"Sorry about the mess," Zephyron said, though he didn't sound sorry at all. "I tend to work on multiple projects simultaneously. Gets cluttered. Trying to bring magic, technology, ease, to the people."
"It's perfect." I moved toward the nearest table, drawn by a partially assembled mechanism that looked like a sphere made of interlocking metal rings. "What is this?"
"Failed gyroscopic stabilizer. The internal balance is off by point-zero-three degrees. Causes catastrophic wobble at high speeds." He moved to stand beside me. "I've been trying to solve it for two months."
My fingers traced one of the rings, following its curve. The craftsmanship was extraordinary—each ring fitted perfectly against its neighbors, the tolerances impossibly precise.
"The problem isn't the rings," I said, studying the internal mechanism visible through the gaps. "It's the mounting point. See? The central axis is offset."
Through the bond, I felt his surprise.
He leaned in, following my gesture. Our shoulders brushed. Electricity sparked between us but I barely noticed, too focused on the problem.
"Show me," he said quietly.
I pointed to the center where the axis mounted to the internal framework. "Here. The angle of insertion is wrong by—" I calculated quickly, drawing on mathematical principles I'd learned in stolen hours studying, "—approximately point-one-two degrees. That offset propagates through the entire system as it spins, multiplying the wobble."
"You're right." His voice carried wonder. Through the bond, I felt his mind engaging with mine, following my logic. "How did you see that in thirty seconds?"
"Angles." I turned the sphere slightly, watching how light caught on the rings. "Everything is relationships between angles. The cult used the same principles for ritual geometry. Carving things on . . . people. Different application, same mathematics."
He was staring at me. Not at the device—at me. His storm-gray eyes tracked across my face, lingering on my mouth when I bit my lower lip in concentration.
"Come here." He guided me to a larger table where blueprints covered the surface, held down at the corners by random tools. "This is the real problem I need solved."
The blueprints showed a communication relay—the same device he'd mentioned in the plaza, the one that could send messages instantaneously across his territory. I'd seen simpler versions in the cult's archive, ancient designs for magical message-sending, but this was far more sophisticated. Thisused electrical current channeled through crystalline matrices to carry encoded information.
"The current model has a range limitation," he explained, pointing to a specific section of the design. "About fifty miles before signal degradation makes the message unintelligible. I need triple that range to cover my entire territory, but I can't figure out how to amplify the signal without destabilizing the electrical matrix."
I leaned over the blueprints, studying the crystal configuration. The design was elegant—current flowed from the power source through a series of step-up transformers, got encoded with the message information, then channeled through the transmission crystal. But the crystal couldn't handle enough power to push the signal further without shattering from the energy load.
"You need a buffer system." The solution formed in my mind almost immediately, pieces clicking together like one of his mechanisms. "Multiple smaller crystals in parallel configuration instead of one large crystal. Distribute the energy load."
"I tried that. The synchronization was impossible. Each crystal transmitted at slightly different frequencies."
"Because you used identical crystals." I grabbed a piece of chalk from the table, started sketching on a clear section of steel wall. "You need complementary frequencies. If crystal A transmits at frequency F, crystal B needs to transmit at frequency two-F, crystal C at three-F. They'll harmonize instead of interfere."
My hand moved quickly, drawing the mathematical proof. The equations flowed like ritual chants—familiar patterns, comfortable logic. This was what my brain was designed for. Analysis. Problem-solving. Taking complex systems and finding the elegant solution hidden in the chaos.
I forgot about the arousal still humming through my body. Forgot about the wetness between my legs. Forgot everything except the pure joy of intellectual engagement.
When I finished the proof, I turned to find Zephyron watching me with an intensity that made my breath catch.
"What?" I asked.
"You're beautiful when you're curious." His voice had gone rough. Through the bond, I felt his attraction—not the patient care from earlier, but raw want. "Your whole face lights up. Your hands move like you're conducting music. You bite your lip when you're calculating."
Heat flooded my cheeks. "I was just—"
"Solving a problem I've been stuck on for weeks in less than ten minutes." He moved closer. Not touching, just close enough that I could feel the electric hum of his presence. "Don't stop. Keep working."
"You want me to—"
"Show me the crystal configuration. Draw it out. I need to see your full design."
I turned back to the wall, but I was acutely aware of him now. Of how he stood just behind my right shoulder. Of how his breath stirred my hair when I reached up to draw. Of the heat radiating from his body.
I sketched the crystal array, forcing my hands steady despite my awareness. Three crystals arranged in a triangular pattern, connected by conducting wire, each one sized according to the frequency it needed to generate.
