The dossiers hit my desk at precisely 9:17 AM. Three black folders with titanium clasps—military grade, the kind designed to survive a fucking nuclear blast. Each emblazoned with a silver insignia I didn't recognize: a stylized waveform cutting through a perfect circle.
"Special delivery." Kass hovered in the doorway, curiosity radiating from her like a high-pitched whine. "Guy in a suit wouldn't leave them with me. Said they're for your eyes only."
I nodded, not looking up. My fingertips traced the edge of the topmost folder. Heavy. Expensive. The kind of presentation that screamed both money and paranoia.
"You going to tell me what's going on?" Her frequency shifted to that familiar concerned violin note. "First the mystery man, now secret files? This isn't like you, Em."
It wasn't. For years, I'd operated with perfect transparency at the club. Kass knew every client, every appointment, every source of income. Except my ability. That remained mine alone.
"Just a private client." I finally met her gaze. "Nothing to worry about."
Her eyebrows rose. "The private client who's had you distracted for days? The one you rushed out to meet yesterday?"
"Drop it, Kass." My tone sharpened, and I felt her flinch in the sudden dissonance between us. Guilt followed—a hollow note in my chest.
She stared at me a moment longer, then shrugged. "Fine. But if you need backup, I'm here." She turned to leave, then paused. "Oh, and the Richardsons canceled their standing appointment. Said they're taking a 'break' from therapy."
Shit. The Richardsons had been clients for two years. Their monthly sessions paid most of the bar staff's salaries.
"Did they say why?"
"Nope." Kass leaned against the doorframe. "Though Mrs. Richardson sounded weird on the phone. Flat. Like she was reading from a script."
A chill crept up my spine. The Richardsons had been perfectly content three days ago—before Darian appeared. Before I started neglecting my regular clients.
"Thanks. I'll call them later." The lie slid out easily. I wouldn't call. Something told me their sudden cancellation wasn't coincidental. Nothing was, with Darian involved.
When Kass finally left, I pulled the titanium clasp on the first folder. Inside lay a stack of pristine paper and a note in precise handwriting:
*Ms. Voss—**Destroy after memorizing. Our driver will collect you at 5:30 PM. Wear the earpiece before leaving your office.**—D.F.*
I slid the note aside and began reading. The first dossier contained detailed profiles of three people: Victor Chen, CEO of Meridian Biotechnologies; his Chief Science Officer, Dr. Eliza Vayner; and their lead counsel, James Preston. Each file included everything from educational background to recent medical procedures. Chen had a hip replacement last year. Vayner was taking medication for anxiety. Preston had a gambling problem he thought nobody knew about.
The second folder held similar files on their counterparts at Helix Dynamics, the company seeking to merge with Meridian. Alexander Wolfe, CEO; Dr. Marcus Reed, Research Director; and Caroline Hayes, Legal Counsel. Each profile contained even more intimate details—Wolfe's divorce settlement, Reed's estranged daughter, Hayes's affair with her paralegal.
But it was the third folder that made my breath catch. A single photograph slipped out—a woman with porcelain skin and eyes so pale they appeared almost colorless. Mid-thirties, with a sleek black bob and cheekbones that could cut glass.
*Lilith Everett, PhD. Cognitive Neuroscience, MIT. Special Consultant to Helix Dynamics.*
Below her credentials was a sparse paragraph:
*Subject demonstrates advanced empathic capability consistent with neurological mutation of the anterior insular cortex. Modality differs from Voss—visual rather than auditory processing—but functional outcome is similar. Subject can detect micro-expressions and physiological tells with 97.3% accuracy. WARNING: Subject can potentially manipulate emotional responses through targeted cognitive prompts. DO NOT ENGAGE DIRECTLY.*
My fingers traced the edge of her photograph. Another person like me. Different method, same result. The thought sent a bizarre mix of emotions tumbling through me—relief that I wasn't alone, jealousy that Darian knew of her existence, and territorial rage that she would be in the same room with us.
I flipped to the next page, hungry for more information on Lilith, but found only a redacted section with black lines obscuring most of the text. Only fragments remained visible:
*—military program designation ECHO-7—**—terminated after Helsinki incident—**—five survivors including subject—**—conditioning protocols incomplete—*
The last page contained Friday's meeting agenda. Preliminary merger discussions at the Archer Hotel penthouse. Darian would be there as "security consultant" to Victor Chen. I would attend as his associate.
