Chapter 3
Tobias
I did not kill Mark.
Admittedly, though, it did cross my mind.
My first conversation with Cove had been going so well—better than I’d hoped for, actually. It was obvious that the best way to acclimate him to me would be by allowing him a space to freely speak about his passions—hyperfixations, really—without fear of judgment.
I had been learning so much about his behavior, and then that imbecile had decided it had been his place to butt in.
From Cove’s reaction to his scolding, it was clear this Mark was a superior of his.
It was beyond aggravating.
And then for him to try to talk to me once Cove had effectively been run off?
I had very little patience for that.
It had taken a great amount of restraint not to dismiss him outright. Not because I required his approval, but because causing unnecessary friction within the environment Cove occupied would be… counterproductive.
At least for now. It could be helpful later on.
Still, the irritation lingered longer than I would have preferred. Not because of Mark himself—he was ultimately inconsequential—but because of the disruption he had caused.
Timing matters.
Momentum matters.
And I had been very close to establishing both.
Cove had begun to settle. I had seen it in the way his shoulders began to relax, and in the way his words came more easily once he realized I was not going to interrupt him or dismiss what he was saying. He had forgotten his role for a moment.
That was when he was most valuable.
Most honest.
I adjusted my suit jacket as I stepped through the main entrance of the aquarium, the familiar shift in temperature and humidity welcoming me back like an old friend.
It had been three days.
Long enough for the initial discomfort to settle, but not long enough for the interaction to have been forgotten.
I doubted I would be so easily dismissed. No. I was sure Cove had been ruminating over the whole interaction.
I continued forward at an unhurried pace, hands clasped behind my back, blending seamlessly into the role I had been assigned here: donor, observer, benefactor.
I let my gaze move across the gallery without appearing to fix on anything in particular. It was a practiced habit—one that allowed observation without invitation. People rarely noticed they were being studied unless you gave them something obvious to react to.
Families clustered near the larger tanks. Children ran around with a look of wonder in their eyes. Volunteers hovered nearby, offering rehearsed facts in bright, engaging tones.
None of them were relevant.
My attention was on the staff—specifically, who lingered, who moved with purpose, who deferred to whom, and, more importantly, who was or was not there.
Cove was not on the floor.
Unfortunate, but not completely unexpected.
After all, avoidance, once established, tends to become a habit.
My steps carried me further into the aquarium, moving from one exhibit to the next at a leisurely rate. There was no benefit in appearing as though I were searching for anything.
I paused briefly near a tank I had already seen dozens of times, my reflection in the glass, superimposed over drifting bodies of silver and blue. Behind it, the corridor entrances remained visible—dark thresholds set just beyond the curated glow of the exhibits.
He had retreated through one of those before.
I turned away from the tank and naturally adjusted my course toward the nearest staff corridor.
There were, of course, restrictions—‘no entry’ signs and doors that were supposed to be locked but remained slightly propped open for the convenience of staff held up the illusion of separation between public and private space, but these restrictions did not apply to me.
Nor to anyone with the amount of money I had.
No one stopped me as I stepped past the threshold, and the noise of the gallery dulled behind me, replaced by the quieter, more sterile atmosphere of the back areas.
I continued down the corridor, my gaze flicking to each open doorway as I passed.
Empty.
Occupied.
Irrelevant.
Then—
Voices.
Faint and ahead.
I slowed—not enough to draw attention, just enough to listen.
One of them was unfamiliar.
But the other—
Even muted through walls and distance, there was a particular cadence to it. A slight unevenness when he spoke too quickly. A tendency to soften at the end of sentences, as though bracing for interruption.
There you are.
The voices grew clearer as I approached the partially open door at the end of the corridor. Light spilled out in a thin line across the floor, cutting through the dimness of the hall.
“…just saying, you should come out with us,” the unfamiliar voice was saying. “You’re in your twenties in a new country—enjoy it!”
Cove responded, sounding hesitant, “I’m just not really a club person.”
