Chapter 6—Xavier

XAVIER STOOD BEFORE the diagnostic interface, the familiar hum of the facility filling the air as data streamed across the holographic display. His cybernetic eye tracked every variable and anomaly. He should have been focused entirely on the task at hand, but his mind kept circling back to the growing tension in the lab, especially the frustration radiating from Amaya.

"Another neural instability," she muttered, studying the readouts. She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. "This just doesn't make sense. Every solution we try leads us back to the same dead end."

Xavier watched her, noting the way her fingers paused, hovering over the console. She had been running simulations and tests for hours, trying to isolate the problem. He could see the weight of the investigation pressing down on her, though she was trying hard not to let it show.

"We've made progress," he said quietly, stepping closer to her station. "We're narrowing the scope."

"Maybe but narrowing it down doesn't feel like enough right now. We need real answers, and it's like we're chasing shadows."

He understood her frustration. The sabotage was sophisticated—far more than either of them had anticipated. Despite their efforts, every lead seemed to twist and vanish before they could fully grasp it.

"We need a break," he said. "Step away for a moment."

Amaya hesitated, glancing at him. "You're right, but..."

He raised an eyebrow. "But?"

She sighed. "I hate walking away when we're so close. It feels like giving up."

His lips quirked into a faint smile. "Taking a break isn't surrender. We've been at this for hours."

Amaya stared at him for a moment, then relented. "Fine, but just for a little while."

The hum of the facility seemed quieter as they stepped away from the lab. Xavier led Amaya to the observation deck, hoping the fresh air and wide expanse of stars would help ease some of the tension that had been building for hours. The constant pressure of their work had weighed heavily on both of them, and frustration burdened both of them as they stepped into the cooler, open space.

She leaned against the railing, her gaze drifting upward to the stars that stretched across the sky. "I forget how beautiful it is out here," she said softly, her voice almost lost in the vastness around them.

Xavier remained silent, standing beside her as she stared at the constellations. The quiet moments like these were oddly peaceful. It was a sharp contrast to the chaos they had been sifting through for days.

"Do you ever think about it?" asked Amaya suddenly, breaking the silence. She didn't turn to face him, still focused on the sky. "About what it was like before your cyber-conversion?"

Xavier's cybernetic eye flickered as he processed her words and composed his thoughts. The question wasn't unfamiliar, but it still settled in the pit of his stomach with a certain weight. He glanced at her, taking in the way her shoulders seemed to tense while waiting for his answer. "Sometimes, but not as much as you might think."

She finally looked at him, curiosity and something softer in her gaze. "Why not?"

He exhaled, the faintest hint of a sigh in his breath. "Because much of it is...fragmented. Lost, really. The conversion process affected my memory—large gaps I can't seem to recover. I haven't regained much of it, and I don't expect to."

Her expression softened, her brow furrowing slightly. "It's a known side effect, but it must be difficult not being able to remember who you were."

He tilted his head slightly, considering her words. "I can recall pieces. Faces, moments, and feelings. I have a strong sense of self if not how that self developed, because nothing is concrete. It's like trying to hold water in your hands—it slips through no matter how hard you try to keep it."

She was quiet for a moment, searching his face. "Do you regret it? Not being able to remember?"

He turned his gaze back to the stars. He had asked himself that question before, but the answer always felt distant, like the memories themselves. "I can't say for sure if I regret it, because I don't fully remember what I've lost. But..."

He paused, struggling to articulate his next words. His gaze shifted back to her, and he said meaningfully, "I don't think I miss it. Not anymore."

Amaya blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. "Not anymore? What do you mean?"

He hesitated, unsure how to explain it without revealing too much, and without making it too obvious, but the truth was simple. His life now—his purpose, his mission, and his connection to her—was enough. "I'm content with how things are now," he said, his voice steady. "The past is just that. I chose this path, and I have no reason to look back. What matters is what's in front of me."

Amaya's lips curved into a faint smile as the meaning behind his words seemed to sink in. She didn't push him for more, but he could see the understanding in her eyes.

"You're always so sure of yourself," she said softly. "I wish I could be that certain about things."

The tension between them shifted into something quieter and more intimate. "Certainty comes with time. You've already proven yourself more than capable."

