The SilentWitn3ss main control room is smaller than the news room—more compact, I suppose, and quieter. I have a desk up on a platform in the far corner, where I can flick through the new clips at my leisure and watch over the team at their workstations.
This morning, however, all my attention is focused on a particular feed: Aeron, waiting at JFK to greet Ash and Ethan as they arrive back from their ski holiday. He came into frame a moment ago and waits on a metal bench; Harvey is a few feet into the background. They’re dressed casually, both handsome and healthy and fresh. Two normal guys amid a sea of hurried travelers. Ha.
My hand keeps shaking around my coffee, and it’s not because of caffeine.
SilentWitn3ss was always my baby. I knew when I sold it to Aeron that he wasn’t fond of sharing, but there are ways around that, of course. So I manage it my way—for the most part—and then he uses it here and there, as he needs to. There’s the arrangement with Detective Posner, and then there are days like this when we cheat a bit. Stage a clip. Meet my lovely boyfriend: he deliberately puts his little brother on the same flight as an NFL player in the midst of a rape scandal, just so they can all be caught in the same shot. Our operative is, ahem, a fan hoping for a glimpse of his fallen hero; Aeron just happens to be there in the background, ready to greet little Ash like any other doting brother-slash-father-figure-slash-regular-guy.
Sure, fifty percent of the viewing public don’t buy this crap. One too many brain cells and it doesn’t compute. But the other fifty—the kind who watch animals being cute on YouTube, and who believe what they read in the National Enquirer—they’re enough. When it comes to scandal, if you want herd immunity, well…you have to start with the sheep. We don’t get a lot of real news on SilentWitn3ss, not unless some proper vigilante stuff goes down. Most of it is celebrity sightings-slash-stalkings, personal dramas, and stupid cats stuck in trees, amid the revenge porn feeds we’re constantly shutting down. But what we do get is enough to keep our sponsors happy. Enough to keep Aeron happy. And that, for now, is good enough for me. He needs all the good press he can get.
So here I am watching Harvey, who is watching Aeron, who is watching Arrivals for Ash. Technology’s amazing, isn’t it? Or creepy, depending on what your opinion is. The window shakes slightly as our operative, who wears the camera attachment just behind his ear, turns away; he already told the viewers about the NFL player, so he can’t be too obvious. It’s nice work. We have a whole team responsible for pinning top pick clips to the front page, and this one’s currently the main feature.
I put my coffee down, slide my trembling hand along the desk, and find my phone. It takes longer than usual to type out a message; I keep hitting the wrong keys. I spy big brother on Big Brother x
Onscreen, Aeron comes back into the corner of the frame. He shifts to slip his own phone out, reads the message, then his face alights with the smallest of smiles. For a second, I’m thrown back to another time when I studied that smile on a computer screen and nerves clawed through my insides; now I shudder with softer adrenaline, the kind that makes me tighter in places I keep just for him. I’ve spent so many years being afraid of beautiful things.
Oh, I am owned. But then I always was. If I sound resigned to my fate, thank God for that—it’s been a long time coming. And even cages grow comfortable if you can reach through the bars.
My phone vibrates with Aeron’s response.