"Professor Renwick," Miller says, his voice smooth. He doesn't move from the wall, but his presence fills the hall, pushing back against the academic peace. "A word, if you have the time?"
Asa stiffens. I can feel the spike of fear from him, the sharp, metallic tang of it cutting through the pear and vanilla. He tries to hide it, pulling his professional mask tight. "I have a lecture in twenty minutes, Mr...?"
"Miller. ESA. I don’t think we’ve spoken before but you have one of mine in your class." Miller finally pushes off the wall, his gaze sliding past Asa to land on me. "And Thorn. I didn't expect to find you here with your professor. Your assignment was the Sector Four perimeter, wasn't it?"
I step forward, closing the gap until I’m hovering just behind Asa’s shoulder. "My assignment is wherever the corruption is highest, Miller. Right now, it’s standing right in front of me."
Miller’s eyes flicker. He knows what I am. He knows that if I lose my grip, I could turn this entire wing into a graveyard before he could reach for his sedative. But he also knows Mercer holds the remote to my cage. "Interesting. Your biometrics showa level of stability that shouldn't be possible without a B-Class guide or higher. And yet, here you are, following an F-Class academic around like a guard dog."
"He’s my professor," I say, the words low and dangerous. "Get out of his way."
"We’re just conducting a routine investigation, Professor," Miller continues, ignoring me entirely as he focuses back on Asa. "You see, Jorak here is an asset to the ESA and certain liabilities can prove to be an issue if they aren’t taken care of. About a week ago, he escaped to Vesper House and we’ve been following up on some leads.”
Asa’s scent sours as he backs into me before straightening his posture. I resist the urge to hold my Omega, to tell him that it’ll be alright, and then to drag him back into the safety of the office. That would only prove exactlywhowas in that room with me at Vesper.
“There were some... inconsistencies in the Vesper House filing,” Miller continues, a wily grin spreading across his face. “It took us a while to find out who Jorak had spent the night with but we were surprised to find out that it was you. A match of your type, with an Enigma of Thorn’s volatility... it’s a statistical impossibility. Unless, of course, the initial classification was wrong. We’d like you to come in for some voluntary testing. Just to clear the air."
The word 'voluntary' is a lie that tastes like ash. I can feel Asa’s heart hammering. He’s trying to think, his brilliant mind spinning through equations and design theory, looking for an exit that doesn't exist. He opens his mouth to speak, to offer some witty, sarcastic deflection, but Miller moves closer, invading his personal space.
My control snaps as the Black Current roars out, a physical weight that slams into the hallway. The lights overhead flicker and die, shattered by the entropic pressure. I move before I canthink, my hand fisting in Miller’s expensive lapel, slamming him back against the wall with enough force to crack the mortar. I bare my teeth, my pupils blown wide, the world reduced to the man threatening what is mine.
"Don't touch him," I growl, the sound vibrating through Miller’s chest. "Don't even look at him. If you say his name again, I will tear the tongue out of your head."
"Jorak!" Asa’s voice is a whip-crack. "Jorak, let him go.Now."
I don't want to. I want to end this. I want to erase Miller and Mercer and the ESA until there’s nothing left but me and Asa in the quiet. But then I feel a hand on my arm. It’s light, barely a ghost of a touch through my jacket, but it’s the only thing in the universe that can reach me. Asa’s fingers are firm, his thumb pressing into the pulse point of my wrist.
"Not here," he whispers, his voice trembling but steady. "Not like this. You’re proving them right. Please. Look at me."
I turn my head slowly. Asa is standing there, his face pale, but his eyes are fixed on mine with a terrifying, beautiful clarity. He isn't afraid of me. He’s afraid for us. The realization hits me harder than any suppression drug Mercer ever used. I’m hurting him. Not with my hands, but with my nature.
I release Miller and the man slumps against the wall, gasping for air, his face finally showing a flicker of the terror he should have felt from the start. He adjusts his tie with shaking hands, his clinical mask shattered. He looks at us, at the way I’m still vibrating with power, and at the way Asa hasn't moved his hand from my arm.
"I'll tell Mercer you’re being... uncooperative," Miller wheezes, backing away toward the exit. "He won't be pleased, Thorn. And you, Professor... you should be careful who you let touch you. Some things are too heavy to hold."
He turns and flees, his footsteps echoing down the hall. I stand there, my chest heaving, the darkness still crawling under myskin. The lights are still dead. The silence that follows is heavy, tasting of ozone and the whiskey-scent of my own rage.
"He’s going to tell them," Asa says, his hand finally dropping away from my arm. He looks at the darkened hallway, then back at me. He looks smaller somehow, the reality of the system closing in on us. "Your boss, that Mercer guy, is going to come for me."
I reach out, grabbing his shoulders, forcing him to look at me. The protectiveness is still there, but the feral edge has been blunted by the look in his eyes.
"Let him come," I say, and for the first time, I mean it as a promise, not a threat. "If he wants to get to you, he has to go through me. And I’m done being his weapon, Asa. I’m yours."
Asa doesn't say anything. He just leans his forehead against my chest for a single, brief second, a moment of surrender that hurts more than the fighting. Then he pulls away, straightening his cardigan, hiding the binder clip and the ruined shirt and the scent of our union. He looks like a professor again. But as he turns toward his lecture hall, I see the way his hand lingers on the doorframe, seeking the patterns in the wood.
The vibration of my phone drags me out of the moment. I’m not even surprised when I answer it to find Mercer screaming at me.
“That’s why you were so willing to sit in classes again, wasn’t it? Miller just mentioned he found that Omega you spent the night with.” I open my mouth to say something but Mercer isn’t done. “Get back here, now. And if you try anything funny, your outside privileges will be completely revoked. Don’t fucking play with me, Jorak.”
Mercer
I don't believe in the concept of coincidence. In my experience, a coincidence is merely a data point that hasn't yet been properly indexed into a pattern. Patterns are stable; patterns are predictable. Patterns are what keep the city of Redbrook from sliding into the abyss of its own energetic rot.
And after finding out that the key to Jorak’s stability lies in the hands of a fucking F-Class Guide… I’m wondering if something is breaking.
On my desk, three separate reports sit in high-resolution clarity, their digital light casting a pale, clinical blue across my hands. To anyone else, they're isolated events. To me, they're the first three notes of a funeral march for my career if I don't act with immediate, surgical precision.
The first report is the Vesper House intake summary. An unidentified S-Class Alpha—Jorak—matched with an anonymous Omega during a breakthrough rut. The Omega walked out under their own power. No internal hemorrhaging.No energetic scarring. No burnout. In the history of S-Class Enigma stabilization, that's a statistical impossibility.
