Page 30 of Ezra
While I’m not sure I agree, she drives on. “Anyway, I’m very tired all of a sudden.”
“You should rest. I’ll be here should you need anything.”
Katrina shuffles away as I explore the rest of the penthouse. I hear the quiet shutting of a door. When I come back out intothe lounge area, she’s gone to the guest bedroom, and I’m left to continue my security inspection in silence.
I resolve to keep an eye on her. Human beings are undoubtedly resilient. But I don’t know of many outside of a war zone who have endured quite so much in such a short time frame.
I don’t have to assist her in anything. I’m purely tasked with ensuring she stays alive and safe. It’s possible she won’t appreciate my attempts to look after her well-being beyond that.
But it’s what’s right. And as much as my gratification drive would devour any praise from her, I don’t require it. Deion often says the measure of a good man is what he does when there is no acknowledgment or reward.
If nothing else, I can try to mitigate some of her stress.
Two days slog by where Katrina and I only speak to each other in passing. Not because of any argument or disagreement or dislike on either of our parts, but because even without her job at the museum, she finds ways to remain busy. I hear her in the guest room making calls left and right, speaking with her mother and father as he recovers, checking on friends, and putting together a fundraiser for the victims of the museum attack.
People can say whatever they want about the Carsons, but Katrina isn’t idle, lazy, or greedy. Nothing gets past my ears. From the moment she wakes up in the morning, she’s working, speaking to everyone from her college dean to a Humanity First contact on her dad’s communication team.
She talks to her mother quite a bit, and her phone is never far from her. She checks it constantly, and her expression is always serious. I have no doubt she’s worried about her father. Iconsider inquiring but decide against it. I’m still trying to make sense of this security footage.
The third morning, she emerges from her room to get herself water to drink and nothing else.
That concerns me, pulling me out of my own investigations, looking over all the information Deion and Jayne are gathering in my absence. I’ve been watching her carefully when she wanders out into my view, and I haven’t seen her eat. The last thing I need is Katrina fainting from lack of food on my watch.
“You should have some breakfast.”
She glances up, the silence between us finally ended. She ruffles her short-cropped hair. “I can’t.”
Frowning, I move aside my many programs to clear my optic screen, homing in on her. “What do you mean? Why not?”
“Look, I’m not trying to be difficult,” she replies. “But I don’t have an appetite. I’m just doing what I can to stay hydrated.”
My gaze flits across her body and catches a tremor in her hand that she quickly hides behind her back. My processors whir, racing across medical and psychological journals while already anticipating the cause. Anxiety. Possible post-traumatic stress.
Katrina rests her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, avoiding my eyes.
“When was your last meal?” I ask.
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Miss Carson,” I repeat, sterner now.
She sighs. “Morning of the attack.”
I pull up an online food delivery service, scanning through all sorts of restaurants and grocery stores. “I’ve ordered soup, saltines, and fruits and vegetables you can eat raw. I’ve also placed a delivery request to a local smoothie joint just a mile south. You can take your time, but for the sake of your health, I’ll need you to drink one.”
Surprise registers on her face. “How’d you pay for that?”
“You’re under my protection,” I reply. “The precinct will pick up the tab.”
“I don’t know what to say.” She rubs her neck. “Thank you.”
My systems thrill so intensely at those two little words I have to start my cooling systems up.Knock it off. “You’re welcome.”
She comes out of the guest room again when the food arrives an hour later. I put the smoothie in front of her. “Eat.”
She doesn’t argue, picking it up and taking a sip. She nods at me. “Thank you.”
As she drinks, I strike up conversation. I tell myself it’s because I need to keep her here in front of me so I can ensure she gets enough to eat and drink to sustain her.