I closed the folders and leaned back, mind racing. The metal case Darian had given me sat on my desk, untouched since yesterday. I picked it up, running my thumb along its smooth surface before clicking it open again.
The earpiece was smaller than I remembered—nearly invisible, with a flesh-toned exterior. The metal disc, by contrast, gleamed under my office lights. I turned it over, looking for an on switch or button, but found nothing. Just smooth, polished titanium.
My phone buzzed with a text.
*Place the disc against your temple. It activates on contact with skin. — D*
I stared at the message. How the fuck did he know I was examining the device right now? A spike of paranoia sent me scanning the room, looking for hidden cameras.
Another text arrived immediately:
*No surveillance in your office. Just good timing. Try the device.*
My jaw clenched. Either he was lying about the surveillance, or he knew me well enough to predict my actions. Neither option was comforting.
Still, curiosity won. I lifted the disc and pressed it gently against my left temple. Nothing happened for a moment, then—
Holy fuck.
The world's sound signatures instantly sharpened. The hum of my computer, the distant thump of the club's daytime cleaning crew, the traffic outside my window—each separated into distinct frequencies I could isolate and focus on individually.
But more importantly, I could suddenly detect emotional frequencies from much further away. Kass's anxiety thrummed from the front desk. The cleaner's boredom droned from the main floor. Even the construction worker across the street broadcast a sharp spike of frustration when he dropped something.
My ability had never extended beyond the same room before.
I pulled the disc away, and the enhanced perception immediately faded. The difference felt like stepping from an IMAX theater into a smartphone video. I pressed it back to my temple, letting the expanded awareness flood through me again.
This time, I noticed something else. A pattern to the frequencies—a way to filter and sort them that I'd never considered. Instead of hearing them all simultaneously, I could choose which to amplify, which to mute.
My phone buzzed again.
*Useful?*
I typed back with my free hand: *What the fuck is this thing?*
The reply came quickly: *Quantum frequency modulation. Enhances your natural abilities.*
*How is that possible?*
*We can discuss the technology tonight. Car will arrive at 5:30. Be ready.*
I set down the phone and removed the disc again, suddenly wary. The device had amplified my abilities beyond anything I'd experienced. The implications were both exhilarating and terrifying. With this level of perception, I could read people from across a building, filter specific emotional frequencies while ignoring others.
I could become unstoppable at manipulating emotions.
Or I could become the perfect tool for whoever controlled the technology.
---
The black Bentley arrived at exactly 5:30. I'd spent the afternoon memorizing the dossiers before burning them in my office trash can, watching the ashes of other people's secrets curl and blacken. The smell still clung to my clothes, a reminder of what I'd agreed to.
I'd inserted the earpiece before leaving my office, surprised by its perfect fit. The disc remained in my pocket—I wasn't ready to use it again until I understood exactly what it did to my brain.
The driver opened the door without speaking. I slid into the leather backseat, expecting to find Darian waiting. Instead, I found emptiness—just buttery leather and the faint scent of that medicinal cologne.
"Mr. Frost will meet you at the hotel," the driver said, catching my expression in the rearview mirror. His emotional frequency was... muted. Not static like Darian's, but dampened somehow. Trained.
"How long have you worked for him?" I asked, settling into the seat.
"I don't work for Mr. Frost." His eyes remained on the road. "I work for the client."
Ah. The mysterious client Darian had mentioned. The one who was "sensitive about his privacy."
"And does this client have a name?"
The driver's frequency shifted slightly—a brief flash of caution. "I believe Mr. Frost will address all your questions, ma'am."
I bristled at the "ma'am" but let it slide. Something about the driver's disciplined emotional state suggested military background. His posture, the precise way he handled the vehicle, the careful neutrality of his responses—all reminded me of Darian's controlled demeanor.
The car glided through evening traffic, eventually pulling up to the Archer Hotel's private entrance. A valet rushed forward, but the driver waved him off, stepping out to open my door himself.
