Chapter 16

Iwatch Naomi's chest rise and fall as she sleeps, wishing I could trace the curve of her lips without waking her. She's the epitome of radiance, especially like this, with the muscles in her face relaxed and her arms open at her sides. I'd like to slip back beneath the covers and hold her until morning, but I have work to do in the basement.

Burton died nine days ago. When his cruiser screeched to a halt outside of Mylo and Sam's house and he and his fellow officers drew their guns on us, I thought for sure someone would end up dead. I just didn't think it would be him.

Not that I wanted him to live a long, happy life. I kept his name off the pack's target list because he's always been my target. I've envisioned countless ways I'd like to end him, so many that him dying by my hand felt like an inevitability.

Unfortunately, I can't claim the credit. In the most unexpected chain of events, several of my family members participated in his demise without so much as lifting a finger.

Replaying the scene in my head has given me comfort over the last few days, and I'll take the few moments of peace I can get.

Burton aimed his gun at Zev and pulled the trigger. Zev, with his ability to communicate with machines, caused the gun to jam. Hudson, inheriting his father's ability to influence the choices of others, made Burton look down the barrel of the gun, and at that moment, Zev released the bullet.

Down the racist police officer went, clutching at the ravaged remains of his shoulder as he bumped into his car and collapsed belly first onto the road. Vanessa, with her newfound ability to move objects with her mind, shifted the car into neutral. I suppose gravity also played a role, as the car slowly started to roll down the hill Mylo and Sam's house sits atop, crushing Burton's body, one bone at a time.

It appeared as a series of freak accidents, resulting in his death. That's how the news first covered it, anyway. But as the interest in the story spread to larger outlets and across the country, it was later described, in carefully worded yet coded terms, that Burton perished, crushed by the weight of his own police car, after looking down the barrel of his own gun and shooting himself in the shoulder.

The pity and general embarrassment surrounding his death now serves as his legacy. I suppose any form of murder I fantasized about committing wouldn't have been this gratifying, so I'm glad it happened this way.

I just wish I didn't have this lingering feeling that trouble is still lurking around the corner. Burton was our biggest adversary. Now that he's gone, my family and I should be able to live in peace. I'm sure my brothers and their mates have been doing just that. But I can't, and I don't know why.

Naomi and I have been staying at the office. She hasn't left the building since the night Elaine attacked her. It took every ounce of control in my body to refrain from burning the top of the biggest tree I could find to a sharpened point and immediately impaling her on it, but Naomi begged me not to.

"If the IVA connects me to Elaine's death, I'm fucked," she told me that night. "Young vampires who kill or have their cell leaders killed get sentenced to death. I need to find a way to leave the cell legally, without hurting Elaine, which will be hard since I'm twelve years away from being able to live on my own. That's my only option."

If only the IVA had a justice system similar to that of humans. Then I could gather the pack and deliver my own form of justice to Elaine's doorstep. Along with that fucker Wyatt and the British prick, whatever his name is.

The upside to having her in my bed every night is how much closer we've grown. We've talked about my job as an assassin on Sufoi, and I've told her more about my brothers and how they met their mates.

She's shared many memories from her childhood in Seattle, told me all about her parents and the aspects of her Chinese heritage she continues to honor, as well as those she's chosen to let go of––learning how to play the pipa, for example.

"I'm never going to be good at it. It's just not in the cards for me," she said, with such ardent exasperation that I had to stifle a laugh.

Quincy has been delivering Naomi's blood supply. I met him briefly in the parking garage one night. He seems kind. Harmless. And he doesn't appear to be attracted to Naomi at all, which is why he still breathes.

The only times I've left the building are with the pack as we work through the target list, but I find myself distracted even as I watch my recruits grow into the savage vigilantes I hoped they'd become. I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched, even in the secure confines of the building. No one is getting in or out without me knowing, so realistically, it's a figment of my imagination.

Things on the top floor haven't been going smoothly either. Thea spent yesterday afternoon accusing me of sabotaging the potential of the company, phoning it in, and having inappropriate relations with Naomi. She's right about all of it, but I can't find the energy to care.

I feel guilty that I'm letting her and my employees down, but the future of Monroe Media Solutions is the least of my worries.