“But you haven’t been to an Aussie club before!”
“Um… well, no… but aren’t all clubs kinda the same? Drinks and too many people?”
The other person huffed dramatically. “Come onnnn! It’s a super hot queer spot. You’d basically be able to have your pick of the litter! You’re cute, only here for a limited time, and have an American accent, babe!”
“Do I really have an accent?” Cove asked, sounding unsure how to feel about that.
“Course you do,” the person said, scoffing. “Now, I don’t know what you like—be that gals or guys or something else, but trust me, they’ll be all over you.”
“I’m really not looking for anything like that. As you said, I might not be here for long.”
“You don’t have to get married and shit. Just sample the menu.”
“Jeremy, I—”
“Please, babe! Emma will come along too. Let us show off our Cali boy!”
There was a brief, strained silence that followed.
I could picture it without needing to see—Cove caught somewhere between discomfort and obligation, uncertain how to refuse without disappointing.
“Jeremy, I really don’t think—”
I chose that moment to move. I pushed the door open farther, the soft creak of the hinge cutting cleanly through the conversation.
Both of them turned.
Jeremy was the first to react—bright expression faltering only a smidge as his eyes landed on me, quickly recalibrating into something polite, if curious. He was exactly as he sounded—expressive and animated, the kind of person who filled silence and demanded attention.
Next to him, Cove had frozen.
I let my gaze rest on him for a fraction longer than necessary before shifting it back to Jeremy.
“Am I interrupting?” I asked.
Jeremy’s head tilted, clearly trying to place me, then glanced at Cove as though for confirmation.
“No, uh—no,” Jeremy said quickly, stepping back half a pace. “We were just talking.”
“Yes,” I said, though that much had already been obvious. My gaze flicked briefly toward Cove again before returning. “I gathered as much. I was actually hoping to borrow him for a moment.”
The little blonde twink glanced at Cove again.
Cove’s lips thinned, thin auburn brows pulling together. With a rather defeated sigh, he gave a short nod to Jeremy.
“Yeah, okay. I’ve gotta get back out there anyway.
” He shot Cove a quick look—half apologetic, half amused.
“We’re not done with this conversation,” he added lightly, though there was an undercurrent of insistence beneath it.
Jeremy’s attention returned to me, offering a polite, if slightly uncertain smile.
“I feel like I recognize you from somewhere.”
Cove piped up quietly from behind his friend, “He’s a donor.”
Jeremy’s eyes widened. “Oh, sorry! I’m a part-time volunteer, so I don’t—never mind. Thank you for your support, sir!”
“It’s quite fine,” I answered mildly. “Jeremy, was it?”
“Yes, sir. Right. Well, nice to meet you, but I’ll leave you two to it!”
He slipped past me with a smile through the doorway. The door remained open behind him for a moment before swinging shut with a soft click.
“Hello, Cove.”
Cove fidgeted with the pipettes on the table in front of him. His fingers aligned them, then misaligned them, then adjusted them again—small, repetitive movements that served no real purpose beyond giving his hands something to do with the nervous energy bubbling up inside of him.
“I—” He cleared his throat, not looking at me.
“I’m sorry about the other day. I didn’t mean to, like…
go on like that,” he added, words coming a little faster now, tripping over themselves in their haste to be said correctly.
“I know I can do that sometimes. I just—um—I thought you were asking, and then I kind of… didn’t stop. ”
I watched with a sharp gaze as he rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, then sank down into the wet plushness.
What other places on his body would look so beautiful when bitten?
I frowned at myself, not quite understanding the implication behind that. Cove was to be part of my collection, and I certainly didn’t bite my other creatures.
“For what it’s worth,” he continued, quieter now, “I don’t usually do that with guests. Or donors. I know that’s not really appropriate.”
I took a step forward.
“You misunderstand,” I clarified, eyes still stuck on the tiny indent on his pink lip from his teeth. “I did not come back here to admonish you.”
