Page 48

I make my way down the hallway, ignoring Z's muttered, “This'll be good,” behind me. The door to Alex's room is closed, a thin strip of light visible underneath. I hesitate for just a moment before I knock.

Three gentle taps. No response.

I try again, a little louder this time. “Alex? It's Vesper.”

Silence stretches for so long I begin to wonder if he's wearing headphones. Just as I'm about to knock a third time, I hear movement from within—the creak of a chair, footsteps approaching the door.

The door swings open suddenly, revealing Alex in a disheveled state I've never seen before. He's wearing a different pair of sweatpants than he was last night, with his bare, chiseled chest on full display again.

“Vesper,” he says, his voice rougher than usual. “Did you need something?”

I take in the chaos visible behind him—multiple monitors displaying scrolling code, empty energy drink cans scattered across his desk, crumpled papers littering the floor.

“I was worried about you,” I admit, crossing my arms over my chest. “You've been in here since last night.”

“I'm fine. Just working.”

“On Ricky's phone?”

“Among other things.”

“Any progress?”

“Nothing worth sharing yet.” His fingers tap an impatient rhythm against the doorframe. “Is that all?”

His dismissive tone stings more than it should. “Have you eaten anything? Or slept?”

“I don't need a babysitter, Vesper.” The edge in his voice is sharper than I expected.

“I never said you did,” I counter, refusing to be intimidated. “But humans generally require food and rest to function. Evenbrilliant ones.” I duck under his arm, pushing myself into his room.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He hisses as he whirls, hot on my heels.

“Tell me what you've found,” I say, turning to face him. “Or what you haven't found. Either way, I deserve to know.”

Alex’s jaw clenches as he shuts the door behind me. He glances at one of his monitors and quickly taps a key, blanking the screen before I can see what’s on it.

“I told you. I don’t have anything to share yet,” he repeats.

I study his face—the twitching muscle in his jaw, the way his eyes flick between me and the now-blank monitor. There’s something he’s hiding, something important enough that he’s willing to snap at me to protect it.

“I don't believe you,” I say, stepping closer to him. My frustration transforms into something else—a strategy forming in my mind. If direct questioning won't work, perhaps another approach will.

I move deliberately into his personal space, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his bare skin. His breath hitches almost imperceptibly as I place my palms flat against his chest, feeling his heart thundering beneath my fingertips.

“What are you doing?

My hands slide slowly upward, tracing the contours of his muscles, feeling him tense beneath my touch. His skin is warm, smooth, except for the light dusting of hair that narrows down his abdomen.

“Are you lying to me like Talon is?” I ask softly as my fingers continue their exploration.

Alex's carefully constructed facade cracks instantly. His eyes widen.

“What did Talon tell you?” he demands, his voice tight with an emotion I can't quite place.

I maintain my gentle caress, feeling a surge of power as his breathing grows more uneven. “Nothing,” I reply, letting my nails scrape lightly down his torso. “But your reaction just now tells me there's something you're both hiding.”

Alex catches my wrists, stilling my movements. His grip is firm but gentle, his thumbs unconsciously tracing circles on my pulse points. “It's not what you think.”