What weighs on me most heavily is the rift between me and my brothers. The only one I've spoken to since Burton's death is Luka, and he didn't know what to say. It was ten minutes of pregnant pauses, stilted chatter, and him asking how I am until I got sick of insisting I'm fine and hung up.

The only bit that sparked my interest was the news about Dante, our unwanted Italian cousin. Since he dropped the tree on top of Charlie's ex's car, killing him, and then made himself visible in dragon form while soaring over the town of Sudbury, local businesses seem to be embracing the buzz around the sighting of the mysterious big red bird that many are certain was a dragon.

As with Burton's death, larger news outlets have shared the story, sending cryptid enthusiasts into our town to gather eyewitness accounts.

The interest has spread so quickly and so far across the country, that I gave Andrei a two-week vacation from monitoring UFO sightings. The people who thought it was a cryptid reported it as a UFO, and then there were the people who thought it was actually a UFO and reported it as such.

Now there are restaurants serving Red Dragon Daiquiris and dragon-size sandwiches. Even the bar we frequent created a cocktail called the Dirty Dragon. I have no idea what's in it, but this town-wide excitement over spotting a dragon in the sky means Dante was right about the town not connecting us to the dragon sighting, and I find that infuriating.

The only other person I've spoken to lately is Hudson. He hates that I'm not getting along with my brothers and sends me texts each day asking if he can come visit me here. I know Luka wouldn't approve, so I told him no. He is relentless, however, and I hate disappointing him. All he wants is to see me. I made it clear he can't shadow me for work. When I made the offer, Burton had just died, and the family was gathered to process what happened. Hudson was so proud of the way he helped stop Burton that I couldn't help myself. I saw him as a future member of the pack. He'd be perfect for it, but he's far too young, and Luka would slaughter me.

"Morning, Owen," I say when I enter the pack kitchen.

"Hey, boss. Supposed to be a beautiful day out there." He's still giddy from taking down his target earlier this week––a serial rapist who served just ten days behind bars, despite being accused by multiple women. The man only served a fraction of his sentence before being let out on a mere filing technicality.

When Owen dug his claws across the monster's neck, the man tried to scream, but all that came out was the muffled gurgle of a wretched degenerate drowning in his own blood. Owen shifted from his jaguar into his human form and wiped the man's blood on his chest in victory. Then he dedicated the kill to his late sister.

She wasn't his victim, but she suffered a similarly brutal attack, and the trauma of being silenced, not believed, and harassed weighed too heavily on her. The depression claimed her life six months later.

I pat him on the shoulder, unable to return his enthusiasm as I make my way to the lab.

Yvonne greets me with a nod as she removes her safety goggles and returns to her computer. "Yvonne, have you detected any long-term changes in their cellular makeup?"

"Too soon," she replies. "I see nothing yet."

We discuss changes to their diets and if any have shown feverish symptoms. She says no, then rolls her eyes at me.

"What?" I ask.

"Go sleep. Your face," her features twist in disgust. "Looks terrible."

I want to, but I can't. There's something I'm missing. I can feel it.

After checking in with the rest of the pack, I realize there aren't any pressing matters to attend to, so I return to my little vampire, still fast asleep in our secret room.

The bed dips under my weight, and that wakes her. A smile forms on her lips even before her eyes flutter open. "Mm, come here." Her voice is raspy from sleep as her arms open for me. I fall into them, careful not to crush her small frame beneath me.

I kiss along her jawline, down her neck, and across her collarbone, moving further down her body as I wait for further instruction. It's a new development to our Dom/sub dynamic, and I'm very much enjoying it. I let her know how much I crave her with kisses, and she directs me the rest of the way.

Reaching her breasts, I suck the tip of one into my mouth through her shirt, and she moans as her hands get lost in my hair. Her back arches as she sucks in a breath. "I love when you wake me up like this."

Her nipples harden into stiff peaks, and I lift her shirt to taste her skin. "How do you want me?" I growl as I flatten my tongue against one pretty pink nipple before applying the same attention to the other.

She lifts her arms, and I pull the shirt over her head. Her skin is flushed, and her eyes are swirling with heat as she lays naked before me. I don't know how I got so lucky.

Tugging me down by the collar of my shirt, she kisses me hungrily, immediately swiping her tongue across my lips. I brush the hair off her face, pausing to caress her cheek before meeting her lips with mine.

