Page 14
As he talks, I track the way his body adjusts, making micro-corrections every time Reef shifts. It’s a confusing dynamic. The almond-colored nape guard around Reef’s neck means they aren’t bonded. So why does every one of Kain’s unconscious movements claim him, anyway?
“It’s not just tapping,” Kain explains, leaning forward. “You’ve got six strike zones, reactive lighting, and the beat-map distorts when you hit a streak. It’s about predicting the rhythm instead of reacting.”
I glance at Reef again and notice the earbud peeking out of his left ear.
Kain finishes his drink, and before the glass hits the table, Reef’s head pops up and his tablet comes down.
He stands, stretching. “Drink?”
“Go for it,” Kain says, following Reef’s progress through the crowd.
Reef moves as though underwater, slow and unsteady, and the staff step aside for him without hesitation.
At the counter, a man in a gray jacket bends close, his voice swallowed by the room’s low hum. Reef brightens as he listens.
A moment later, the man scribbles on a cocktail napkin and slides it into Reef’s hand.
Reef tucks it into the pocket of his skinny jeans as Ghost finishes his order, and he floats back to our table.
He sets the drinks down, slides back into his seat, and pulls the napkin from his pocket to display it with a proud smirk. “I got a number.”
Kain’s grin surfaces, then vanishes. “You gonna call him?”
“Text first,” Reef says, already pulling out his phone. “He says he’s new in town and wants to know all the hot spots.”
“Be careful,” Kain says, offering advice rather than a warning.
Reef beams at his screen, already composing a message.
Kain squints at the bottom of his glass. “Did you forget the cherries?”
Reef blinks at the glass, as if he’s never seen it before. “Sorry.”
He leaps up to go back for them, leaving his phone on the table.
The moment he’s gone, Kain reaches across, grabs the cocktail napkin, and without a word crumples it into a ball and dunks it into his half-empty water glass.
The paper absorbs the liquid, the ink bleeding out and blooming blue.
The napkin sinks.
“That’s messed up,” I comment.
Kain snorts as he deletes the message Reef was in the middle of composing. “He won’t even remember he got it. He’s not into dating sims right now.”
He returns the phone to its spot beside Reef’s tablet as the Omega returns, carrying a little bowl of maraschino cherries. He sets it next to Kain’s drink.
“Thank you so much. Sorry I interrupted you,” Kain says. “What were you saying?”
Reef blinks at him in confusion, already reaching for his tablet. With a couple more blinks, his focus returns to his game.
The stylus’s tapping fills the air while the phone sits forgotten on the arm of the chair, screen dark. Kain arches one brow at me, and I shrug in response. The bowl of cherries sits untouched after that, and the napkin dissolves, its message erased.
I return my focus to the decoy project, letting their conversation fade into background noise. Kain’s voice is a quiet murmur, a constant presence beside Reef’s focused silence.
Their dynamic is a closed circuit, and not one I think I can break.
By the time I shut my laptop, the sun is heading toward the horizon, and the crowd has thickened. The regulars have been replaced by people in groups, voices louder, movement more chaotic.
