Other blind spots were implicit, threats that I had to assume were still threats because they were major and she hadn’t eliminated them yet. But that got hinky. It wasn’t as cut and dry as that, and my mind ticked over the various files and major cases, class-S threats… and there was a lot to unpack. A lot to consider, and dimensions to consider when weighing why Contessa hadn’t tackled them.

Then there was Dinah. The other circle in my little venn diagram. She was better at seeing past blind spots, as far as I could tell. But she had to ask. No solutions were neatly handed to her.

Which raised the question: what was insignificant enough to avoid being asked about or get attention, but capable of lurking close to a blind spot? Were we underestimating someone? Missing a signal or sign?

Eating was mechanical, bringing myself to put meal to mouth, chewing, acknowledging that the texture was top notch, the taste better. That it was good, that I was hungry.

How much of this was my body rebelling because this whole mess was taking so much out of me, and how much of it was that I’d ceded more ground to my partner in this partnership? If I had to analyze I had to wonder about its tastes, its feelings about sleep. Surely my fragile, violent partner wanted me to be well rested, thoroughly and warmly fucked, assured, and nourished. Surely these things were qualifiers for me being a capable and efficient host for the power it laid across my brain like a queen might lay a sword on a knight’s shoulder.

Meaning it was me.

My phone ringing was a relief. A distraction from that thought process.

Unfamiliar number. Tattletale?

“Hello?” I asked.

“You up and disappeared,” Eric said, on the other end.

“Am I needed?” I asked.

“You’re not not needed,” he said. “Where are you? We were going to debrief on that situation. Discuss your part in it.”

It made sense that they’d catch on.

“I thought my part in it was to advise, fill you in on my team, my family, answer any questions. You decided you didn’t need me. That’s fine.”

“It would be appreciated if you came in. We accessed your login, looked at your computer activity.”

Up to you, Kenz. Trusting you.

I picked up a chicken fillet, layered with salsa, a daub of sour cream at the end. I took a small bite, waiting, swallowed. He hadn’t followed up. “Sorry, I thought you were going to add something more.”

“You were doing a lot of typing, we saw your notes and they don’t add up lengthwise.”

“Deleted everything that wasn’t relevant. You wanted full writeups if I was going to contribute anything,” I said. You didn’t really. You wanted to shut me down and pretend to let me help while not actually allowing any contribution. Which is fucking stupid when the stakes are what they are. I took a drink of iced tea. “Whenever the scene moved beyond what I’d typed, I deleted it down to notes I could provide if something came up. What was it, notes on Fallen, the prisoners who moved to Shin, my team, my sister?”