Page 37 of GlitchBorn Heart

Lyra

I tear myself away from the feed and from Ash with an excuse of meeting my brother. I duck out of the misty street into a neon-lit diner. Eli’s favorite spot is halfway between VikkCorp and the university. The inside is a stark contrast to the warm lamplight of the LoFiCafe that I frequent. I can’t decide if it’s the smell of fresh coffee beans or the background sound of some lazy synth-jazz track that I love more. Often I just need a place where my power can hum quietly and inconspicuously.

Definitely not quiet here. Here it’s crowded, drowning in brassy neon and overhead light. Its sign buzzes a harsh electric blue, the word NovaDiner sputtering every few seconds, as if even the letters are exhausted from just existing. I stare at the logo, the tagline pulsing in time with the music, “Eat Synthetic. Feel Authentic!”

Inside, the air is thick with the smell of frying oil, fake beef, and a sickly-sweet aroma like imitation vanilla pumped through the vents to trick the brain into hunger.

Holo-menus flicker above the tables offering endless variations of burgers that don’t contain a trace of meat. The booths are crammed with corporate workers on break, U21s in trendy fashion, and students wearing their DreamBands around their necks and wrists like jewelry. I immediately feel overstimulated by the loud music thumping from the half-broken jukebox in the corner. People’s DataLINKs are pinging and buzzing, utensils are clattering.

Eli loves it here. He always has. He says the noise drowns out the “echo” in his head. He also swears the fries taste better than anywhere else in the city, maybe because they’re still cut from real potatoes instead of some vat-grown mystery starch. He always insists on sitting by the window where the neon spills in, painting everything in shifting shades of pink, purple, and blue.

For me, it’s chaos. For him, it’s peace.

He’s already at his favorite booth, his gray hoodie shadowing his face, a plate of fries in front of him. He looks up when I slide in, and for a second, I see him as he used to be: My nerdy little brother, daring me to count the minutes to sunset on the beach.

“You’re late,” he teases, pushing the plate toward me. His smile is crooked, but it feels thinner than usual. “Did something happen?”

“I was...” I hesitate. Kael’s face on the newsfeed lingers in my mind, impossible to forget. How do I tell him I have the irresistible urge to run to our enemy. Ash’s comment about our souls burns into my memory like a ghost I can’t shake. “I was distracted.”

Eli smirks as his fingers drum against the table in an erratic rhythm. The sound prickles against my skin. A spoon trembles against the side of my empty mug.

I stop it with my fingers, but the damage is done. The ripple of shock has already moved through me. It now sits in the pit of my stomach, a disappointment, awakened the moment I saw his face on the feeds.

Kael Ryudon. Head of Neural Systems. VikkCorp. He’s one of them.

I stare at the condensation sliding down Eli’s glass, watch it gather and drip downward as the words repeat in my mind. They should have been enough to kill whatever this is.

“Distracted, huh? You’ve got that look, sis, like you’re not telling me something.” Eli leans forward, dropping his voice.

I look up at him through my eyelashes, then close my eyes gently, not knowing what to say. All I see is Kael in the shadows at STATIK, not polished or corporate. The way he watched the room like he might need to react at a moment’s notice. The way his presence felt heavy, and stifling. I didn’t imagine that.

His intensity wasn’t manufactured by the Corporation. You can’t code that kind of darkness. It wasn’t fake.

Villainous. That’s the word for it.

Which makes this even worse, because if he were just another empty suit, this would be easy. I could shut this feeling down neatly.

My fingers curl tighter around the mug as my thoughts race: What if he already knows about me? What if the pull I feel isn’t one-sided? What if he recognized something in me the same way I felt seen by him, even before I knew who he was?

I hate myself for even thinking about him. This is how they get you, I remind myself.

Across the table, Eli is talking about the fries, about his worry, about anything, really. I nod automatically, my mind obviously elsewhere.

On a handsome face framed by cameras and lights. On ink curling beneath a white collar. On a voice that sounded like it was tortured, conflicted.

If Kael Ryudon is the enemy, then why does my body feel like this? I swallow hard.

He could be hunting me, drawing me in, feigning interest. I have no idea what he could do to me, perhaps capture me, study me, or worse, erase me.

Whatever this pull is between us, it isn’t going away.

“Lyra? Hellooooo? Did you hear anything I just said?” Eli waves a hand in front of my face.

“Yes. I’m good,” I lie.

He stays close, eyes focusing on mine from behind his black glasses. “You ever get the feeling something big’s about to happen? Like the world’s holding its breath, waiting to snap?”

He’s dead serious. I try to laugh it off, but it comes out anxiously. “Sounds like one of your premonitions.”