I didn't flinch. I turned onto the main road, the cleared asphalt shining wetly in the gloom.
"Tell Gretchen that due to weather conditions, communication was severed," I dictated, my eyes scanning the road for fallen branches. "Tell her the manuscript is in final revision. And tell her if she emails me again before noon, she's fired."
"You don't mean that," Daniel noted, typing rapidly.
"I mean it," I said. "I dealt with a biological crisis. I haven't slept in thirty hours. My suit is ruined. I have zero patience for corporate panic."
"What about the game studio?" Simon piped up from the back. "They're asking for the character renders."
"Stall them," I said. "Tell them the artistic process was... interrupted by a muse event."
Simon let out a short, bark of a laugh. "Muse event. That's one way to put it."
We drove in silence for a few miles; the winding coastal road demanded my focus. But the silence wasn't empty. It was heavy with the things we weren't saying.
"Does it feel..." Daniel started, then trailed off, staring at the ocean churning grey and violent below the cliffs.
"Like we forgot something?" Simon finished.
"Like a limb is missing," Daniel corrected. He rubbed his chest, right over his heart. "It hurts. Physically hurts."
"It's the bond," I said clinically, keeping my hands at ten and two. "Secondary Spike induced a rapid-onset pack dynamic. Your brain is dumping oxytocin and dopamine, and now that you're creating distance from the source, you're experiencing withdrawal. It's chemical."
"Is it?" Daniel looked at me. "Because it feels like I left my heart on that mattress."
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel until the leather creaked.
"It's chemical," I repeated, trying to convince myself. "And it's temporary. Once we stabilize her and get back to the city, the intensity will level out."
"You're lying," Simon said from the back. "I saw your face, Anders. When you locked. You aren't 'leveling out.' You're planning the rest of our lives."
I met his eyes in the rearview mirror. They were dark, circled with exhaustion, but sharp.
"I am planning the security of the asset," I said stiffly.
"You bit her," Simon pointed out.
"It was a grounding technique."
"You bit her," Simon repeated. "That's not a technique; that's a claim."
"Let's not pretend this is a business trip anymore, Anders," Daniel rumbled, closing his eyes. "We crossed the Rubicon."
I didn't answer. I pressed down on the accelerator, pushing the SUV faster toward civilization. He was right. We had crossed the line, burned the bridge, and salted the earth behind us. There was no going back to 'agent' and 'client.'
I needed to get to town. I needed to buy bandages, heating pads, and enough nutrient-dense food to feed an army. I needed to do something practical, because if I stopped moving, the realization of what I had done, and what I stood to lose, would crush me.
Seaboard was a tourist trap in the summer, but in the off-season storm, it was a ghost town. Shuttered taffy shops and grey-shingled cottages lined the main drag.
I pulled into the parking lot of the only open pharmacy.
"Action plan," I barked, killing the engine. "Daniel, grocery store next door. Get broth, crackers, eggs, steak, red meat for the iron, and whatever fruit doesn't look like plastic. Simon, stay in the car and monitor the comms. If that sat-phone pings, you scream."
"Why do I have to stay in the car?" Simon complained.
"Because you look like you just escaped a cult," I said honestly. "You have charcoal on your face and you smell like sex and arson. You'll scare the locals."
"Fine," Simon slumped.