"Mr. Frost is waiting in the penthouse. Elevator requires keycard access." He handed me a black hotel card. "Fifteenth floor."
I nodded, tucking the card into my clutch, and headed inside. The hotel lobby exuded old money—marble floors, crystal chandeliers, staff trained to be simultaneously attentive and invisible. I strode toward the private elevators, conscious of how my black dress clung to my curves. I'd chosen it carefully—professional enough for a business meeting, but with a slit up the thigh that would keep Darian distracted.
Petty? Maybe. But I needed every advantage.
The elevator whispered upward, and my stomach tightened with each floor. Not from the ascent, but from the knowledge that I was about to enter unknown territory. The dossiers had prepared me for the players, but not for the game itself.
A soft chime announced my arrival. The doors slid open to reveal a short hallway ending at double doors. I stepped out, and the moment my heel touched the marble floor, Darian's voice came through the earpiece.
"You're early." His voice was closer than expected, as if he were speaking directly into my ear instead of through a device. "Good. We have a few minutes before the others arrive."
I kept my expression neutral, aware that he might be watching through security cameras. "Where are you?"
"First door on your right. Come in."
I followed his instructions, finding myself in a private study. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city skyline, lights just beginning to twinkle as dusk settled. Darian stood with his back to me, silhouetted against the darkening sky. He'd traded yesterday's turtleneck for a charcoal suit that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. The scar on his neck remained visible above his collar.
"You burned the dossiers," he said without turning.
I paused. "How—"
"I can smell the ash on your clothes." Now he turned, those shifting eyes finding mine. "Good. Information security is critical for this operation."
"Operation," I repeated. "Not 'job' anymore?"
A slight inclination of his head. "Poor word choice. Old habits."
The static was there immediately, pressing against my senses. But with the earpiece in, I found I could tolerate it better—as if the device somehow buffered the uncomfortable pressure.
"Tell me about Lilith Everett," I said, cutting to what interested me most.
His eyebrows rose fractionally. "Impressive. Most people would ask about the clients first."
"I'm not most people."
"No," he agreed, "you're not." He gestured to a chair, taking the one opposite as I sat. "Dr. Everett is... complicated. Like you, she was born with a neurological anomaly that allows her to perceive what others can't. Unlike you, hers was identified early and deliberately enhanced."
"Enhanced how?"
"The military had a program. Highly classified. They recruited people with natural empathic abilities and attempted to weaponize them."
My breath caught. "ECHO-7."
His eyes narrowed. "You read between the redactions. Yes, Project ECHO-7. Seven years, millions in black budget funding, five surviving subjects with enhanced capabilities."
"And Lilith was one of them."
He nodded. "The most successful, in fact. While your abilities developed naturally, hers were systematically amplified through a combination of neurological conditioning and experimental technology."
"Like this?" I pulled the disc from my pocket.
"A distant ancestor of that, yes. The program was terminated after an incident in Helsinki that I'm not at liberty to discuss. The subjects were... released."
"Released," I echoed. "You mean discarded."
Something flickered in his eyes—the barest hint of approval at my perception. "Essentially. Most struggled to reintegrate into civilian life. Lilith was an exception. She leveraged her abilities into a consulting career, specializing in negotiations and high-stakes business transactions."
"For Helix Dynamics."
"For the highest bidder," he corrected. "Currently, that's Helix. Six months ago, it was a defense contractor. Before that, a pharmaceutical company fighting a class-action lawsuit."
I absorbed this, the pieces falling into place. "So your client hired me to counter her."
"Precisely. This merger is worth billions, but it's not just about money. Meridian has developed technology that could revolutionize neural interfaces. Technology that certain parties would prefer remain in specific hands."
"Your hands, you mean."
The static between us pulsed. "My client's hands."
I leaned forward. "And who exactly is your client, Darian? You've been suspiciously vague about that detail."
For a moment, I thought he might actually answer. His expression shifted subtly, eyes darkening to that near-black shade I'd glimpsed before. Then his gaze flicked to something over my shoulder, and the moment passed.
"They're arriving." He stood smoothly. "Remember your role. You're my associate, brought in to observe the negotiations and provide analysis afterward. Say as little as possible. Focus on reading the room."
"And Lilith? What if she recognizes what I am?"
