The Glass Between Us

The fox came every Tuesday at midnight, slipping through the chain-link fence behind my apartment building. I watched from the fire escape, wine glass in hand, as it navigated the overgrown lot with practiced ease. Three weeks of this silent vigil, and still it never looked up.

I saw things people didn't think I could see. That was my job now—corporate espionage, they called it. I preferred to think of it as professional curiosity. My latest target was a biotech firm developing something revolutionary. Something worth killing for, maybe.

The goldfish bowl sat on my desk, a reminder of Sarah. She'd left it behind when she walked out eight months ago, along with everything else we'd built. "You're always watching," she'd said. "Sometimes I think you don't know how to actually be present." The fish swam in endless circles, its mouth opening and closing in silent repetition.

I'd been following Dr. Elena Rostova for two weeks. Learned her coffee order, her jogging route, the way she hesitated before her key touched the lock. I knew she was hiding something—documents, formulas, evidence. The corporation paying me wanted answers.

Then came the night I followed her to the marina. She stood at the end of Dock 4, just standing there in the moonlight. No documents. No meet-up. Just a woman in a trench coat watching the water.

I stepped out of the shadows. "Dr. Rostova."

She turned, unsurprised. "You're the one from the coffee shop." She pulled an envelope from her pocket. "This is what they're really after. Not research. Proof the drug causes memory loss. Permanent, irreparable."

"Why give it to me?"

"Because you've been watching me for weeks, and you're the only one who's ever looked at me like I'm a person, not a target." She smiled bitterly. "I used to be a spy, you know. Different kind."

Back at my apartment, the fox appeared at the fence again. This time it looked straight at me, amber eyes reflecting the streetlamp's glow. Then it was gone.

I turned to the fishbowl on my desk. For the first time in eight months, I really looked at it. The glass was cloudy. The water, stagnant.

I called Sarah. "I need to tell you something," I said. "About why I was always watching instead of being present."

The fox returned the following Tuesday. I left the fire escape empty, the wine glass washed and put away. Some things are better seen from the inside than the outside.