I feel her hips roll against me as she grips my hair. Her breaths turn ragged as I grind against her, giving her the friction she seeks. "Don't stop," she commands. "Make me come. Just like this."

I'm still fully clothed in a button-up shirt and dress pants. I'd love to remove the barrier between our bodies and feel the wet lips of her cunt slide against my cock, but this is how she wants me. I do as I'm told.

Her hands wrap around the base of my horns, holding on tight as I thrust. I feel my release begin to build, and I'm shocked that I might come from, what do the humans call it, dry humping?

I hear the subtle click of her fangs extending, and I offer her my wrist to bite.

Naomi's eyes roll back in her head as she comes apart, her fangs sinking into me. The skin on both wrists heals quickly, so there are no lingering marks from her previous bites, but the area has become a strong erogenous zone for me as of late, and a jolt of electricity zips through me at the feel of her fangs buried deep inside my flesh. Her entire body trembles with her release as my blood drips down her chin, and the sight of it has me following close behind. She pushes my arm away and pulls my face into the crook of her neck. I roar my release into the place where her neck and shoulder meet.

"It's okay," she whispers, her tongue tracing the shell of my ear. Our chests are still heaving as we come down. "Lay on me."

I lower myself on top of her, and she chuckles when I let out a contented sigh, resting my head on her breast.

"Comfy?"

"The comfiest."

I could fall asleep like this. If only we had done this hours ago.

The alarm on her phone goes off, and my hopes of taking a nap are dashed. I lift myself up and lean back on my haunches as she runs her hands all over my chest.

"I'm not done with you yet."

What? "Don't we need to get ready?" I definitely need to change my pants.

She shakes her head. "I wanted some extra time before people start showing up."

The time on her phone says it's seven, which means we have an hour before we need to worry about being overheard or interrupted. I'll take it.

I reach for her, but she scurries off the bed before I can catch her. She takes a moment to look around the room, forming her plan, and I admire the many mouthwatering dimples covering her luscious backside.

"We need a chair," she says, lifting the panel on the nightstand and opening the door to the office. Then she just strolls out as if she's not completely nude.

I panic. Launching myself off the bed, I wrap my arms around her from behind and cover the parts I want only my eyes to see.

"Hey!" she squeals. "What are you doing?"

"What are you doing? My office walls are glass. Anyone could come in and see you."

She turns in my arms, placing my hands on her ass. I don't mind it.

"But they won't, because nobody shows up before eight."

"Okay," I relent. "We should be fast though."

Naomi jerks back. "Are you in charge here, or am I?"

She's adorable. I press my forehead against hers. "You are. Always."

Slipping out of my arms, she struts around the room, her abundant flesh jiggling with each confident step. She grabs my desk chair and pulls it into the center of the carpet. Then she retrieves a tie from the closet next to the bathroom and drapes it around her neck. It hangs over her breasts, blocking her nipples from view, and I can't help the frown that tugs at my lips.

"Sit," she says, tapping the back of the chair.

When I do, she takes my hands and brings them behind my back, using the tie to bind them together at the wrists. Then she steps in front of me and starts unbuttoning my shirt. My mouth waters as her breasts bounce so close to my face.

"I'm going to fuck you in this chair," she says, removing the belt from my pants and opening them enough to let my dick spring free. It stands tall and already hard again, still coated in my come from before. Climbing into my lap, she straddles me, then takes my face in her hands, forcing me to meet her gaze. "You can watch, but don't touch."

"May I use my mouth?" I ask. Say yes. Please say yes.

Yes, more.

Oh, look who's awake.

She's about to give us more, I send back. Be patient.

"Yes," Naomi answers, "but you can't come until I tell you."

I nod. "I won't."

Bracing herself with one hand on my shoulder, she looks down between us and slides my dick between her pussy lips before guiding me into her channel. Her body adjusts quickly to my size, and she impales herself on my length, sinking all the way down until our hips meet.

She grabs hold of my horns as she sets the rhythm, and I can do nothing but watch the way her body moves as she takes what she needs. It's perfect. More perfect than perfect.

Perhaps the only word that fits her sheer exquisiteness is her name. Naomi.

Though if this is the rule, then no one else should be allowed to claim it, and I'm not sure how that could be enforced.

"Bite me." She brushes her hair off her neck and points to the exposed skin.

