Monday dawned as grey and listless as Quentin felt. Third motel room in a row. He needed to get that manual if he didn’t want this to become so commonplace he wouldn’t even count anymore.

A new face. He studied the one he currently wore in the bathroom mirror, wondering how he’d feel the next time he looked and saw someone else’s reflection staring back at him. If he weren’t being forced into it, he imagined it’d have been exciting — a fresh look whenever he wanted one, features as interchangeable as clothes.

It didn’t feel exciting.

It felt sad.

The last piece of himself he’d be forced to leave behind before he could start anew. A life without Ian. Without his photography, too obvious a tell. He’d travelled enough, as had his photos, to know it’d be an unacceptable risk. Without the name he’d chosen for himself, the only one that had ever sounded right. And a life wearing a face that didn’t fit.

In his wildest, most selfish moments, he imagined reinserting himself into Ian’s life, once he had a new identity. Seducing him, having him back, not letting go. But it was more than the risk — Ian didn’t deserve to have that done to him twice. It’d break him if he ever found out.

It took Quentin a moment to notice he was turning his wedding ring on his finger, twisting it left and right just for the comforting feeling of having it right there. This, he’d keep until he was well and truly ready to let go.

He splashed cold water on his face to chase away the last remnants of sleep.

It was time to move on with the rest of his life.

☵☲☵

Storing his camera bag in a locker was a painful step. He’d already made his peace with all the lenses he’d left at home, each one beloved, with its own story to tell. Letting go of the rest in Wave Plaza — an area of the city he hadn’t ever been to as Quentin, but whose ins and outs he knew from before — crushed what little sense of self he still had.

There was no alternative. It made no sense to keep it with him when he couldn’t even use it but, more than that, things that made him favour one side had a tendency to make his wound hurt more than it should, and access to his pain sensors wasn’t always easy or intuitive. And not having a home — well. It went without saying.

He sat outside a coffee shop, looking for all intents and purposes like he was nibbling on a muffin and not doing much of anything else, as he hacked the security cameras outside his own garage.

Nothing stirred, and there was no car parked outside — its interior was always too stuffed with Ian’s work tools to fit a car — but neither of these meant much. The car had been wrecked in the crash; Ian could be inside the house. It wasn’t as if Quentin had plenty of other choices, though. He now understood Ian’s paranoia, the way he’d remove the nexus’ tracking chip whenever he needed a replacement, how he never made any purchases that could be linked to his name. It would have been far too easy to figure out his movements and pinpoint his location, otherwise.

The nexus’ tracking chip.

Ian removed the chip so he wouldn’t be tracked. How had Quentin not thought of that? More than altering his appearance, or at least as important as that, was to remove his own tracking chip. Ten years by Ian’s side had taught him Trackers were blind without those.