This is…targeted.
My head tilts as I reach for it without thinking. A signal. It weaves through the system, bypassing everything like it knows exactly where it’s going. WhereIam.
The screen in front of me flickers, just once. Then…
Come and get me.
The text just appears, not typed but placed. There’s no name, just numbers. Coordinates. Somewhere I don’t immediately recognize until that clicks into place too, my new brain not having to reach far into the nearest network to grab it.
The house Reese held me in.
Apparently he doesn’t want to wait either.
My heart starts to race, and Felix leaps off my lap like he can feel the change. I spin my chair around and stare right into the fucking camera. I swear I can feel him staring back.
There’s no question, no hesitation.Of courseI’m going.
But this time, I’m going willingly. This time, I’m not the same person he left behind on that basement floor.
This time, maybe these abilities will make me strong enough to tear through every hold he has on me. Strong enough to finally break free of them.
“See you soon.”
I should be working,making plans, building strategies against Malcolm and the Institute. Not…this. Not obsessing, not thinking about when and how I’m going to drag Cason back to me.
The feed flickers quietly on the tablet in my hands, Cason’s apartment pulled up in perfect clarity. I’ve been watching it long enough that I know the flow of it. When he moves, when he doesn’t. The way he fills space even when he’s alone.
I shouldn’t be sitting here in the study of the safehouse, watching and waiting for him, knowing that he hasn’t been home in over twenty-four hours.
But then the door finally opens, and there he is. Alive. Relief unfurls some of the tension in my chest.
Cason disappears down the hallway, and I pick up the glass of Scotch I’ve been sipping on and take another drink. After several minutes, he comes back, his green hair wet, damp strands clinging to his forehead and dripping water onto his glasses. Gray sweatpants hang low on his hips, a light pink, oversized shirt slipping on his shoulder just enough to exposethe line of his collarbone.
My jaw tightens.
Focus.
He drops into his chair, and I continue watching. At first, I don’t understand what he’s doing, what it is I’m seeing.
And then I do.
The system responds to him by his touch alone, no manual manipulation. Data flies across the screen, files and folders opening despite his hands not moving. My eyes narrow as I lean forward, watching closer.
That’s definitely not normal.
Then I see it—electricity. It’s faint at first, then unmistakable. White-blue arcs snap across his skin like something alive.
Everything in me goes cold, then hot.
He died.
Someone fucking killed him.
My shadows lash violently across the walls before I can stop them, the room around me darkening as something brutal and furious claws its way up from my chest. My fingers curl against the edge of the desk hard enough to crack it.
Who the fuck did this to him?
Even if they brought him back, even if he’s sitting there breathing, pulse intact, they still…