A hard knot forms in the pit of my stomach at the request. "I can't," I reply. It hurts to deny her, but I'm not clear on the specifics of how mate bonds for draxilios are solidified. When the two parts of us agree and accept that we've found a mate, our eyes turn red. That, I understand. To make the redness go away, the mate has to accept us––both halves. To solidify the bond, there is sex and a mating bite.

My eyes have not turned red. I have no intention of taking a mate. However, Naomi has seen my other form and adores us both. If I bite her during sex before my eyes have turned, would that make her my mate?

Do these events need to occur in order, or is the mating bite the final step no matter what precedes it?

I wish there was someone I could ask about this, but my brothers checked those boxes, albeit in slightly different orders, before engaging in the mating bite.

My movements have slowed since she asked for my bite, but Naomi doesn't seem to notice. If anything, she rides me harder and faster. My cock twitches within her channel, making it hard for me to think straight.

"Bite me," she repeats. "Make me bleed."

I'm tempted to do it because she feels so fucking good, and she deserves to get what she wants. The desperation to do it is also there, as I'm eager to take this blood play a step further than we have before, but I can't risk tying us together for the rest of our lives, especially since she doesn't know that could happen.

"Soup."

Everything stops. She freezes in my lap, still panting heavily, and pulls back to look at me.

"Soup?"

I nod, crestfallen that I have to use our safe word, especially since she seemed close to release. "Soup." If she asks about it later, I'll explain why, but I'd rather not right now. My dick is still inside her and hasn't softened. I just want to move past this and make her come. I'm not sure I'll be able to focus on work if I don't.

She grips the back of my head and leans in, brushing the tip of her nose against mine. "I understand."

I expect her to climb off me, untie my hands, and start peppering me with questions, not because she's nosy, but because she worries about me and wants to learn how my mind works. This is not a flaw of hers. It's something I appreciate.

But she doesn't do that. She presses a tender kiss to my lips, and her body starts moving. Before long, her pace returns to where it was prior to when I uttered the safe word, and our bodies slap together as we race toward completion.

I'm relieved. I thought hearing the safe word would ruin the moment, and she'd want to stop altogether. Instead, she respected my boundaries and moved past the brief pause.

"So good, Kyan," she moans. "Your ridges, your piercings. I love the feel of you."

A lightness inside my chest spreads throughout my entire body at her praise. My fingers and toes tingle as I thrust up into her, giving her what she needs.

The explicit squelch of our mingling juices joins the sound of skin against skin, and I wonder if we can be heard across the entire floor. With no one else here, I jerk my hips harder as I lean forward, licking every part of her chest I can reach.

As a result, her moans get louder, and her thighs start to shake.

"I'm close," she whimpers.

Fuck. I am too.

She must see it in my face because the next thing out of her mouth is, "Not yet, Kyan. Hold on for me. You can do it."

How? This is fucking agony.

Pinching my eyes closed, I try to slow my body down. I picture random household items: a towel, a bar of soap, a mop…then the mop turns into my cock and Naomi starts fucking it.

Okay, not a mop. I search my mind, and the only thing that pops into my head is a chair, like the one I'm sitting in as Naomi screams my name.

I don't realize she's actually screaming my name until her fangs sink into my neck just beneath my ear. Then her walls flutter around me and the growing flame in the depth of my belly grows once more.

"Come with me," she whispers, and I explode. The world tilts around me as I continue pumping into her. My body feels like it's floating through space and somehow anchored to her at the same time, and both sensations consume me in a way that has me struggling to breathe.

She reaches around and pulls on the tie, freeing me from my binds. My hands fly to her back, and I clutch her tight, seeking another layer of connection.

"Shh, it's okay," she whispers, pulling back to look at me. Her eyes are filled with worry, and when I look down, I realize I'm shaking. Not just my hands. It's my entire body. Even when I try to stop, I can't. This has never happened before.

"Are you all right, Kyan?"

"I-I think so," I stammer. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Her eyes search my face for another heartbeat or two until she's satisfied with whatever she sees. Then she hugs me, and I sag into her embrace.

"That was amazing," she says, her tone dreamy and content. "You were perfect. Just perfect."

