I stand there, my chest heaving, my hands still wreathed in black smoke. It’s clean. For the first time in my life, a suppression mission hasn't felt like a catastrophe managed with a hammer. It feels like an equation solved.
“Not bad,” I rasp, turning back to him.
Asa is leaning against the transport, his face the color of chalk. He looks like he’s about to vomit, but he manages a weak, sarcastic smirk. “I told you. It’s all just design theory, Jorak. Most people just have terrible taste in energy.”
“You’re doing it again,” a voice says, low and mocking.
I spin, the Black Current snapping at my fingertips. Silas is standing ten feet away, leaning against a rusted lamp post. He looks like a ghost in the settling dust, his worn jacket blending into the shadows of the alleyway. No one else seems to notice him, the ESA guards too busy tending to the fallen Guides and the screaming civilians.
“Silas,” I say, my voice a warning. “You’re a long way from your hole.”
“And you’re a long way from being free,” Silas replies. He doesn't look at me; he looks at the node. “You think you fixed it, don't you? You and your little professor. You think you saved the day.”
“The node is stable,” Asa says, stepping forward. He’s shaky, but he isn't hiding. “The pressure is gone.”
“The pressure isn't gone, Professor. It’s just moved,” Silas says. He pushes off the post, his movements fluid and dangerous. “That’s what these things were built for. They don't cleanse anything. They just bury it. Every time you ‘stabilize’ one of these, you’re packing the powder into the keg tighter.”
“Mercer says they’re the only thing keeping the flares from leveling the city,” I say.
Silas laughs, a dry, bitter sound. “Mercer says a lot of things. He’s the one who built the keg. He’s just waiting for the right moment to hand someone the match. Ask yourself, Jorak—why does the city only flare near the nodes? Why does the power only leak where the ESA has built its walls?”
He looks at Asa then, his gaze heavy with something that looks almost like pity. “Keep guiding him, Professor. You’re doing exactly what they want. You’re making their weapon efficient. Just don't be surprised when they decide you’re part of the machinery.”
“Silas, enough,” I growl, stepping between him and Asa. The Black Current surges, a warning growl in the back of my throat. I don't trust Silas, but his words are like grit in a machine. They make the world feel friction-heavy and wrong.
“Enjoy your ride home,” Silas says, stepping back into the darkness of the alley. “The extraction team is two minutes out. Try not to sign anything on the way back. Especially not your soul.”
He’s gone before I can move. The ESA captain appears around the corner of the transport, shouting into a radio, and the moment of quiet fractures. Medics swarm the plaza, and the sterile, controlled reality of the facility begins to reassert itself. Mercer will want a report. Rue will want blood samples. The cage is closing again.
We’re ushered back into the transport. The ESA staff member guarding the door watches us with wide eyes. He’s seen what we did.
“The Director is expecting you back at the wing for immediate debrief,” he says, his voice trembling. “He says the success of the university node response has opened up new deployment schedules. You’re going to be very busy.”
“We’re not going to the wing,” I say. I don't look at him. I sit down on the bench and pull Asa toward me. He doesn't resist. He’s shivering now, the adrenaline crash hitting him like a physical blow.
“I—I have orders, Thorn,” he stammers.
“Change them,” I say. I reach out and grab Asa, lifting him until he’s forced to sit in my lap. I wrap my arms around him, tucking his head into the crook of my neck. He smells of pear and vanilla, and underneath that, the sharp, electric scent of the node. He’s my mate. He’s my guide. And I’m done letting them treat him like a spare part.
“We’re going to his place,” I say, my voice vibrating against Asa’s temple. “Tell Mercer if he wants his weapon to stay sharp, he lets my Guide rest where he belongs. Otherwise, the next node that spikes is going to be the one under his office.”
He signals the driver, and the transport turns away from heading to the Stabilization Center, heading toward the residential district. Asa breathes out, his body finally going limp against mine. He grips the front of my shirt, his knuckles white, and for the first time since the alarm pulsed in the cell, I feel the Black Current settle.
Asa
Three days is a long time to pretend a person doesn't exist. I’ve declined four calls from Mercer Holt today alone.
It’s nearly ten at night. The university is a hollow shell this late, the hallways of the mathematics building echoing with the rhythmic hum of the HVAC system and the distant, lonely squeak of a janitor’s cart. I’m in my classroom, staring at a whiteboard covered in design theory equations that currently look like a foreign language. I should be at home. I should be sleeping.
My phone buzzes on the lectern, vibrating against the wood with an aggressive, jarring rattle. I don’t pick it up. I know it’s him.
The door at the back of the lecture hall groans open. It’s a heavy sound, wood scraping against the frame, followed by a footfall that is too heavy and too deliberate to be a security guard. The air in the room shifts instantly.
I don't turn around. I keep my back to the room, my marker hovering an inch from the board. "Class is out, Jorak. You missed the lecture by about six hours."
"I’m not here for the math, Asa." His voice is a low vibration that hits me in the center of my chest. He’s closer than he was a second ago.
I finally turn, leaning my hip against the lectern. He’s standing in the aisle, still wearing his field gear. The tactical vest is gone, but the black fatigues are stained with the dust of whatever corrupted zone Mercer threw him into today. He looks exhausted, his eyes dark and shadowed, but there’s a flicker of something volatile behind them. Anger. Or maybe just the same desperate need that’s been chewing on my nerves for three days.
