I tilted my head. "Obstruction of what? Community harmony? I don't think that's a felony yet."
Skyler turned to her little council. "See? This is what we're dealing with."
The man muttered, "Hostile vibes."
I sipped my coffee and nodded. "Correct assessment."
Skyler looked back at me, eyes glinting behind her mirrored lenses. "You'll regret this attitude, Benjamin."
"Only if you bring a boat," I said.
The group left, muttering and snapping photos of my property. One of the Chihuahuas tried to pee on my mailbox post; I cleared my throat, and the owner yanked it back like she'd touched an electric fence.
That night, I couldn't sleep. Not because I was worried, but because I was interested. I'd spent half my life learning how people think before they strike. Skyler wasn't reckless; she was methodical. Every visit, every flyer, every neighborly request—it wasn't chaos. It was reconnaissance. She was testing boundaries, looking for the weakest gate, literal or psychological.
So, I decided to build something stronger than gates. Something she couldn't out-talk, out-vote, or out-guilt.
Out on the dock under the cold spill of moonlight, I looked at my boat, Ghost: a matte-black electric craft, quiet as a whisper, wired like a secure military terminal. It had started as a hobby project during my deployment years, a way to keep my hands busy and my mind sane. But in the right circumstances, it could become something else entirely.
I crouched beside the hull, running my fingers along the polished fiberglass. "You might get a visitor soon, girl," I murmured. "Let's make sure she gets the full tour."
The next morning, I installed a hidden sensor under the deck planks and linked it to the boat's ignition system. Then I tested loop mode—the function designed for intruders. When triggered without an authentication key, the boat would lock all controls and slowly cruise in figure eights across the lake until manually reset. Safe, controlled, embarrassing.
I watched the test run from the dock. Ghost glided out, turned, curved again, its silent motor slicing the reflections like a scalpel. Perfect. I couldn't stop smiling.
The following afternoon, Skyler appeared again, this time pretending to jog. She stopped conveniently near my dock, breathing dramatically as if she'd run a marathon instead of fifty yards.
"Lovely boat," she gasped. "Is it new, or—"
"Old project," I said, wiping grease off my hands. "Built it myself."