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“TV.”
“Huh?”
I ignore him and crouch in front of the cabinet, looking for the USB port on the console.
“Hey!” Pan cries as the game fizzles out. “What the fuck, man?”
“What’s going on?” Tink’s voice, from behind me, toward her room. USB in place, I straighten up and glance past her. “Is Wendy here?”
Tink shakes her head. “She’s at Zuzu’s. Kids’ kickboxing.” She frowns at the couch. “What’s—”
“No idea,” Fox groans, looking at me. Then brightens a little at Tink. “Um, good morning, Tink. You sleep okay?”
“I slept—”
“Can I put the fucking game back on?” Pan says, pushing himself to sitting upright. “Or what?”
I step back to the couch and snatch the remote off the coffee table. “One sec.”
The video’s up now, just a still shot of the alley. I hit play, and it jumps to life.
“The fuck is this,” Pan mutters, crossing his arms. Fox just frowns. And Tink takes a few steps closer. Downstairs, I hear the jingle of the shop bell and then footsteps.
“Hey.” Kit nods at us, leash in hand, as the dog slips in past him. “What are you—”
“Shut up.” I fold my arms just as motion registers on the screen. The door flying open, the two figures emerging.
Tink and Fox.
Next to me, I see Tink’s eyes go wide. Fox, too, gapes, and immediately looks at me.
“Is this—”
“You tell fucking me,” I say. “Is that you?”
Tink glances at Fox. Fox looks at the ground. Dumbass.
“Is it or isn’t it?” I say, a little louder. “If it’s fake, then it’s fake. If it’s not—”
“It’s not.” Tink cuts me off. “It’s not fake.”
From across the room, Pan gives an elaborate sigh. “Well, nice fucking going, huh? You got caught on camera?”
“It’s a casino,” Kit murmurs. “There are cameras everywhere.”
On screen, they’re running—or they were, until Tink’s heel skids out from under her. Fox’s arm shoots out and he catches her by the elbow. For a moment, they’re still, and I wonder if maybe the footage has frozen.
But no. Tink moves. Doubles over, one hand flat against her chest and the other on her thigh, like she’s trying to balance.
Like she’s trying to breathe.
On the screen, Fox drops down to her level. Guides her back up. He takes her palm and presses it flat to his chest, and then he just stays there. There’s no sound, but I can see his mouth move, we can all see it. Can see her shoulders come down, inch by inch. See her fingers curl into his shirt.
“Where…” Fox glances at me, eyes wide and bright. “Where did you get this?”
“Shh,” I spit at him.
On screen, Tink’s looking up at Fox. Fox is looking down at Tink.
