“Any particular reason for the change?” I ask, too curious not to.
He holds my gaze for a moment before answering. “It felt fitting. A new start after…the fall.”
Nil. Zero. Nothing. But he’s far fromnothingto me—or rather, to this experiment—where his history iseverything, since his stepfather created the drug I’m attempting to rewrite.
“I see,” I say. “Nil, you’re our last subject. You arrived later than projected.”
“Sorry.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for.” I tuck the tablet in my arm. “You’re here within the predicted window.”
I turn, leading the way to his shared quarters.
“Your room has been prepared,” I continue. “Testing begins at eight in the morning. I prefer to start on time, but I understand that subjects such as yourself may need time to adjust.”
He studies me more openly now. “You running every test yourself?”
“Yes, I prefer to oversee all procedures directly.”
He makes a low hum, a quiet acknowledgment that feels strangely warm to me. I ignore the sensation.
“Follow me,” I say and turn toward Quarters Four.
His footsteps fall in behind mine, even and disciplined. He shedhis former name, Lix, along with the life attached to it. I can only hope he’s willing to share some of his past with me. It would unlock information I’ve been dying to know.
***
I return to Quarters Four with Nil in tow.
Stan’s inside. He’s slouched across the bottom bunk. Shoes off, tight shirt clinging. His legs are spread in a relaxed sprawl. He looks up the second I open the door.
His expression brightens, until Nil steps into view. Then Stan freezes.
“Lix?” Stan asks, appearing stunned. Gray eyes wide, brows raised, and lips parted.
Nil doesn’t react to the name at first. He stands rigid in the doorway, as though movement might trigger a fracture. I’d like to see if that’ll happen. For research purposes.
“It’s Nil now,” he says, tone quiet, to Stan.
Stan doesn’t seem to hear that part. Or perhaps he does, but he’s too busy scrambling to his feet, crossing the room in three big steps.
“You’re alive,” Stan says, out of breath. “I mean,shit, I knew that. I visited you a lot. Butthis—you standing here,awake—it’s different. You’re reallyhere.”
Nil simply nods in response.
“You look good.” Stan laughs, light and breathless. “Like, ridiculously good for a guy who was logged out of life for a while.”
Nil doesn’t smile, but his eyelids lower. “Thanks.”
Stan’s entire posture becomes looser. Nil’s tension decreases by an observable fraction.
This is interesting data. They have rapport, probably deeper than friendship. Their pupils have significantly dilated that I barely seethe color in their eyes.
“I cried,” Stan says. “Only a few times. Brought snacksplentyof times. Mostly for me. Talked to your unconscious body like a creep. You probably don’t remember that.”
“I remember some,” Nil responds.
My eyes study the slight tightness of Nil’s pursed lips, how he keeps his hands to himself, as though he doesn’t trust them. He’s letting Stan talk, and he’s not rejecting their connection, but he isn’t tender toward it either. His body language is…rather braced.