"She will," he said with certainty. "Just as you'll recognize her. The question is whether she'll consider you a threat or an opportunity."
"Which would be better for us?"
His mouth quirked in that not-quite-smile. "Neither. Both are dangerous in different ways." He reached into his pocket and withdrew what looked like a watch. "Here. This pairs with your earpiece. I can send you text alerts through it without anyone noticing."
I took it, slipping it onto my wrist. The metal was cool against my skin, the watch face larger than I'd normally wear but not conspicuously so.
"One last thing." He stepped closer, and the static intensified. "The disc. Will you use it tonight?"
I hesitated. "It's... intense. I'm not sure I can control the input with that many people."
"You can." His certainty was absolute. "Your natural ability already filters emotional frequencies. The disc simply amplifies what you already do instinctively."
"And what about you?" I countered. "Will I still hear nothing but static?"
Something flickered across his face—too quick to identify. "That's a different issue entirely." He glanced at his own watch. "It's time. Ready?"
I nodded, slipping the disc into my clutch alongside my phone. I'd decide whether to use it once I assessed the situation.
"Stay close to me," he said, moving toward the door. "And remember—observe everything, react to nothing."
As if on cue, the distant chime of the elevator announced the arrival of our first guests. Darian led me from the study into the penthouse's main space—an expansive living area with the same spectacular views. A long table had been set up with place cards and water glasses. No alcohol, I noted. Everyone would want to keep their wits sharp.
"Showtime," Darian murmured, just loud enough for me to hear. And then his hand settled at the small of my back, guiding me forward as the doors opened.
The first to enter was Victor Chen—compact, confident, with silver streaking his dark hair. His frequency hit me immediately: ambition layered over anxiety, with threads of determination woven through. Behind him came Dr. Vayner and Preston, their emotional states broadcasting loud and clear: Vayner's scientific curiosity mingled with personal insecurity, Preston's calculated assessment tinged with the jittery edge of a man fighting a gambling addiction.
I cataloged their frequencies automatically, storing them for reference. Darian made the introductions with practiced ease, his hand never leaving my back. The constant contact should irritate me. Instead, I found myself leaning into it slightly, the static becoming almost comforting against the barrage of new frequencies.
"Ms. Voss is my associate," Darian explained smoothly. "She'll be observing tonight's discussions."
Chen's eyes assessed me briefly. His frequency shifted to mild curiosity, then settled back into focused determination. He didn't question my presence—either he trusted Darian implicitly or he'd been briefed in advance.
The elevator chimed again. This time, Alexander Wolfe strode in, commanding attention without trying. Tall, silver-haired, exuding the confidence of old money and established power. His frequency was remarkably controlled—not static like Darian's, but disciplined, revealing only what he chose to reveal.
Reed and Hayes followed, both radiating varying degrees of tension beneath professional veneers. But it was the woman who entered last that made my pulse quicken.
Lilith Everett moved like water—fluid, adaptable, finding the path of least resistance. In person, she was more striking than her photograph suggested. Those pale eyes missed nothing, sweeping the room in a practiced scan before settling on me with laser focus.
The moment our gazes locked, I felt it—a probing sensation, different from the static Darian emitted. This was active, searching, like fingers gently testing the edges of my consciousness.
Beside me, Darian tensed infinitesimally. His static barrier intensified, as if responding to a threat.
Lilith's mouth curved into a smile that never reached her eyes. "Mr. Frost," she greeted, extending her hand. "It's been a while."
Darian clasped her hand briefly. "Dr. Everett." His voice revealed nothing, but the static between us pulsed with something I couldn't identify.
Then those pale eyes shifted to me. "And you must be the associate." She extended her hand. "Lilith Everett."
I took it, bracing for... something. But there was only the normal sensation of skin against skin. No static, no probing. Just careful assessment in those pale eyes.
"Emira Voss." I kept my voice neutral, even as my mind raced. She knew Darian. They had history.
"Unusual name," she commented. "Estonian origin, if I'm not mistaken?"
I blinked in surprise. Few people recognized the origin. "On my mother's side, yes."
"Fascinating." Her smile widened slightly. "I look forward to getting to know you better, Ms. Voss."
