Heat is building low in her abdomen. Her arousal spikes unexpectedly, and her breath catches. I realize with shock that she’s close to orgasm just from peeing.
Is it… Is it always like this for her? That can’t be. Maybe she can feel my arousal, and that is triggering her to feel aroused as well. It’s insane that when I hear the splash of her pee in the water, I almost groan. I do my best to keep my thoughts and sensations to myself, but I know our connection goes both ways, and especially when I’m feeling something strongly, she glimpses it.
Wren snaps back to reality. The arousal vanishes as mortification floods her. She finishes quickly, wipes, flushes, and opens her eyes. She goes to wash her hands at the sink and avoids looking in the mirror. I can feel her absolute humiliation. She knows I felt everything, and I can feel her confusion, too. Which answers my question: no, this isn’t normal for her.
We’re both silent as she dries her hands. She walks out of the bathroom, through the diner, and gets in the car. The silence between us is thick and awkward. Neither of us attempts to break it. I want to say something, but I have no idea what. Telling her it’s fine seems inadequate. Pretending it didn’t happen seems wrong. So, I stay quiet.
Wren drives to several locations. Our first stop is a sketchy pharmacy with barred windows in a neighborhood where half the businesses look abandoned. She goes in and asks if they’rehiring. She mentions she’s a chemist and experienced with compounds. The pharmacist looks her over and says he’ll keep her in mind. She gives him her number written on a scrap of paper.
Next is a small medical supply store in a bad neighborhood, and the routine is the same. She asks about work, mentions her skills, leaves her number.
Then she visits a pawn shop that seems to deal in more than just pawned items. The back room has a curtain covering the doorway, and I can smell chemicals coming from behind it. The owner is a monster, some kind of reptilian species with green scales and yellow eyes. He looks up when Wren walks in.
“Help you?” His voice has a hissing quality to it.
“I’m looking for work,” Wren says. “I’m a chemist.”
His yellow eyes narrow with interest.
“What kind of chemist?”
“The kind with experience in compounds, synthesis, temperature control… working with ingredients that aren’t exactly legal.”
He sets down the watch he was examining.
“You got credentials?”
“I’ve got a degree and a record,” Wren says. “Served time for manufacturing. I know what I’m doing.”
“What kind of ingredients you worked with?”
“Animal derivatives. Blood, venom, that kind of thing.”
She keeps her voice casual, like she’s discussing the weather.
He studies her for a long moment.
“I might have something. Leave me your number.”
She writes it on a scrap of paper and slides it across the counter. He picks it up and tucks it into his pocket.
“I’ll be in touch,” he says.
Throughout all of this, I stay quiet. I watch through her eyes and catalog every face and location. I’m storing information for when I need to report to her handler.
By evening, we’re back at the motel. The sun is setting and casting orange light through the curtains. Wren closes the door behind us and tells me we can separate now. I feel her exhaustion but also her restlessness, like she needs to do something physical to burn off the tension of the day.
“We could stay merged and train a bit,”I suggest instead.
“How would we train while merged?”
“I’ll guide you through exercises and drills. You should follow my lead and allow me to move your body. It’s not about giving up control, it’s about flowing with me, working together.”
She considers this, then nods.
“Okay. I’m willing to try.”
“Stand in the center of the room,”I tell her.“Feet shoulder-width apart.”
