Page 170 of Obey

Sloane lacks the technical training to do this alone, but that does not eliminate help or coercion.

A soft knock sounds before Sloane opens the door, holding a bag from the deli across the street.

“Thought you might need this.”

I minimize the audit too quickly. Her eyes flick toward the screen, and suspicion turns the movement into a data point.

“You didn’t have to bring me lunch.”

“Yeah, I did.” She steps inside and closes the door with her hip. “You have been in here since eight, and Jace said you forgot breakfast.”

She crosses the room wearing the smile that usually quiets everything inside me. Today, I measure it instead. If she knows, she is an exceptional liar. If she does not, I am becoming someone she will not recognize.

She sets the bag on the corner of my desk and glances at the untouched stack of files. “You are going to burn out before launch if you keep doing this.”

“I’m fine.”

Her eyebrow rises. “You say that like you think repetition makes it true.”

She circles behind my chair, and every muscle in my body seizes before I can stop it. Her gaze lands on the monitor.

“You’re staring at code again.”

“Logs,” I say.

“Screens with angry little words on them,” she says. “Same difference; they both give you migraines.”

She reaches for the mouse, her fingers tapping the lock command with an easy familiarity that unsettles me. It’s a simple gesture she’s made dozens of times.

Today, every detail feels like a clue.

“Where did you learn that shortcut?”

She glances down at the keyboard, then back at me. “You showed me during my first week. Now no more procrastinating. I got you a Turkey club, no tomato, and extra pickles.”

“Thank you.” My voice comes out flatter than I intend.

Her smile fades at the edges. “Are you okay? You’ve barely looked at me since I walked in.”

The accusation is gentle, which makes me feel like an ass, so I force my attention fully onto her face. “My focus is on you now.”

“That is not what I meant. Look, if this is about last night, we don’t have to—”

Her phone buzzes before she can finish. She glances at it, but instead of answering, she studies me again, giving me one last chance to close the distance I put between us.

I don’t.

Something in her expression shutters.

“You know what? I should go,” she says, tucking the phone away. “You clearly need space, and I have launch prep to finish.”

“Sloane—”

“It’s fine, Nate.”

It is the way she says it that tells me it isn’t.

She leans down as though she means to kiss me, hesitates, then presses her lips to my temple instead. The touch is brief and questioning. When the door closes behind her, the heat she leaves against my skin confirms what I already know.