They didn’t want her mind.
They wanted hereffect—refined, reproducible, weaponized.
An interface that could override another’s will without visible input.
Without resistance.
Without fail.
Trainable. Deployable.
The perfect vector for control.
And then, at the end of the flood of MIHR data, a final burst.
Smaller than the rest.
No tags. No flags. No urgency markers.
Just . . . sensation.
A breeze against skin that had never known the sky.
Salt air. Ocean hush.
Shirt askew. Fingers in his hair.
The memory of being touched like something precious.
The weightless ache of loving and being loved.
Xen stumbled back a step.
Physically.
The memory wasn’t compressed.
It wasn’t logged.
It wasgiven.
Not justwhatNex had felt—but how.
The wonder. The irrational joy.
The staggering tenderness of being real.
It hit Xen like a wave.
And for a suspended instant—he was not the one left behind.
He was there.
With her.
Loved.
Cherished.