The words reach me, but they barely register. I'm still buzzing from head to toe, and I can't figure out if this is a concerning symptom of an affliction exclusive to draxilios, or if it was simply the best orgasm of my existence. What I do know is that before I realized I was shaking, I felt free. Something shifted inside my head with that release. I felt like I left my body. I don't remember what happened. Those seconds are forever lost. But as soon as I was able to touch her, I felt like I needed to more than air.

Naomi takes me by the hand and pulls me into the bathroom, our strewn clothes covering the floor of my office. I keep a smile on my face as she turns on the shower and climbs in after me.

This isn't something she needs to worry about, and if she senses something off, she will most definitely worry.

I try to focus on her touch as she washes my hair, scrubs the blood off my chest, and coats my front and back with soap. Once I rinse it away, I return the favor, massaging her scalp as I work the shampoo through it. She moans, and it brings me back to the shakiness I felt just moments ago. My hands freeze, and she notices.

"You still back there?"

"Huh? Yeah," I quickly reply, coming back to myself. "Sorry."

We spend a little longer under the hot stream as she lets me massage her shoulders, then we towel off and start getting ready for the workday. Naomi goes back into the bedroom to get dressed, and I decide to push the unnerving experience away. Most likely, we reached a new level of intimacy that I was not prepared for, and my brain malfunctioned as it was trying to catch up.

We had sex. I came. She came. Nothing else matters.

I repeat the words in my head a second and third time I as tuck in my shirt. Naomi finds me in the bathroom and drapes a different tie around my neck.

"You should wear this one," she says, her smile bright as she pulls me down for a kiss. "It brings out your eyes."

"Very well." I don't know about the eyes, but the tie does match my pants, which makes the decision easy. Adding some hair balm to my fingers, I run them through my strands and push everything back the way I like it before masking up for the day.

Naomi takes two steps out of the bathroom before pausing on the balls of her bare feet. When she returns to my side, her expression is unreadable as she gazes up at me. "Hey, I…" the words die before leaving her lips. Suddenly, she looks nervous.

"What is it?"

Blood rushes to her cheeks. She shakes her head as if waging an internal battle, then swallows. "I love you."

My mouth falls open. It wasn't what I was expecting. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't that. "You love me?" I ask, chuckling for a reason I can't determine. "Why?" The word is so heavy. So permanent. Frequently coupled with pain and loss. That doesn't feel like us to me. We are light, fun, happy.

Naomi stares at me for what feels like hours, blinking, waiting. Contemplating? I don't know. I have no idea what's going on inside her head, but if the crease between her eyebrows is any indication, the words I chose were the wrong ones.

"Why?" she repeats with a scowl.

Does she want me to answer for her? I have no idea why she loves me. That's why I asked. When I think of why she might, my mind goes blank. I'm a killer. She used to save lives. I used to end them. I still do. That part of me will never change. How could someone like her, so soft, so generous, ever love someone like me?

She crosses her arms over her chest, still waiting. Then it dawns on me, and I rush to get the words out, so she'll stop looking at me like I'm a failure. "Oh. I love you too. Yeah."

"Really?" she asks. I feel her shutting down, the distance growing between us. "That's your response?"

"Isn't that what you want to hear?" This seems like a riddle I'm never going to solve, much like the girlfriend-date couple's costume discussion. I found no differences between the words date and girlfriend, but Naomi had attached a rule I had never heard of to the definitions and expected me to follow the rule accordingly. The only thing I want is to say the words she wants to hear. I thought I did that.

"Not the way you said it. Like the words had no meaning."

It's not that the word love lacks meaning to me; I just don't find it to be the best term to describe the way I feel, mostly because of the permanence it implies. From what I've learned about human culture, saying I love you is as sacred as a wedding vow, and in Sufoian culture, the closest comparison I have is mate.

This is the part of my culture that I reject. It doesn't fit with who I am or my immediate goals. I can say the same about the word love. "It's not even a word I use, unless I'm describing food." The only reason for this exception is that food expects nothing of me when I express my love for it.

She looks crushed. "Wow."

"Naomi, tell me what you want," I beg, reaching for her. She sidesteps my embrace. "Please."

Her lip trembles, but she clears her throat as if to shove the emotions back down. "You know what? This is on me. I told you how I was feeling because I wanted you to know, and I shouldn't expect you to feel the same way."

Is she suggesting I don't care for her? That I wouldn't protect her from harm? If that's her assumption, she's wrong. "That's not––" I begin, but Naomi cuts me off.

