I ease a fraction closer, voice lowering to an intimate pitch. “Black holes consume everything,” I tell her, “but general relativity and quantum theory can’t both be right if information just vanishes. I believe the imprint remains, encoded in the spacetime curvature, preserved beyond the horizon. An echo of existence, suspended somewhere liminal between oblivion and eternity.”
Her lips part, her breath catching in awe—or dread. “And you’re trying to retrieve these echoes.”
I nod slowly, letting a whisper of the truth hang between us.
She blinks, shakes her head. “I think that’s too much for me to comprehend, Orion.”
My pulse drums as I close the distance another step. “It is for most,” I admit. “But imagine if our memories were never lost. If they survive beyond us.”
Something flashes behind her eyes, a painful echo of her own. There before it’s gone. “Sometimes it’s healthier to let them go. The mind isn’t meant to retain everything. We forget for a reason, we’re supposed to. So we can move on.”
I study her in silence. The way she rigidly holds her shoulders. The way her voice cracks onforget.
“Hmm,maybe,” I concede, tone measured. I want to tell her that we’re tethered to those painful memories, forgotten or otherwise. “But for now, it’s only observation,” I say instead.
She tilts her head, a strand of hair feathering her cheek. “Are you observing something in particular right now?”
The weight of my stare should frighten her. “I am.”
“Show me.”
The way she says it—so fearless, unflinching—stirs my blood hot with a vicious temptation. The glow of the viewing table bathes her, casting faint light over the constellation inked along her wrist, the archer’s arrow trained on me.
Like an event horizon surrounding the singularity of a black hole, once Collins and I cross this threshold together, we enter a point of no return.
My gaze narrows on her, predatory. “What if I can’t let you go after you know my secrets,” I say as I maneuver around the table.
She watches me, mirroring my steps, moving forward until we’re on a slow collision course. “Don’t worry. I’m good at keeping secrets.”
My pulse slams through my veins. An electric charge arcs between us. My little fire sign is fucking determined to incinerate me right on the spot with the seductive way she licks her lips, the sinful gleam igniting her beautiful eyes.
Fire is such a destructive force.
Accepting my torturous fate, I say, “Never claim I didn’t warn you.” Then I lead her toward the spiral stairs and anchor my hand to the rail, letting her ascend first.
Once she reaches the dome, she stalls on the landing, her gaze sweeping across the instruments. “Orion. This isn’t what I was expecting.”
A reluctant smile tugs at my mouth. I clasp the back of my neck, my chest tight at the awe in her voice. “You were expecting a madman’s laboratory,” I say, moving toward the central console.
She doesn’t remark, her attention drifting over the brass orrery, watching the orbit of each planet and moon. Then she glances at the armillary spheres near the blackboard covered in tensor equations. Archaic relics contrasted against modern equipment.
“You really are determined to preserve the past,” she says absently.
Having her in my space should trigger every single compulsion, yet it’s curiously arousing. I flex my fingers, tempted to remove my gloves, let her sink into my skin. A warning spike of adrenaline crashes through my veins. The gloves are also necessary to prevent observer interference. I hike the cuff of my glove higher instead.
Leaning over the controls, I input the coordinates, and the telescope emits a hum. From the edge of my vision, I see Collins flinch at the sudden sound. She spins toward the telescope as it repositions and locks into place.
“This is where you conduct your research?” she questions.
“Most of it.” I collect the aluminum ladder and wheel it around, bracing my foot on the bottom step before I extend my hand to her.
Her gaze drops to my gloved palm. “Have you always been left-handed?”
A deep chuckle escapes. “Have you always been this inquisitive? Hurry up before it’s gone.”
Sliding her palms down the length of her black skirt, she casts a look up at the Hand of God and takes a wary step closer. Collins places her hand in mine, allowing me to bring her onto the ladder.
“Wait—” She uses her free hand to slip off her heels, tossing her shoes to the concrete floor. “All right, Dr. Night. Where do you want me?”
