Page 22 of Tyson
"I've included everything from your laminated lists," I continued, filling his silence with words. "Just, you know, fun. 'Check your six' becomes 'Spot someone behind you.' 'Maintainsituational awareness' becomes 'Notice something weird.' Same concepts, less military speak."
Still silence. His thumb traced the edge of the card.
"This is . . ." he started.
"Childish? Dumb? Not ‘Navy-SEAL’ enough?" I supplied, defenses rising like walls. "Look, I know it's not your style, but people here aren't soldiers. They're artists and weirdos and—"
"Brilliant."
The word dropped between us like a bomb.
"I—what?"
"You've gamified security awareness." He set the card down carefully, like it was precious. "People will compete to spot threats. They'll want to complete the card for prizes, which means they'll actually pay attention to their surroundings."
"It's not—I mean, it's just silly—"
"It's innovative." He picked up another card, and I noticed his hands were shaking slightly. “So damn smart.”
Heat flooded my face. My chest. Lower. That approval in his voice was doing things to me. Dangerous things. Things that made me want to drop to my knees and—
Nope. Absolutely not.
I spun away, busying myself with arranging cards. "Yeah, well, I also painted all emergency exits. Since we're doing show and tell."
"You painted the exits?"
"Glow-in-the-dark." I flicked the lights off without warning.
The shop plunged into darkness for a heartbeat. Then the murals came alive.
Every exit now had elaborate artwork leading to it. Neon arrows, clearly pointing toward escape routes.
"Jesus Christ," Tyson breathed.
"People move toward light when panicked," I explained, still in darkness. "Now they'll have paths to follow. Plus, it looks cool as fuck."
I flicked the lights back on. The arrows vanished, invisible in normal lighting. Just another secret layer in my organized chaos.
Tyson stared at the walls like he'd never seen them before. "Lena, this is—"
"Just paint," I interrupted. Couldn't handle more praise. Not from him. Not when my body was already responding to his approval like he'd touched me. "So, are you gonna talk me through the alarm system?" I asked firmly. "Before I lose my bedazzling momentum."
“Sure. Let me show you.”
The alarm panel lurked behind the front desk—all serious buttons and digital displays that screamed "responsible adult required."
"Six-digit minimum code," he started, all business. "You'll want something memorable but not obvious. Not your birthday or—"
I wasn't listening. Couldn't. Not when he stood close enough that I could smell his cologne—woodsy and clean and making me think wildly inappropriate thoughts. Pine trees and safety and being pinned against one of those pine trees while he—
"You're not paying attention."
Busted. "Codes are boring."
"Codes are important."
I yawned a long, fake yawn.
