II. Looking Over Your Shoulder

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looking over your shoulder

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looking over your shoulder

"SO, HOW are you adjusting?"

Artemis grunted, wiping his hands with the dishtowel on the counter. He glanced at the phone sitting by the sink, sighing. "It's pretty boring," he replied truthfully.

He could hear Damien's snort. "What, a normal, clean life isn't good enough for you?"

"That is not what I mean, and you know it," he shot back, scooping up the phone while pouring himself a mug of coffee with his free hand. "I just... feel so restless."

Damien sighed. "I know," he admitted eventually. "But you've barely been here for a month. You'll get used to it. Once you learn to stop looking over your shoulder, you can enjoy the peace."

Artemis raised an eyebrow. "Oh? How long did it take you to stop looking over your shoulder, then?" He moved to settle on the small loveseat in the corner of his apartment, attempting to soothe his aching back. He still couldn't find the box that held his heating pads, and his body was letting him know exactly what it thought about that.

"... I'll let you know once I do." There was a pause before Damien cleared his throat. "Why're you still using that accent? It's just us."

"Can never be too careful," he hummed, taking a sip of his coffee, grimacing at the burn that traveled down his throat. "And apparently, it needs work. One of Estelle's work neighbors noticed my accent just after he met me."

"The lawyers? Which one?" Damien hummed. "Was it the blind one? I forget their names."

"... how did you know that?"

"It was my job to know everything," the older man reminded him. "It's a hard habit to shake. Besides, Estelle introduced me when I came to collect my favor."

"Right," Artemis mumbled. "By the way, how much do I owe you now?"

Damien huffed, and Artemis knew he was probably rolling his eyes. "You don't, Arty—"

"Don't use that name," Artemis snapped, his whole body tensing. Blinking, he swallowed, forcing himself to relax, and he fumbled with the locket around his neck. "Sorry. It's just—he's dead. That is not me anymore."

There was a pause. Then, "You know I can't lie. And you might be good at it, but I can still tell."

He closed his eyes, jaw set. "I know. But I have to."

A knock at the apartment door rang out, and Artemis jolted, shocked from his thoughts. "I have to go," he mumbled, eyes trained warily on the door. "Someone is at the door." He winced at the pain in his back as it traveled down his arms and legs.

Damien's tinny voice came through the receiver, bidding him goodbye and reminding him that he would be coming by later that night, but Artemis barely heard him. As he hung up the phone, he crept closer to the door, unease still rising in his chest.

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