"You shouldn't be here," I rasp. My voice is nearly gone, shredded by the power I just vented.
Silas doesn't move, watching the ESA orderlies as they start loading the catatonic civilians onto gurneys. "Neither should they. But that’s the problem with burying your trash in the backyard, isn't it? Eventually, the soil turns sour."
"If you're here to start a fight, do it now," I say, taking a step toward him. The Current hums in response, a low growl that echoes in the empty street. "I’m not in the mood for riddles."
"No riddles, Thorn. Just a warning." Silas finally looks at me, and his eyes are hard, devoid of the reckless anger I usually see there. "The nodes aren't failing because they're old. They're failing because they're being pushed. Mercer isn't trying to fix the network; he’s trying to see how much pressure it can take before it bursts. He knows exactly what’s buried under this city. He’s just waiting for the right moment to use it."
"He’s a bureaucrat, not a terrorist," I spit back, though the words feel hollow even as I say them.
Silas laughs, a short, barking sound. "In Redbrook, there isn't a difference. You think you're safe because you found a little peace at the university? You think he hasn't noticed?"
My heart stops. The Current surges, a jagged spike of protectiveness that makes the air around me crackle. "How the fuck do you know that? If you touch him—"
Silas chuckles. “If you think we aren’t all watching the prized possession of the ESA, you’re an idiot. We’re just not stupid like your bosses are and we know where to look.” His smile turns uneasy. "Though, I’m not the one you need to worry about. I’m just the guy telling you the bridge is out. Watch the nodes, Jorak. The next one won't be a localized flare. It’ll be the whole network. And when it goes, Mercer will have his perfect excuse to lock this city down for good."
Before I can respond, a secondary surge ripples through the ground. It’s small, but it hits exactly where Silas’s eyes are fixed, a manhole cover fifty yards down the street. It blows upward, propelled by a geyser of blue, corrupted light. Silas doesn't look surprised. He just steps back into the deeper shadows of the alley. "See? It’s already starting. Don't wait too long to choose a side, Enigma. The middle is a very dangerous place to stand."
He’s gone before I can reach him. I want to chase him, to beat the truth out of him, but the ESA transport is already pulling up, the doors sliding open like a mouth. I climb into the back of the van, so cold my bones feel like ice, a side effect of the Current’s entropy that I usually ignore. But today, I can't.
I need Asa. I need the way he smells, the way he looks when he’s trying not to laugh, the way his power feels like a soft, warm blanket over the jagged edges of my soul. I need to know he’s safe. Silas’s words are a poison in my ear, a slow-acting toxin that makes me question every order Mercer has ever given me.
The transport pulls away from the sector, leaving the broken people and the shattered glass behind. I close my eyes and try to find the bond. It’s there, a thin, silver thread stretching through the static of the city. It’s vibrating with a low, steady frequency.
He’s home. He’s safe. For now.
The transport vibrates as it hits a pothole, the jolt sending a spike of sympathetic pain through my temples. I reach out and touch the wall of the cabin, my fingertips leaving faint, charred smudges on the reinforced plastic.
The entropy is still leaking out of me, a slow-release toxin that the transport's scrubbers can't quite keep up with. One of the orderlies, an Omega with a name tag that reads 'Miller,' glances at my hands and then quickly averts his eyes, his heart rate spiking into a frantic rhythm I can feel through the floorboards. To them, I’m a ticking clock with no face. To Silas, I'm a piece on a board he's trying to flip. To Mercer, I’m the ultimate insurance policy.
But to Asa? To the man who looked at me in that classroom with more concern than fear? I'm something else.
I pull my phone from my tactical vest, my thumb hovering over the screen. I shouldn't message him. Every interaction is logged, every byte of data filtered through Mercer's surveillance protocols. But the need is a physical weight, pressing against mylungs until I can barely draw air. I type a single word, “Safe?”, and then delete it. I can't be that obvious.
Instead, I lean back and watch the distorted reflection of my own eyes in the darkened glass, waiting until I get back to the facility. I'm out and moving before the engine has fully cut. I need to get through the decontamination, through the reports, and through the debriefing.
I need to wash the taste of copper and Silas's lies out of my mouth. Because tonight, I'm going to find a way back to him.
Asa
The front door of my condo feels heavier than usual, the lock clicking home with a finality that doesn't bring the peace I expect. I lean my forehead against the cool wood, my breath hitching as the silence of the apartment rushes in to meet me. It’s too quiet. After a day of seeing Jorak in the back of my lecture hall, his dark, predatory gaze tracking every move I make, the absence of him is a physical ache in my chest.
Almost as ifnothaving him close for the first time in four days is more than just an annoyance.
I drop my keys on the console table, my skin humming with a frantic, electric pulse that doesn’t really make any sense. I walk into the kitchen, my hands shaking as I reach for a glass, the cold surface of the faucet startling against my palm.
I’m not hungry. The thought of food makes my stomach turn with a sudden, sharp nausea that has nothing to do with illness and everything to do with the scent of black cedar and whiskey still clinging to my memory. I’ve lived thirty-two years as a ghostin this city, an F-Class nobody who slips through the cracks, and in one week, Jorak Thorn has turned my entire world into a high-voltage wire.
Restless, I move toward the bedroom instead, stripping off my blazer and tossing it toward the chair. It misses, sliding to the floor in a heap of charcoal wool. I don't pick it up. I can't focus on the geometry of the room or the orderly stack of papers on my desk. My vision keeps blurring at the edges, my body feeling two sizes too small for the energy vibrating inside me. I need to move. I need to stop.
I pull my shirt over my head, the silk catching on the damp heat of my skin. I’m not in heat but the sweat along my back says differently, the scent of my slick spilling into the air as my underwear dampens with it.
A thin, desperate coating of moisture gathers between my thighs, a betrayal of my own anatomy that makes me want to crawl out of my skin. I’m reacting to him. My body is looking for its Esper, an Esper I should have never met, never touched, and definitely can’t have.
I let out a small frustrated growl as I quickly change and then drag myself to the kitchen table, trying to focus on grading rather than the beautiful six-foot Enigma that ran out of my classroom earlier. The letters on the page begin to swim, rearranging themselves into the shape of Jorak's mouth. I slam the pen down, the plastic casing snapping under the sudden pressure of my grip. "Get it together, Asa," I whisper to the empty room.
When yelling at myself doesn’t work, I stuff myself into the shower, hoping the cold will rid my body of the heat pulsating through it. Two minutes later, my phone vibrates on the counter just outside the curtain.
I almost ignore it, thinking it’s Mira calling to check on my sanity again, but the rhythm is different. The three-buzzvibration is only for numbers I don’t have saved. I reach out, my wet hand fumbling with the glass screen until I swipe it open.
