FALLON
“Five years.”
“Five years…” I echo in shock. Five years of being observed by this man—it’s unsettling, not to mention invasive. “Did you enjoy it? Watching me?” I ask, struggling to keep my voice steady. There’s a flash of something in his eyes then—a storm brewing beneath the calm surface— it’s gone before I can decipher it.
“Enjoy isn’t the word I’d use,” he says after a moment, his gaze returning to mine.
“Then what word would you use, Milo?”
He doesn’t respond; just keeps watching me with those eyes that know too much. His answer is a simple shrug.
“So you watched me for five years and don’t know why?” Milo watches me carefully, like he is dissecting me.
“You are not what I expected,” he says. Have I managed to disappoint the man who has been watching my every move in