The implication was clear: she'd already identified me as something more than Darian's associate. As she moved away to greet the others, I felt the barest tremor in Darian's hand at my back—that small tell I'd noticed at the club.
The watch on my wrist vibrated softly. I glanced down to see text appearing on the face:
*Use the disc. Now.*
I hesitated, then reached into my clutch, fingers closing around the cool metal. As the group moved toward the conference table, I pressed it discreetly to my temple, shielded by a curtain of my hair.
The effect was immediate. The room's emotional frequencies suddenly expanded, separated, clarified. I could isolate each person's signature with perfect precision, focusing on individual threads within their emotional tapestries.
Chen's determination masked deep-seated fear—fear that the technology his company had developed might be weaponized against his family's homeland. Wolfe's controlled demeanor concealed ruthless ambition edged with contempt for those he considered intellectually inferior. Reed harbored resentment toward Hayes, while Hayes's professional facade barely contained her anxiety about being discovered.
And Lilith... nothing. Not static like Darian, but a perfect mirroring of whatever emotions surrounded her. A chameleon, reflecting rather than revealing.
She glanced at me across the table, and this time, her smile reached her eyes. She knew exactly what I was doing.
The meeting began with formal pleasantries, but quickly progressed to substantive discussion. I said nothing, observing as Chen outlined Meridian's technological breakthroughs while carefully avoiding specifics. Wolfe responded with practiced enthusiasm that didn't match the calculating coldness underneath.
Throughout, Darian remained silent beside me, a statue emitting nothing but that wall of static. Occasionally, my watch would vibrate with new text:
*Chen lying about production timeline.*
*Wolfe's tells indicate prior knowledge of lab results.*
*Hayes concealing secondary agreement.*
I confirmed each observation with subtle nods, continuing to scan the emotional frequencies surrounding us. With the disc enhancing my abilities, I could detect nuances I'd never perceived before—layers of intention, flickers of genuine reaction beneath rehearsed responses.
An hour into the negotiations, during discussion of intellectual property rights, Lilith leaned forward slightly. "If I may," she interjected, voice smooth as silk, "I believe we're overlooking the Helsinki Protocols in this particular case."
The room's frequencies shifted instantly. Chen tensed, a spike of alarm shooting through his signature. Wolfe remained impassive, but I detected a hint of satisfaction beneath his controlled exterior. The others reacted with varying degrees of confusion—clearly, "Helsinki Protocols" meant something significant to some but not all.
I glanced at Darian, but his expression revealed nothing. His static barrier, however, pulsed with what I now recognized as tightly controlled anger. My watch vibrated again:
*She's baiting us. Don't react.*
The disc pressed against my temple grew warmer, almost uncomfortably so. The frequencies around me intensified, sharpening to painful clarity. I could suddenly hear not just emotional states, but intentions—Wolfe's determination to acquire Chen's neural interface technology by any means necessary, Reed's knowledge of serious flaws in Helix's competing research, Hayes's awareness that her affair had been deliberately orchestrated to compromise her.
And beneath it all, a new frequency—faint but distinct. Coming from Lilith.
It wasn't a natural emotional signature. It was... manufactured. A deliberately constructed frequency designed to induce specific responses. I watched in fascination as it subtly influenced everyone around the table—everyone except Darian and me.
Chen's resistance weakened. Vayner's scientific skepticism dulled. Preston's analytical edge blunted.
She was manipulating them all. Not through words or logic, but through some emotional frequency she was deliberately projecting.
The disc against my temple suddenly felt dangerous. If it could help me detect her manipulation, could it also make me more vulnerable to it?
I removed it discreetly, slipping it back into my clutch. Immediately, the overwhelming clarity faded, returning to my normal level of perception. Lilith's pale eyes flickered to me for an instant, a flash of something—curiosity? respect?—crossing her features before she returned her attention to Chen.
The meeting continued for another hour, discussions growing increasingly technical. I observed everything, saying nothing, my mind racing with implications. When they finally concluded for the evening, agreeing to reconvene the following day, Darian's hand returned to the small of my back.
"A productive start," Wolfe declared, shaking Chen's hand with practiced warmth that didn't match his cold frequency. "We'll have legal draft the preliminary framework overnight."
