shifts, not suspicious, just a little thrown by the sudden change of topic. “Safety flyers?”
“Yeah. The bright orange ones.Lock your doors, don’t walk alone at night, report suspicious activity.” I mimic the bullet points with my fingers. “Apparently, my 4Runner screams ‘prime target.’”
He huffs, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Could be worse. They keep slapping those on my patrol car, too.”
I blink, then flash him an amused smile. “Guess you’re not safe either.”
He shakes his head, muttering under his breath, “Not from paperwork, anyway.”
There’s a beat, the absurdity lingering in the air, and then he just exhales, tired but almost amused.
“Well. Good luck out there. Death by paper cut is a rough way to go,” I finally say.
“Yeah. I’ll try not to become another statistic,” he grunts.
I shut the door and click the lock behind me.
Then I stand there for a second, hand still on the knob, already deciding which button of hers I want to press next.
Blake looks up, reading me like always. “What?”
“Just thinking about how you’ll forgive just about anything if I feed you first.”
She arches a brow, deadpan. “Yeah, well, maybe try it more often. You’re for sure to be less annoying when I’m not half hangry.”
I laugh, hands raised in mock surrender. “Noted. Snacks before smack talk.”
I plop back down on the couch beside her, gearing up to go over the video again, not because I expect some miracle answer, but because I can’t let it go until I’ve wrung every last detail out of it.
I mindlessly run my finger over the trackpad, and the screen flickers—a chaotic mess of green and white lines, then black.
I mutter a curse under my breath as the cursor freezes.
Windows open and vanish, files blinking out one after the other. My nerves snap tight as I lean in closer, desperate, uselessly clicking on whatever I can, like I can wrestle the proof back from the machine.
Nothing sticks. Every trace is wiped.
“Fuck—”
