She shakes her head. “It’s okay. I mean, it's good for him to make new friends and talk about something other than his research. Thread resonance, transfer, whatever it is.”
Something cold stirs in my gut.Thread transfer.
Brian. Why the hell didn’t I think of him sooner?
I couldn’t risk going to a professor, not with whatever this thing is between Talen and me. I don’t know what it means yet, and I sure as shit don’t want anyone finding out before I do.
But Brian? Thread-obsessed, book-hoarding, self-declared expert on Thread theory Brian? He’ll know something. He has to.
“Ezzy, I have to go,” I say suddenly, standing too fast. The world spins, but I steady. “I’ll explain later. I promise.”
“Lyra—”
“I mean it,” I say, already halfway to the door. “Meet me back in our dorm, and we can talk more. Get ready for the ball together?”
She studies me for a second, still wary, but she smiles. “Yeah,” she says softly. “Yeah, okay, that sounds nice.”
I nod once, throw the duck in my pack, and head for the corridor.
My lungs areon fire by the time I push through the doors of the food hall. I checked every goddamn tunnel first, twice. Last one, of course, a half-asleep guard mutters something about “Brian” and “lunch.”
I scan the room and find him sitting at a far table, alone, hunched over a stack of papers like it personally offended him.
Okay. Think. Don’t raise suspicion. Channel your inner Ezzy. Flirty, but sweet. I need to get answers from him without seeming suspicious, and definitely not desperate. I tame my red curls back and stroll over.
“Hey, Brian,” I say, slow and casual like I didn’t just sprint across half the Citadel looking for him.
He jumps hard enough that his pencil slips across the page, leaving a thick black scar over whatever complicated chart he was working on.
“Oh—uh—Lyra. Hi.” He says, sounding mildly surprised. Cute.
I nod toward the seat beside him. “Mind if I sit? I wanted to ask you about your research.”
Brian blinks, visibly processing that someone,me, is willingly engaging in a conversation. Then, like he remembers how chairs work, he shifts his papers and mumbles, “Yeah—yeah, of course. Please.”
I slide in beside him. Close enough to make it feel intentional. Not enough to scare him off.
“So…” He says, clearing his throat. “What do you want to know?”
Where to even start.
“Well…” I twist a strand of hair around my finger, careful not to lay it on too thick. “I’ve actually been thinking about going into research myself. Maybe after graduation.” I tilt my head, let the curiosity come through. “And I remembered you mentioned something once, something about Thread resonance? Or transfer? It sounded…fascinating.”
His whole face brightens, and for a second, he forgets to be awkward. “Oh—yes! It is a fascinating topic. I’ve been piecing together some early theories in my spare time, mostly from my father’s old collection. Not many books left on it in the main library, probably got cleared out during the last wave of Citadel inspections.”
Figures.
“Well, I’m curious,” I say, leaning in just enough to lower my voice. “Is it possible that Threads can... transfer? Like between people?”
Brian hesitates. His mouth parts like he's about to answer, then stalls, unsure. I shift closer, slow and easy, leaning on one elbow, knee brushing his, like I’ve got all the time in the world.
He flushes. “Oh. Um. Sure. Yes. I mean—it’s possible. Sort of. It’s rare, though.” He lowers his voice, even though no one’s listening. “I found a few mentions, scattered case studies, but it could only happen under very specific conditions.”
“Like what?”
He fiddles with the corner of a page. “Well, Threads can’t just shift on their own. There has to be a shared Threadfield.”
“Threadfield?” I echo, brows lifted.
