Unprofessional Conduct: The Storme Shield
"He’s waiting for the shift change," Roderick murmured. His voice was a flat, gravelly rasp, barely rising above the rhythmic tick-tick-tick of the diner’s aging cooling system. He was staring past the grease-filmed window into the cavernous, ink-black parking lot. "The night staff takes over at midnight. The cameras in this place have a three-second blind spot when the system cycles from the day-loop to the night-loop. If I were him, that’s when I’d move."