Gloria's call stopped him mid-turn. She was looking at him, wide-eyed with sudden realization.
"We've been here all this time, but you haven't taken a single photo of yourself." She put her hands on her hips. "That won't do at all."
Neville was a little flustered after getting exposed. He had been so careful to stay behind the camera, to capture others rather than be captured himself.
It was safer that way—fewer records, less visibility, reduced chance of being known.
"That's really not necessary," he said quickly. "I prefer taking photos of other people than taking one of myself."
"Nonsense." Gloria reached for her light brain. "Here, I'll take your picture with mine."
"Auntie, really—"
"I won't hear another word." Her tone became commanding.
Neville retreated a step, shaking his head. "I appreciate your offer, but—"
"Neville. Hope." Gloria's eyes narrowed. "Are you seriously going to refuse a sixty-year-old woman, your elder, this favor?"
