I start showing up eight minutes early.
Not enough to flag it. Just enough to stand at the corner of the corridor before my shift officially begins.
Long enough to hear the hum of Lab C settle into night cycle.
My boots hit the metal grate outside containment.
Inside, she’s seated near the center of the glass unit, tail curled beside her. Still. Listening.
The moment my steps fall into rhythm, her ears twitch.
Then her tail swishes once.
Recognition.
I lean against the wall beside the glass. “Evening, Blindass.”
Her head angles toward my voice. Not looking. Never looking. Just mapping sound.
She shifts slightly closer to the barrier.
I shouldn’t notice that.
I do.
Her head angles toward my voice. Not looking. Never looking. Just orienting. Mapping me the way she always does.
I don’t realize I’m smiling until the reflection in the glass gives me away.
“You miss me?” I mutter under my breath.
She shifts slightly closer to the barrier. Just enough that the distance shortens without her actually touching it.
I exhale slow through my nose.
Yeah.
Eight minutes early isn’t accidental.
“You’re getting predictable,” I tell her.
Her tail flicks once, sharper this time.
I glance at the ceiling camera out of habit. It’s angled the same as always. Red light on.
I keep my tone even.
That’s when I hear it.
Boots.
Not mine.
Heavier. Deliberate.
Authority has a sound to it.
“Well now,” Quaritch’s voice cuts through the hum, “this is cozy.”
My spine locks before I even turn.
“Sir.”
He steps into view, eyes sliding past me to the glass.
Inside the unit, the reaction is immediate.
The moment his voice reaches her, she stiffens.
Her tail goes still.
Then she moves—quick, efficient—sliding beneath the raised cot where her thin nest of blankets sits.
Gone from open space in seconds.
My jaw tightens.
Quaritch notices.
“Interesting,” he says.
“She does that with everyone,” I reply evenly.
He doesn’t look at me. Just watches the blankets.
“Does she now?”
Silence stretches between us.
Shit. He’s watching too closely.
“You need reassigned, Wainfleet?” he asks casually.
“No, sir.”
“She seems calmer when you’re on shift.”
“Consistency helps.”
He hums low. “You’re not pullin’ a Jake Sully on me, are ya?”
The name lands heavy.
“No, sir.”
He steps closer to the glass. “You been here how long?”
“Six weeks.”
“And in six weeks you’ve taken an unusual interest in a detainee.”
“She’s blind,” I say before I filter it.
His eyes sharpen. “And?”
“And containment’s harder when they can’t see.”
Not a lie. Not the truth either.
“She respond to you different?”
“She maps sound.”
“And mine?”
“She doesn’t like it.”
That slips out.
His gaze flicks to me.
“You get attached, you make mistakes,” he says quietly.
“I’m not attached.”
The denial comes fast.
Too fast.
He studies me for another beat, then straightens.
“I can move you. Plenty of other assignments.”
There it is.
Distance.
Removal.
“With respect, sir, stability drops if I’m pulled. That’s paperwork.”
He considers that. He likes clean reports.
Finally he nods once. “Keep it professional.”
“Yes, sir.”
He turns and walks down the corridor. The sound of his boots fades.
The hum of the lab fills the space again.
I wait a moment before stepping closer to the glass.
“It’s just me,” I say quietly.
No response.
I shift my stance so the grate rings under my boots the way it always does.
Her tail slips out from beneath the cot.
Then her hand.
Then the rest of her.
She returns to the center of the unit, settling cross-legged.
Listening.
I exhale slowly.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I heard him too.”
Her tail swishes once.
Slow. Steady.
I lean back against the wall, but I’m not relaxed now.
Quaritch doesn’t wander labs without reason.
He saw something.
And if he thinks I’m compromised—
He’ll pull me.
Or worse.
I glance at the camera, then back at her.
“Don’t make me look stupid, Blindass,” I say under my breath.
Her tail moves again.
Eight minutes early tomorrow.
And now I won’t just be watching her.
I’ll be watching the corridor.