“Then…”
“I came back,” I said, “because I enjoyed our conversation.”
Confusion flickered across his expression, breaking through the careful neutrality he’d been attempting to maintain. His brows pulled together, not in distress this time, but in uncertainty.
“You… did?” he asked, before he could stop himself.
“Yes. In fact,” I added, taking another step closer, “your tendency to ‘go on like that’ is precisely what made it worthwhile.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Cove let out a small, uncertain breath. “I thought—” he started, then hesitated.
I waited.
“I thought I was being too much,” he finished, quieter.
“Not at all,” I assured him. “I think it’s a shame that you are so accustomed to being interrupted before you’re finished.”
The words lingered between us, and I watched the way they wormed their way into his head. He appeared not to know what to make of what I’d said.
It was silent for a moment before I continued, “I would like to hear what else you have to say.”
His gaze was uncertain, searching my face as though trying to determine whether this was genuine interest or some kind of test.
It was both.
“Why?” he asked.
“I find myself with a lack of conversational partners.”
“Oh, uh…” The poor thing looked utterly confused.
“I come here often, but the workers are either too intimidated by me to approach, or too rehearsed with silly common facts about things I know much more about than they do.”
“Oh,” he said after a moment. “I mean… I guess that makes sense. They do kind of have to stick to, like, scripts out there. I mean, I’m supposed to…”
“Yes,” I said dismissively. “But I don’t want that. I would prefer to hear about something else. Something not designed for public consumption. I would like to hear about your own thoughts on subjects that you’re clearly passionate about.”
“I mean…” he started slowly, sounding tempted. “There are a lot of really cool species that don’t get talked about much. Like—um—there’s this one kind of octopus that—”
He stopped as interest gave way to hesitation, his shoulders drawing in again as something else reasserted itself in his mind.
“I was told by one of my superiors not to bother you,” he said, quieter this time, like he didn’t quite want to say it but felt like he had to.
“I will take care of that.”
He frowned slightly, looking up at me. “You may say that, but I don’t—”
“It does not concern you,” I interrupted smoothly. “You are not responsible for managing other people’s… misunderstandings.” I paused before adding, “And we do not need to speak constantly. I am not asking you to disregard your responsibilities.”
Cove shifted his weight, caught between what he’d been told and what was being presented to him now.
“I just don’t want to get in trouble,” he admitted.
“You won’t,” I said simply.
He didn’t look convinced, gaze flicking toward the door again, anxiety threading back in as reality reasserted itself.
“At the very least,” he said, a bit more firmly now, “you shouldn’t be back here. If someone sees you, I’m definitely going to get in trouble.”
I watched him for a moment, then inclined my head. “Very well.”
I stepped back, easing the pressure of proximity, allowing him space—not as a retreat, but as a calculated concession.
I turned toward the door, then paused to glance back at him. “You may escort me.”
Not a question.
A solution.
His shoulders relaxed—just a bit—at the compromise.
“Yeah,” he said, a bit more sure now that there was something actionable to do. “Okay. Yeah, that’s… better.”
He moved quickly to the door, pushing it open and stepping into the corridor, glancing both ways before gesturing for me to follow.
He stayed close as we walked—closer than necessary, likely without realizing it—as though proximity itself might mitigate the risk.
“You were saying,” I prompted, “about the octopus.”
He glanced at me, startled slightly, as though he hadn’t expected me to return to it so quickly.
“I—oh. Um. They’re called mimic octopuses,” he said, a little shyer than before, as if testing the space between us.
“They can impersonate over fifteen different animals to avoid predators and catch prey. It’s not just camouflage—they actually change how they move depending on what they’re copying.
Like, sometimes they’ll mimic a crab’s mate in order to get close enough to strike.
When they’re pretending to be a lionfish, they’ll… ”
I listened contentedly by his side as Cove continued, his face bright and animated as he led me back out to the galleries.
Yes, this was undoubtedly the best way to get closer to him.