dry ice, c

He didn't know it was a trap. John didn't know there was an open claw beneath the law firms carpets with sharp, treacherous, and unyielding nails. They were painted red, of course, and they belonged to the petite and well-informed secretary with a pert and quiet mouth. She had set it all up: seeds of ideas for an associate, planting the idea in his head through mutual friends, and paving the way with her influence over a few key men. There was an office rumor that she had a thing for John Roberts, but most people doubted it. She handed him the files he summoned like he were any other associate. Silly idea, really.

Mo Yun already knows a handful about Jon. She hoardes the information like a child is proud of the marbles they have won. Her lips curl at the corners when she watches him from a distance stapling a file she has typed up, or licking an envelope. 

He is inexperienced. He's only wary of cops, she snickers, by a secretary showing off a silly picture of a kitten on her phone.

Now, evening has settled over dear Nova Athenis, and the ground work of her plan, the invisible cage she has woven silently around his person can be tightened just enough to settle around his neck.

She is nameless secretary he might recognize from his new job. Maybe she has a name and maybe it is Jessica Lawrence. She sits beside him and orders a gin and tonic with lime. If she were to speak in a  low voice, only he would hear her. This is the thrill of the hunt, and she savors the silence of, at last, drawing back the bowstring.

Her eyes peel over him wondering how he looks without the glasses.

@john