Her smile widened slightly, though there was a touch of sadness in her eyes. "I don't know. Everything feels so fragile lately. The sabotage, the malfunctions, and the pressure to find answers—it's like we're standing on the edge of something, and I'm afraid one wrong move could send everything crashing down."

He put his hand lightly on her arm. The warmth of her skin beneath his touch stirred something deeper than the mechanical precision that guided most of his movements. "We're not on the edge alone," he said softly. "You're not alone."

Amaya looked up at him. Her expression softened, and she gave a small nod, as if acknowledging the unspoken bond that had grown between them.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He didn't respond with words, but his gaze held hers for a long moment, acknowledgment passing between them without the need for explanation. The air between them seemed to shift, growing heavier and charged. She looked at his lips, just for a heartbeat, before meeting his gaze again.

He took a step closer, his hand still resting on her arm, fingers brushing against her skin with deliberate slowness. She didn't pull away, instead leaning into the touch. His pulse accelerated, and though his cybernetic enhancements regulated his body, there was no suppressing the pull he felt toward her. He dipped his head, pausing just a fraction of an inch from her lips, as if silently asking for permission.

She closed the gap, meeting his lips with a sudden intensity that caught them both off-guard. The kiss wasn't as tentative as the one before. It was fiercer and more urgent. He settled his hands on her waist, pulling her closer and savoring the heat and weight of her body against him. She moved her hands to his shoulders, curling her fingers into the fabric of his shirt as if to anchor herself.

There was something raw about the way their mouths moved together, like all the tension they'd been holding onto had finally found its release. For a moment, nothing else mattered. It was just them, the stars overhead, and the connection that pulsed between them, stronger than ever.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily, and their foreheads rested against each other. Her eyelids fluttered open. "I... I didn't mean to..."

He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead and grinned. "Neither did I, but I'm glad you did."

She smiled, the kind of smile that made something inside him soften in a way he hadn't expected. He had few memories of his past life before the conversion, but this moment with her felt more real than anything he could ever remember.

Eventually, she let out a soft breath and turned back to the sky. "I guess we should head back," she said, her tone lighter now, though the underlying tension of their mission still lingered in the air.

"Agreed," he said, though he didn't move right away. He allowed himself one last moment of quiet before they returned to the chaos that awaited them.

As they made their way back to the lab, he tried to force his thoughts from the kiss, but his mind remained on their conversation, and the quiet admission he had made. He couldn't fully remember his past, but he didn't need to. What mattered was the present, and the connection between him and Amaya inspired him far more than any memory could.

When they reached the lab, the soft hum of the equipment greeted them like an old friend. Before they could fully immerse themselves back into their work, the door hissed open, and Dr. Vex stepped into the room, her sharp gaze immediately assessing them.

"Taking a break?" she asked, her tone neutral, though there was something behind her eyes that he couldn't quite place.

"Yes," said Amaya, her voice steady but reserved. "We needed to clear our heads for a moment."

Dr. Vex nodded, though her expression remained unreadable. "Good, but I trust you haven't lost focus. The situation is escalating, and we need results."

He straightened, his posture automatically falling into a more formal stance as muscle memory from his academy and soldier days took over. "We're making progress. Slowly but steadily."

The doctor's gaze flicked between the two of them, lingering on Amaya for a moment longer than necessary. "I trust you'll keep me updated. We can't afford any mistakes."

"Of course," she said, sounding calm but guarded.

With a final glance, Dr. Vex turned and left the room, the door hissing shut behind her.

Amaya exhaled, her shoulders relaxing slightly as soon as the doctor was out of sight. "She's been watching us more closely lately." She frowned. "I hate feeling like I'm sneaking around my mentor."

Xavier nodded. "She's concerned. We should be careful."

Amaya gave him a sidelong glance, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Careful is all we've been lately."

As they returned to their stations, Xavier analyzed Dr. Vex's recent behavior. Something had shifted, not just between him and Amaya, but in the facility as a whole. The mystery of the sabotage was deepening, and trust—something that had once seemed clear—was becoming harder to hold onto. They couldn't afford trusting the wrong person, so it was safer to keep their trust in each other—which somehow felt right anyway.