"Ste-

-her voice calls out.

It's one of those ever so repeating dreams. Where you hear someone calling your name, and you're trapped in a timeline that you cannot change. No matter how many times your subconscious wants to prove that this time it will be different, that you can indeed save them.

But that's in the past now, and despite the reminder, you know nothing can change the past. And when you wake up, you're in the present, the present knowing that they were not saved, and you're in a town you were not born in, in a hotel room that you're staying in - unsure how indefinitely it is.

I am not fond of unpleasant dreams. Especially unpleasant dreams that are reminders of something you should likely forget. Or at least forget until everything is back to "normal". Then again this has been relatively normal for me most of my life.

I hear her clothes shuffle as she stands up. She walks behind me heading to the couch across from me.

"Did your nap go well?"

"Well enough," for naps that tell terrible dreams.

"Couple cases came in while you were asleep," of course they did.

Of course many of them will be just another case of someone not looking. Or someone missing a detail. Turning on my tablet, with headlines like, Mysterious Ghost Killer. I assure them, their killer is not a poltergeist. Some of these names. No Fingerprints Crime Scene. I'm sure there is an explanation even for that.

"Lovely," I mumble, first things first. Caffeine, getting up from the accent chair, Wolf watches me, "Coffee?" I ask her.

"Sure," Wolf responds, "I can make it. You don't have to get up."

"I can manage coffee," I tell her. I haven't suddenly lost the ability to do so. Besides, it's a break from, well, busywork. I am only being passed down these cases to pass the time. I think this is His definition of fun for me. Or He thinks this is fun for me. What an odd way to describe it, fun.

In what way is it fun to comb through cases of murder, rape, breaking and entering. I don't want to get to this point where I become jaded to it all, but I cannot help sometimes to feel like I am slipping into it's cynicism.

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All right. Coffee. To the outside looking in, all of this just seems like an elaborate indefinite stay at a hotel suite with a kitchen and bedrooms, from some rich kid. Except knowing the real reason why I am here, this is slowly becoming a long trip where he sends me his work he doesn't want to do.

Now I am just complaining.

Wolf watches from the couch.

"Would you like to take a break outside of the hotel?" she's getting gutsy with security.

"And risk security? I agreed to it once, yesterday, if we start going out everyday the more risk we expose," I tell her.

"True," Wolf states, "But you must be bored."

I admit it was nice to get out. Going somewhere quiet. Even if the park really is just a man made structure built to make people forget they live in the heart of the city, it was nice to simply experience the trees, the sound of whistling wind, and not be paranoid about if someone saw us, if there was a camera or a microphone listening into our conversation.

Even at a park there is still some risk. But I trusted her believing we are safe for now. The issue is the more we indulge in those little activities, the more threads we leave. And the more someone may pick them up. We cannot risk doing so. It's less for her security, obviously, but my own. Which makes me feel somewhat selfish. But in truth that's why she was hired.

"I can't take unnecessary risks even if I was," I tell her.

Wolf scans the coffee table, "Cisco." she mentions.

She means the man she replaced. Things then get dicey. And Cisco played only by the book. It was a shame to attend his passing. Well, I didn't attend. I couldn't without risk, we attended secretly through a computer screen. Which I am unsure if it makes us seem very impersonal or not. Then again he really didn't know me, only what He told her, just like Wolf doesn't really know me, besides what she was told. Less risk that way. While we share a hotel suite together, there has to be some professionalism and distance in our relationship.

"Cisco," I just sort of repeat, finding the name odd to utter.

Meanwhile, I've set the power button on the coffee machine to go.

"Do guards changing ever bother you?" Wolf ask.

If I admit the truth, it's just a chink in my armor that someone could expose. Even she could exploit it. Because there is always a level of distrust with those we hire for this job. There has to be. Lies and secrets passed through a tunnel. If I admit that I wish the job didn't come with risk, as much as I want to admit that I feel responsible for what happened to Cisco, that's merely leverage someone could use to try and break me.

"Not really," I tell her, "How do you like your coffee?"

"Just a bit of cream," she tells me, "I don't like it too sweet." she pauses, thinking, "so, you wouldn't feel a thing if something happened to me?" ah there is the question she's getting at. I rather not have her die because of me, because of this job. But then again, I don't really know her intentions in getting to know me. Any ounce of trust I give her, could be something used later on.

"It's your job," I tell her, I don't like having to respond that way, but it's probably the better answer, "just like solving cases is mine."

Wolf just smirks, "My job." she laughs under her breath.