Page 69 of Push My Buttons
She shakes her head, her hands rising between us."You've still been here,"she signs."Every night. Every morning. You've never left me alone."
"Not physically," I acknowledge. "But mentally... sometimes I'm too deep in the code, even when I'm sitting right beside you."
The expansion has consumed so much of my focus, especially with the launch date looming. My mind lost in virtual worlds instead of anchored to the miracle of her presence.
"I understand ambition,"she signs, her expression serious."I understand passion for your work. Don't apologize for that."
"Still," I insist, needing her to know how deeply I feel this. "You deserve better. After the launch, things will calm down. I'll be more present."
She smiles, touching my face with gentle fingers."I'm proud of you,"she signs."What you've created. How hard you work."
The simple validation eases something tight in my chest. She understands. Of course she does. Wren has always seen me more clearly than anyone else—even before she knew who I was, when I was just ObsidianWolf to her Silence.
I pull her closer, breathing in the scent of her hair, allowing myself a moment of pure gratitude for her presence in my life. Weeks ago, I couldn't have imagined this—having her in my arms, knowing all of her secrets, being trusted with her protection and her heart.
The thought of protection brings me back to reality with a sharp jolt. We haven't told her about the notes that still appear, the small "gifts" Theo and I intercept before she can see them. We've been careful to maintain the illusion of safety, to let her believe the stalker has been deterred by our presence and the enhanced security.
But the truth is, they're still out there. Still watching. Still leaving their twisted tokens of obsession.
Yesterday it was a small box containing expensive chocolates. A few days before, a child's music box that played "You Are My Sunshine" when opened. Last week, a perfectly preserved black lilly.
Each item more disturbing than the last. Each message more personal, more intimate.
Theo and I have cataloged them all and photographed them. We've installed cameras at every possible entry point, added motion sensors, upgraded the locks twice. The apartment is a fortress now—but somehow, the notes still appear, usually at the door, sometimes on the balcony.
The cameras have captured only glimpses—a hooded figure, face always turned away from the lens, movements quick and practiced. Professional, almost. Theo's security contact has reviewed the footage and says whoever it is knows exactly where the cameras are, knows precisely how to minimize their exposure.
It's maddening. Terrifying. And we've kept it all from Wren, not wanting to shatter the sense of safety she's finally reclaimed.
I tighten my arms around her, suddenly overwhelmed by the need to keep her close, to physically shield her from the threat we can't seem to eliminate.
"What is it?"she signs, sensing the change in my mood.
I force a smile, pushing the dark thoughts away. "Nothing," I lie. "Just thinking about how lucky I am to have you. To have this."
She studies my face, clearly not entirely convinced, but doesn't press the issue. Instead, she rises on tiptoes to kiss me again, her lips soft against mine.
"Shower's free," Theo announces, entering the living room with a towel slung low on his hips, his hair still damp. "Though I used all the hot water, so good luck with that."
Wren turns to shoot him an exasperated look, and just like that, the moment of darkness passes.
I watch as Wren moves toward Theo, playfully smacking his arm before signing something too quick for me to catch. The familiarity between them makes something warm unfurl in my chest.
After Wren disappears into the bathroom, Theo's expression changes instantly.
"Anything new?" he asks, voice low as he pulls on a t-shirt.
I shake my head, moving to my laptop on the kitchen counter. "Nothing since yesterday. I've been monitoring the feeds remotely during work, but..." I trail off, fingers already tapping against the keyboard in that familiar rhythm that helps me focus when everything feels too loud, too bright, too much.
"But our ghost is too good," Theo finishes, coming to stand beside me as I pull up the security program. "Have you thought more about telling her?"
My fingers pause over the keyboard. "Every day," I admit. "But she's finally making progress. Speaking. Sleeping through the night. I don't want to set her back."
Theo runs a hand through his damp hair, frustration evident in the gesture. "I get that, but if this psycho is escalating—"
"I know," I cut him off, more sharply than intended. I take a breath, recalibrating. "Sorry. I just... I need to solve this. There has to be a pattern, something I'm missing."
He squeezes my shoulder briefly—a gesture of solidarity that would have been unthinkable two months ago. "We'll figure it out. In the meantime, we keep her safe."
