“He was supposed to meet with our team three days ago. He never arrived.” Bentley’s eyes never left her face. “His last known location was somewhere in the mountains. The same mountains where you were conducting your survey.”
“That’s unfortunate.” She sealed another storage container with deliberate care. “Though I can’t say I’m surprised. Dr. Reece always did have… ambitious plans. Perhaps he received a better offer.”
“A better offer?”
“From one of your competitors, perhaps. Or maybe he finally decided to strike out on his own.” She shrugged, the gesture carefully casual. “He talked about it often enough. The desire to make a name for himself, to be recognized for his brilliance.” The last word carried a subtle edge of contempt that she didn’tbother to hide. “I’m sure he’ll turn up eventually, taking credit for someone else’s discovery.”
Bentley studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. She met his gaze steadily, refusing to be the first to look away.
“You don’t seem particularly concerned about a missing colleague.”
“Martin Reece was never my colleague. He was an obstacle at best, a predator at worst.” The words came out sharper than she’d intended, but she didn’t regret them. “Forgive me if I can’t summon much sympathy for his current predicament.”
Something flickered in Bentley’s eyes—surprise, perhaps, or grudging respect. “You’re more direct than I expected, Dr. Falkner.”
“I’m tired of playing games.” She turned to face him fully, crossing her arms. “If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, I have packing to finish.”
He was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Fair enough. I came to make you an offer.”
“I’m not interested.”
“You haven’t heard it yet.”
“I don’t need to.” She picked up another container, weighing it in her hands. “GenCon has nothing I want, Mr. Bentley. Not your resources, not your facilities, not your promises of funding and recognition. I’ve seen how your organization operates—the corners you cut, the ethics you bend, the people you use up and discard. I want no part of it.”
“That’s a very… principled position.” His tone suggested that principles were a quaint but ultimately impractical consideration. “But principles don’t pay for research. They don’t open doors, or provide protection.”
“Protection from what?”
The question hung between them, loaded with implications neither was willing to voice.
Bentley smiled, the expression never quite reaching his eyes. “The universe is a dangerous place, Dr. Falkner. Especially for researchers working on the frontier. Accidents happen. Equipment fails. Data gets lost.” He spread his hands in a gesture of affected helplessness. “It would be a pity if we found ourselves at odds.”
Alina felt a chill run down her spine, but she refused to let it show. “Is that a threat, Mr. Bentley?”
“Merely an observation.” He adjusted his cuffs, the movement precise and controlled. “GenCon has resources that extend far beyond Mars. Connections that reach into every corner of human space. We could be valuable allies… or formidable obstacles.”
For a moment, she was tempted to tell him everything. To throw the truth in his face and watch his carefully constructed facade crumble. Your pet scientist is dead. He fell from a cliff because he tried to murder me. And the ‘anomaly’ you’ve been chasing? He’s mine. My mate. My future. And you’ll never touch him.
Instead, she took a breath and let it out slowly.
“I appreciate your… candor, Mr. Bentley. But I have no issue with you personally, nor with GenCon as an organization.” Thelie tasted bitter on her tongue, but she forced herself to continue. “I simply have no desire to work with you. My decision to leave has nothing to do with your company—it’s a personal choice, motivated by personal reasons.”
She met his eyes, willing him to believe her. “You’re welcome to continue your research here. I wish you every success. But our paths will not cross again.”
Bentley held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Very well, Dr. Falkner. I accept your decision.” He turned towards the door, then paused. “If you change your mind, you know how to reach me.”
“I won’t.”
He smiled, a thin, knowing expression that made her skin crawl. “We’ll see.”
The door slid shut behind him, and Alina let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her hands were trembling slightly, and she pressed them flat against the lab bench until they steadied.
He knows something, she thought. Maybe not everything, but something.
It didn’t matter. In a few hours, she would be gone. In a few days, she would be so far from Border Town that GenCon’s reach couldn’t touch her. And Rhyx?—
The thought of him steadied her, centering her in a way nothing else could. Whatever dangers lay ahead, they would face them together. That was enough.
