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She’d been crying. Her eyes were still luminous from tears. My girl isn’t supposed to cry. I watched through the camera as the last customer left, leaving Maggie inside alone. I was most at ease when she was alone. I knew she was safe. I had surveillance everywhere, both inside and outside of the building. She slumped down on a stool behind the counter, leaning on her elbows, head resting in the palms of her hands. Maggie worked third shift at the Runway in the worst part of town. Usually, I would consider “worst” to be subjective, but this Runway was on the corner of 23rd and Dodds. Even those from the rougher parts of town consider this to be a rough part of town. She worked here because the pay was higher, there were always extra shifts to pickup, and there was a bus stop. Three things she needed to survive. Her arms folded on the counter top and she laid her head down, closing her eyes briefly. There were more tears. I’d have to find out what that was about. Keeping Maggie on the monitor in front of me, I switched to another, rewinding back to watch every step of her trip to work. I wasn’t new to this, and she was very much a creature of habit, so I had worked out every surveillance point she passed by on her way. When you’re in my business, you have a lot of opportunities. Opportunities to access camera footage you might not should be accessing. Opportunities to splice together view points with time stamps to track a person. I leaned back in my chair as I hit 4pm on the footage, ready to watch as Maggie took me through her routine. Her alarm went off. I didn’t usually record sound, trying to give her a little privacy, but I could tell because she extended an arm to grab her phone. Sometimes she snoozed it, getting an additional five or ten minutes of shuteye in. Sometimes - and those were the best times - she’d reach into her nightstand drawer and pull out a toy. With her phone propped beside her, she’d watch something while pleasuring herself. We both enjoyed that. Other times she’d get up, strip out of her pajamas, and saunter toward the bathroom with an wide-mouthed yawn. I enjoyed that as well. When she came back into view fifteen minutes later, her hair knotted up in a towel, her body wrapped in a robe, to make her bed, I knew she’d showered. I didn’t have a camera in the bathroom. Yet. So the brief naked trip to the bathroom, and then the few moments when she dressed were the only access I had to that glorious body. I tried to contain myself.