Lydia? Now Lydia he had put his finger on. And in. And –
What have you done, Mike? She thinks you're Matt, he reminded himself. A deep, cleansing breath didn't help, the air redolent with her scent. Of their scent. Of --
Oh, shit.
A tiny red light blinked at a regular rate in a spot perched just above the threshold to his office. He squinted, then slowly closed his eyes, a long sigh pushing as many traces of her out of his air supply, leaving him as empty of her as possible so he could fill his body with logic. Resting his head on his folded arm and the top of the couch, his ear against the back of one hand, his brain raced into full-blown catastrophe management mode.
A quick glance up showed the light had turned off. Someone had to do that manually; Jonah had explained the process to him.
Not what he wanted to see, because that meant –
He had forgotten about the cameras.