As goodbyes were exchanged, Lilith approached us. Up close, I could see faint scars at her temples—so fine they'd be invisible to anyone not looking for them. Surgical scars, perhaps from whatever the military had done to "enhance" her abilities.
"Mr. Frost," she said, voice pitched for our ears only. "Your... associate is quite remarkable. You've always had excellent taste in talent."
Darian's static barrier never wavered. "Dr. Everett. Always pushing boundaries."
"Only when necessary." Her pale eyes shifted to me. "Ms. Voss, I hope we'll have a chance to speak privately sometime. I believe we have much in common."
"Do we?" I kept my voice neutral.
"More than you know." She smiled—a genuine expression this time. "It's rare to meet someone who truly understands the symphony beneath the noise."
With that cryptic comment, she departed with her team, leaving us alone with Chen and his people. The moment the elevator doors closed behind them, Chen's professional demeanor collapsed.
"She knows," he said, voice tight. "Somehow, she knows about the neural stability issues."
Darian's hand finally left my back as he turned to Chen. "Not from our side. Your team's been thoroughly vetted."
"Then there's a leak somewhere else." Chen ran a hand through his silver-streaked hair. "The Helsinki reference wasn't accidental. That's where we discovered the stability flaw."
I remained silent, processing. The disc had revealed so much—perhaps too much. The manufactured frequency Lilith had projected troubled me deeply. If she could influence emotions that deliberately, what else could she do?
"We'll discuss this privately," Darian said to Chen, glancing meaningfully at Vayner and Preston. "Ms. Voss and I need to debrief first."
Chen nodded sharply. "My suite. One hour." He gestured to his team, and they departed together, leaving Darian and me alone in the penthouse.
The moment they were gone, I rounded on him. "You and Lilith know each other."
He didn't deny it. "We've crossed paths professionally."
"Bullshit. There's history there."
The static between us intensified, almost painful without the buffer of the earpiece, which I'd removed after the meeting concluded. "What did you perceive during the meeting?" he deflected.
"Don't change the subject."
"I'm not. Your observations are the priority right now."
I stared at him, frustration building. "Fine. Wolfe is lying about everything—their research progress, their financial projections, their intentions for the merger. He wants Chen's neural interface technology, but not for the reasons he claims. Reed knows their own research has hit a dead end. Hayes is being blackmailed or manipulated through her affair."
Darian nodded, unsurprised. "And Lilith?"
I hesitated, unsure how much to reveal about what I'd detected with the disc. "She's... projecting. Deliberately influencing the emotional responses of everyone in the room."
"Everyone?" His eyes sharpened.
"Except you. And me, once I realized what she was doing."
He absorbed this, expression unchanged but eyes shifting to that darker shade. "Did you use the disc throughout?"
"No. I removed it when I sensed her projection. It felt... dangerous."
"Explain."
I struggled to articulate the sensation. "It was too much. Too clear. I could hear intentions, not just emotions. And I was afraid that whatever she was projecting might affect me more strongly with the disc amplifying everything."
For the first time, I saw genuine surprise flicker across his features. "You made the right call. The disc enhances perception but could potentially increase vulnerability if you're not prepared."
"And were you going to mention that before giving it to me?" Anger flared, hot and sharp.
"It wasn't relevant until Lilith revealed her hand." He moved to the window, staring out at the city lights. "She's more advanced than our intelligence suggested. The projection you detected is a new capability."
"Not new to you, though. You recognized it immediately."
He turned back to me, the static between us shifting somehow—becoming less oppressive, more... focused. "Yes."
"How?"
A long pause. Then: "Because I helped develop the technique."
The admission hung in the air between us. I stared at him, pieces clicking into place.
"You were part of ECHO-7." It wasn't a question.
"Not as a subject." His voice remained even. "As a specialist in psychological warfare applications. My focus was on countering empathic detection—creating barriers that empaths couldn't penetrate."
"The static," I breathed. "You created it."
"I perfected it," he corrected. "The concept existed before me."
I moved closer, drawn by a need to understand. "So you can control it? Turn it on and off?"
"To an extent." His eyes never left mine. "It's become... habitual. A defense mechanism."
"Against people like me. People who can read you."
