The light was on, machines whirring and computing. And in the middle of them, Connors was on the floor, doing push-ups.

“What the hell is this?” she demanded.

He paused mid-push-up to look at her. “Good morning,” he said. “I’m gathering data, as you scientists like to say. It’s a stress test.” A computer beeped, and he jumped up to his feet. He wasn’t winded or sweaty and the computers didn’t register any change in heart rate.

Amelia tossed the file she held onto her desk and stopped the functions he’d initiated. “Push-ups aren’t stress,” she told him. “Don’t pretend to know what you’re doing.” He had round, pale gray patches stuck to his temples, the side of his neck, and on the inside of his wrists. One of her inventions, just recently patented and rolled out to every major healthcare facility. She cringed at the blatant misuse and took his hand to peel the wrist patch off. “These are not toys,” she told him.

“Then you might want to take back the rest of them, too.”

His tone… was he teasing her? Amelia took off the patches on his temples and on his neck. “As I was saying,” she said, tossing the used patches into the trash can behind her.

“What about these?” he said while her back was turned.

Amelia froze. How much worse could it be? She braced herself and turned around. “I’m going to kill you,” she growled. He’d stripped off his shirt, revealing his handiwork. The idiot had wallpapered himself in the damn things. It looked like he put a patch over each major organ. He must have wasted a full pack of them! “I’m going to beat you to within an inch of your life and toss you out behind one of the warehouses. And you know what?”

“Tell me.”

“I’m going to enjoy it.”

Connors tossed his head back and laughed.

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