Page 14 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

"Oh, sorry," a tiny voice says.

I glance down at the woman who bumped into me. She's petite and completely hidden under a gray hoodie. I open my mouth to respond and tell her no harm done, but she's already walking off. My eyes track her for a moment because there was a lot of nervous energy pulsing from that small frame. She disappears into the crowd, so I turn my attention back to where I was headed.

In an attempt to hide myself more so no one else recognizes me from the presentation, I hit the bathroom and comb water through my hair. Normally, my long black bangs hang down, but I sweep them back.

I study myself in the mirror. Ugh, I do have resting-intimidation-face. I blame Mom and her high cheekbones I inherited. My Dad's European-American DNA contributed to my wide jaw, but those Korean cheekbones are killer. This new, swept-back hairstyle, though? Not bad. Maybe I'll do it more and mix up my look a bit.

After leaving the bathroom, I head to the coffee shop near the front of the convention center. I buy some ginseng tea, then return to the exhibition hall to wander.

The woman at the tech booth to my left has been drinking from an empty cup for the past minute, too caught up in her sales pitch to notice. The guy manning the finance software exhibit keeps glancing at the emergency exit. Probably a smoke break overdue. Two security guards near the main entrance are discussing lunch plans instead of watching the crowd.

Damnit.

I drop my head, trying not to let my gaze bounce around so much. Will I ever stop doing this? I'm not on assignment, so I don't need to scan for threatsallthe time.

Movement near the bathrooms catches my attention. It's the woman who bumped into me, only now she's wearing a black baseball cap under the hoodie. Large black glasses hide most of her face. Her shoulders are hunched as she tries to make herself smaller, and her head is constantly swiveling like she's expecting someone to grab her.

Wonder what's got her so anxious. She's clutching her tote bag against her chest like it contains state secrets, knuckles white with tension, and when someone brushes past her, she flinches hard enough to jostle the lemonade she's holding. She doesn't even seem to notice the growing wet spot on her sleeve.

It's a red-flag response and I hope she's okay but… not my problem. I have to figure out how to stop my brain from doing this. I'm not actually in security anymore. I don't know what my life is now, but it can no longer be protecting people.

I continue past the woman, letting my gaze drift over the sea of corporate logos above booths. There are some pretty fancy setups here—big signage, LED screens everywhere, I've even seen a few robots.

Guess RoboCop will replace me soon. Probably for the best.

A guy at a blockchain booth is wearing mismatched shoes, one black and one brown. The woman handing out branded stress balls has a security badge that doesn't match the conference lanyards. Probably a last-minute hire.

Damnit, stop noticing shit!

Instead of walking around, I should listen to an audiobook in a dark corner where my brain can't be so active.

I pick a corner and start moving toward it. On the way, I pass a display of surveillance tech where I spot Hoodie Woman again. I try not to take notice and let my eyes linger, but I fail. She's moving with purpose now, approaching each booth systematically. Ask a question. Shake head. Move on. Her pace is tight and fast, like someone running out of time. With each rejection, her shoulders climb higher toward her ears.

I watch her approach a competitor to NexaProtect. There's a current of barely-contained panic under her movements.

I'm too invested now, so I inch closer, casually sipping my lukewarm tea. I follow behind with a wide berth as she visits more booths. I'm not tracking her exactly. Just... maintaining awareness. Professional curiosity. That's all. I'm wondering what she's looking for and why it has her so panicked. A lost child maybe? I haven't noticed many kids here, and they've always been with adults.

Fifteen minutes pass, which is longer than I should be on break. Yet something in me won't return to the NexaProtect booth untilI know what Hoodie Woman is searching for. Part of me needs to know she found it.

She pauses her mission and heads to the noisy food court. As I follow, the smell of hamburger meat hits me and my stomach growls. I'll eat later but damn, that smells good.

Hoodie Woman stops at a sandwich vendor, pays for a wrap, then sits alone at a corner table. She unwraps it halfway, stares at it like it just insulted her grandmother, then abruptly drops the whole thing in the trash along with her empty lemonade cup. Her hands are trembling.

My stomach is tight as I glance at my watch. I should really get back to the booth, but this woman has worried herself so much she can't eat…

I can observe just a few more minutes. I'll feel better once she finds what she needs.

After scrolling through her phone for a few minutes, Hoodie Woman leaves the food court and returns to her methodical booth-hopping, her movements growing more agitated with each interaction. Her shoulders are so tight now they're swallowing her ears.

Without warning, she glances my way. I grab a brochure off the nearest table and pretend to read about cyber attacks.

What am I doing?I should stop.This is definitely not my problem.

I trash the rest of my tea and loop back toward the NexaProtect booth, determined to stop obsessing and get back to work.

Hoodie Woman veers and walks the same direction. I coincidentally pass within earshot as she approaches a security services company with a pricey black and silver display.

"Excuse me," she says, her voice quiet and pinched, like she's forcing it out through a straw. "Do you know if any of your security guards have the last name Walker-Choi?"

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