We were on the bridge when it happened.
Not for any reason — it was a Tuesday evening, I had finished a late shift, Zevran had come to meet me because he had been on the west side for pack communications and we were both heading east for dinner at Sable's. We were walking. Talking about nothing significant. He had his hand in mine and the city was doing the autumn thing where the light went gold before it went dark.
The photograph was taken from a vehicle.
I didn't notice.
Zevran didn't notice.
Otto noticed.
He texted me at nine-thirty: *So there's a photograph.*
I was at Sable's by then, halfway through my coffee, and I looked at the link he sent with the specific pre-emptive tiredness of someone who had been through this before.
But this time it was different.
Not malicious. Not
