As if she sensed his scrutiny, she glanced up at the windows. He had the urge to duck out of sight, but he held his ground. She can’t see you. She turned away and continued on. Again, her stiff gait struck him as odd, but what caught and held his attention was that incredible hair, the slightness of her frame, the ridiculous attire. Her. You’re a perv, Homme. What was it they used to call men who spied on women? Peeping Toms? The glass wall allowed him to observe the rotation as the vehicles moved from station to station. He couldn’t count the number of times in the week since Illumina had come on board that he found himself watching for her. He needed neither his cybervision nor her distinctive hair to find her amidst the bustling beehive of activity. His human senses were attuned to her, his gaze zooming in like a computer fixing on programmed coordinates. He had to stop this shit. She was his employee.