"Initially, yes." Something shifted in his expression—the barest softening. "Now it's more complicated."
"How?"
Instead of answering, he reached out slowly, telegraphing his movement. His hand settled on my shoulder, fingers just brushing the edge of my scarification through the fabric of my dress.
The static wavered—not breaking entirely, but thinning enough that I caught a glimpse of what lay beneath. Not the sharp spikes of their previous interactions, but something deeper. Darker. A frequency I couldn't immediately identify.
"This is why I chose you for this job," he said quietly. "Not just because of your abilities, but because you're naturally resistant to manipulation. You question everything. Trust no one. Even when you should."
"Should I trust you?" The question escaped before I could stop it.
His fingers tightened slightly on my shoulder. "No."
The honesty startled a laugh from me. "At least you're not lying about that."
"I never lie to you, Emira. I may not tell you everything, but what I tell you is true."
The use of my first name sent that same ripple through me as before. More intimate somehow, coming from him.
"Then tell me the truth now," I challenged. "What happens when I touch you? Why does the static break?"
His hand left my shoulder, and I immediately missed the contact. "That's... complex."
"Try me."
He studied me for a long moment, calculation warring with something else in his expression. Finally, he said, "The static is a defense mechanism I developed through years of training. It requires constant maintenance—a perpetual state of controlled emotional suppression."
"That sounds exhausting."
"It becomes automatic after a while." His mouth quirked slightly. "But it's not perfect. There are... triggers that can briefly disrupt it."
"Like physical contact," I guessed.
He inclined his head. "Among other things."
"What other things?"
The static pulsed between us. "Pain. Extreme emotion. Certain types of... connection."
The way he said "connection" sent heat coursing through me. I stepped closer, deliberately invading his space as I had at the church. "So if I touched you now?"
His eyes darkened. "That would depend on where you touched me."
The tension between us thickened, the static taking on a different quality—less oppressive, more charged. Like the air before lightning strikes.
"We should focus on the meeting," he said, not moving away despite his words. "Chen will expect a full analysis."
"Fuck Chen." The words slipped out, raw and honest. "I want to understand this. Understand you."
Something flickered in his eyes—that predatory interest I'd glimpsed before. "Careful what you wish for, Emira."
"Stop calling me that."
"What?"
"Emira." I moved even closer, until the static buzzed against my skin. "You only use my first name when you're trying to distract me. Or manipulate me."
A flash of genuine surprise crossed his features. "That's... remarkably perceptive."
"I perceive things. It's what you're paying me for." I reached up, not giving myself time to reconsider, and placed my palm flat against his chest as I had in the church.
The static fractured instantly—not completely, but enough that a surge of emotion crashed through. Desire, sharp and electric, followed by something darker. Something possessive that made my breath catch.
His hand closed around my wrist, not removing my touch but holding it in place. "This is dangerous territory, Ms. Voss."
Back to formality. Interesting. "I thought you wanted me to understand the full scope of what we're dealing with."
"Not like this." His grip tightened slightly. "Not when we're both... compromised."
"Compromised," I repeated, not pulling away. "Is that what you call it when someone breaks through your precious static?"
His eyes had gone nearly black, pupils dilated. "I call it a risk neither of us can afford right now."
He was right, of course. We had a job to do. A meeting with Chen in less than an hour. Lilith to counter, a merger to influence.
But the feel of his rapid heartbeat beneath my palm, the electric current of emotion bleeding through the static—it was addictive. Like the clarity I sought through my careful cuts, but infinitely more potent.
"Tell me one thing," I said, finally withdrawing my hand. "Was I chosen for this job because of my abilities? Or because I can break through your static?"
The question hung between us, heavy with implication. Darian's expression remained unreadable, the static barrier sliding perfectly back into place the moment our contact broke.
"Both," he finally said. "And neither."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I can give you right now." He stepped back, creating distance between us. "We need to prepare for Chen. He'll want specifics on what you detected from Wolfe's team."
The abrupt return to business should frustrate me. Instead, it was almost a relief—a structure to cling to in the face of whatever was developing between us.
"Fine." I moved to the conference table, gathering my clutch. "But this conversation isn't over."
"No," he agreed, his static pulse shifting to something almost like anticipation. "It's just beginning."