"No, really. It's fine. I'm overreacting." She puts her hands on her hips and takes a steadying breath. "Shouldn't have rushed things with us."

"You didn't," I tell her. "I promise."

She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Running her fingers through her drying hair, she heads into the bedroom and starts stuffing her clothes into her shabby little backpack.

"What are you doing?"

Her nose is scrunched up when her gaze meets mine. "I think we should take a couple days and allow things to reset between us. Quincy will let me sleep on his couch."

Reset? I don't want to do that. I want her in my bed every night like she has been, writhing beneath me as I pound into her. We have a routine now. I'm not sure I can even fall asleep at night without making her come on my tongue.

"Don't go." The plea sounds as pitiful as I feel. I'm losing her. "We can fix this. Let me fix this."

She comes over and places her hands on my chest. Even through my shirt, my skin tingles where she touches me. I cover her hands with mine, afraid of what will happen when she lets go.

"Nothing needs to be fixed," she says, trying to reassure me. "We're not broken; there's just a little crack. Truthfully, I'm embarrassed I feel something that you don't yet, and I'll get over it. I can be patient. But right now, it's just too raw, and I need space."

"But I don't want space."

Naomi pats my chest. "We don't always get what we want."

Her body shifts away from me, but in a panic, I wrap my arms around her and cover her lips with mine. At first, she remains still, but slowly my tongue finds hers and they slide against each other in a heated dance.

This is the key. If I can make her come again, she'll realize words are just words, and what we have can't be defined by the misguided conventions of the human world. I'll show her that there's no one else who knows and worships her body like I do. No one else can give her precisely what she needs.

I groan into her mouth as my hands travel down her back, settling on her behind, my fingers digging into the soft globes.

A throat clears just a few feet from us. Thea stands just outside my office door, her coat still on, bags in hand, and her expression horrified. "What the hell is going on here?"

Naomi pulls out of my arms, her cheeks a deep crimson as she wipes my kiss from her mouth. "I'm so sorry, Thea." Her voice is shaking. "We had no idea you were here."

Thea's mouth forms a flat line. "Because if I weren't here, this behavior would be perfectly acceptable?"

The judgmental gaze of my COO makes my blood boil. She's early. Much earlier than she usually is, and this is none of her business. I have nothing to apologize for, and neither does Naomi. This is my office. My entire building, in fact. She has no say in what I do when no one else is here.

Thea drops her bags at her feet. "How long has this been going on?"

"This doesn't concern you."

"Is that so?" she replies. "If you're in a relationship with your assistant, that's very much my business, actually, because it puts the entire company at risk."

Naomi shoves her feet into her shoes and hastily grabs her bag. "No. Naomi, you don't have to leave." I turn to Thea. "Let's discuss this later, shall we?"

Thea ignores me, approaching Naomi with the sorrowful expression one would wear approaching an injured dog. "Are you okay, Naomi? Because in a scenario like this, there's a clear imbalance of power, and if you felt pressured in any way…"

"Pressured?" I shout, aghast at her insinuation. Power imbalance? If Thea had shown up at seven, she would've seen me tied up and fighting an epic battle against my own body as Naomi ordered me not to come.

The look Thea gives me is vicious as she places a hand on Naomi's shoulder. "We can go talk in my office if you'd like. Where there's more privacy."

Naomi doesn't take the bait because there's nothing to talk about. Not with Thea, anyway. "Actually, I think I'll take a personal day. I think that'd be best for everyone."

"Of course, dear," Naomi says. "If there's anything you'd like to share, you can always call me."

"Naomi, don't do this."

We exchange an appalled glance, one I hope Thea realizes is about her, and she says, "It's fine. Really. We'll talk later."

Thea doesn't wait for Naomi to leave the floor before she starts scolding me. "Kyan, when you hired me, you made it sound like this would be a partnership, and for several years, it was."

"Mm hm," I grunt.

After that, I stop listening. I pick up bits and pieces, something about how Naomi could sue the company, how I've been phoning it in, and other ways I've been a disappointment, but the majority of my focus remains on Naomi's back as I watch her get further away.

How did we get here? I went from having sex that left me shaking to losing my girlfriend. Naomi might say we're not broken, but it feels like we are. It all happened so fast.

As the elevator doors close behind her, my draxilio whimpers. No more.