Sitting in the rental car outside of the midtown shopping center, looking over the security video transferred over;

-Nothing notable jumps out. Morrison sits alone near the bar counter and orders a few drinks.

-Morrison doesn’t seem nervous, in fact he seems relatively calm

-No one seems to notice him much in the bar either

In fact, the only thing I can notice that is odd about this video is when he orders his last drink, there is a distinct warble in the camera. The video feed noticeably skips, but it doesn’t seem to be tampered with. Though I admit I know little about these sorts of things. I’ll have to ask someone at the department, when I arrive, about the distinct warble. I pause the video. Move the cursor back, just before the jittery camera shimmer. There’s something there, though I cannot make it out. Maybe the video was tampered with? But why hadn’t the policed noticed when they investigated beforehand?

“Found anything interesting?” Wolf returns, she’s opened the driver’s side and sits inside the vehicle.

“A video distortion,” I tell her.

She sets a cardboard box between us in the center console of the car.

“Those darn video distortions, gets you every time,” she smiles, while leaning over the console, staring over at the tablet. I press play. She raises her brow. She’s not entirely impressed, “Wow. The video jiggled a little.” she laughs.

She’s a little right. This seems like I called the Herald for plane tickets to Oakside without really anything substantial to back up my hunch, and one little video distortion doesn’t amount to much. I haven’t really developed a case and with such bare minimum evidence. It’s sort of like finding a random puzzle in the attic to find out,to fill the box. Someone put a bunch of random pieces together and none of them go together. I need to find the thing that links them together. That or I have made a poor bet.

“Tada,” she’s opened the flaps of the box, presenting-

-Meat on a stick, “Looks good, doesn’t it?” Wolf asks me with a smile.

“It’s meat on a stick,” I tell her.

“Yakitori,” she corrects.

“I see,” I respond.

She raises a brow, “its shish kabobs from Aoi Islands. And there is rice, there see.” she points, “Figured we could share. Can’t investigate video distortions with no lunch.”

“Shish Kabob? Is there a major difference between kebab and shish kabob?”

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Wolf raises her brow and looks at me, “You’re telling me you’re the reputable investigator and you don’t know the difference between the two.”

“There is a significant enough difference,”

She laughs.

“It’s, oh like oh what’s the phrase, all toads are frogs, but not all frogs are toads. All shish kabobs are kebabs, but not all kebabs are shish kabobs. Shish Kabobs are grilled, Kebabs are roasted,”

“Meat on a stick is much simpler than that,” I tell her.

“Really, I think that’s a lot more words,” she smiles, and looks at me, “So, there is a person behind those walls after all.”

A person behind these walls? She’s extended olive branches to me before, I wonder if this her attempt of getting to know me. I admit, I let my guard slip just a little around her. Though I have learned the cost of letting someone in before. Perhaps she is right again.I am allowing myself to be haunted by things that have happened in the past. I know I am prone to numbing myself in situations like this. Yet, I cannot risk her knowing me. My Father trusts her for her professionalism, and I trust her for the same professionalism that my father so approves of. Yet, I don’t know if I can trust her olive branch.

She waves a napkin in my face, “You love to go inside your own head. Must help with investigating. Doesn’t make for great lunch conversation though, I don’t have telepathy.”

“You might,” I remark.

“See, that’s funny. Here, I asked for a bowl to serve you some rice,” she tells me.

"Thank you,”

“And here I thought I was going to get more failed attempts at socialization,”

“I don’t fail that badly,”

“Jeremy was looking at you like you grew a third eye,”

“How else was I supposed to react when-

-I remained the height of professionalism-

-if that’s professionalism, what is unprofessionalism?”

“I blur the lines,” she gives me a teasing smile.

“You do that a lot,” I tell her earnestly.

She hands me the to-go bowl with rice, and meat on a stick, “Maybe.” she tells me more earnestly, “But you’re not a robot. You have needs, like eating lunch. Or a need for human connection. I might be someone who looks like just a jokester, but I am smarter than I look. I have been with you for only nine months and your lifestyle is slightly depressing. Isolated in hotels. When was the last time you let your hair down just a little? If you live your life worried about the consequences of living it, you’ll never actually live. I get your circumstance is different. I am protecting you from would be harm. But the most fearful thing I think, to your would be assassins would be to live your life in spite of them. I have your back. I know a few good moves too.”

“I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t insightful-

-I know,” she interjects.

She’s so confident even when she knows the risks. She laughs, I suppose, to make danger nervous. That makes little sense when I simply put it like that. She laughs despite knowing the risks. She rather much embrace life to its fullest than to simply watch it from the outside. That’s something I am particularly bad at that sort of thing, to laugh despite the danger. I am much better at observing and remaining at a distance. The only actual connection I have with others is telling their untold stories when they can no longer speak it. Death stays with me often more than laughter. That might be because of my job. Because I force myself to care for every person dead or alive I come across. Because I worry about losing my humanity. Though the truth of the matter is that I probably have lost it when the only Human connection are the ones I have from a distance.

“I love reading thoughts,” she teases.

“Thank you for lunch,”

She sighs.

“I’d like to investigate Zoe’s Cell,” I add.

She further sighs, “Maybe they weren’t thoughts. You were just programming your A.I.”