Page 144 of Fractured Allegiance
The moment right before I kissed her.
It looks intimate. Raw. Private.
Too private.
But it's not just the content. It's the angle.
I hold it to the light.
“Rooftop,” I mutter. “Maybe two blocks out. High glass. Zoom lens with stabilization. They had to adjust for this building’s slope and shadow line.”
Her arms fold over her chest. She doesn’t look away.
“They waited for this moment,” I add. “This wasn’t caught. It was chosen.”
“And now it’s in my apartment.”
“No,” I say, softer this time. “It was left in your apartment.”
She doesn’t respond. Not verbally.
She just stares at me like I’m one of the suspects now.
I walk past her. Not fast. Not threatening. I move toward the couch, set the photo on the table, and study the grain on the back of the print.
Thick paper stock. Professional. Not from a home printer.
I turn.
She’s closer now.
Still guarded. Still trying to look like this doesn’t cut her open. But I see it in the angle of her chin. In the way her fingers twitch.
“You think it could be Drazen?” she asks.
“No. If it were him, the frame would be cleaner. And you'd already be dead.”
Her hands curl at her sides.
I step closer.
She doesn’t back up.
There’s no space between us now.
And for a second, just one, I consider touching her. The back of my fingers against her jaw. My hand on the side of her neck. The place just behind her ear where the tension gathers when she’s pretending not to be scared.
She watches me. Doesn’t blink.
I lean in.
Her lips part slightly.
Then her eyes flick toward the window.
“What if they’re watching again?” she says.
I pause.
