She turned and walked back toward her bedroom. The basketball shorts rode up slightly with each step, revealing more of her legs than I'd seen before. Long, lean, athletic muscle that came from years of training with weapons and body conditioning.
I looked away before she noticed where my eyes had gone.
The door to her room clicked shut.
I stood in the kitchen holding my contraband cheese stick and overpriced sports drink, James Brown lyrics still echoing in my head, and tried to process what the hell just happened.
Hikaru had seen me dancing. Singing. Actively celebrating in the least dignified way possible.
And her response had been to charge me market rate for stolen food.
I finished the cheese stick. Drained the sports drink. Tossed both in the recycling bin that Hikaru had labeled "RECYCLABLES" in neat block letters, because of course she had.
Then I pulled up the system interface again and actually read through the full session report from Naomi.
