Page 13 of Human Reform (Cyborg Planet Alpha #3)

THIRTEEN

ALORA

Something in Daxon’s voice—that rough-edged certainty and that unshakable commitment—reached past all my carefully constructed walls.

For the first time since that fateful day four years ago, when I last hugged my brother, I fully believed someone again.

Not just believed their words but believed in them. In Daxon.

I knew without question that Daxon would throw himself between me and any danger, just as he’d done with Sage earlier.

That realization should’ve concerned me—to matter that much to someone again, to risk that inevitable loss—but instead, it felt like taking a full breath after years of shallow ones.

I pulled back, swiping hastily at the dampness on my cheeks. “Thank you. For this. For…” I gestured vaguely at the space between us, searching for words. “For caring, I guess. It’s unexpected, but not unwelcome.”

His eyes, those bright blues with hints of violet at the edges, softened. “I’m glad I could help. That I can… make things better.”

“You do.” The words came out more intimately than I’d intended.

At this moment, four years after that day I found out that Tim disappeared, I felt a small crack in that shell of grief—a tiny fissure letting in something that felt suspiciously like hope again.

What would Tim think of my behavior these past four years? Would he understand me shutting out the world and refusing to let anyone close since his disappearance?

No. He’d hate it. My stubborn, wonderful brother would be so disappointed in me.

A strange thought struck me. What if Tim had somehow orchestrated this?

As ridiculous as it sounded, I could almost picture him pulling cosmic strings, making some weird bargain with the universe to drag me out of my shell and force me to confront my demons.

To find someone who could help me heal. It was exactly the kind of outlandish scheme he’d cook up.

I smiled at the thought, a real smile that reached my eyes and eased something tight in my chest. Wherever Tim was now—whether watching over me or simply gone—I felt a sense of peace about his absence now.

“We should get back to work,” I said, stepping back from the intimate circle of Daxon’s arms. “This code won’t dismantle itself.”

He nodded, his massive frame straightening. “I should check my station. Daily protocols need attention.” His hand brushed my arm, a casual touch that still sent electricity racing across my skin. “I’ll return at sunset to escort you to your suite.”

I watched him leave, my body experiencing that strange disappointment I felt whenever he walked away. For someone who’d spent three years deliberately avoiding contact with anyone, I was suddenly finding solitude distinctly less appealing.

Settling back into my chair, I faced the three monitors and their glowing display of the corrupted code.

Commander Helix’s observation about my emotional instability echoed in my brain.

She wasn’t wrong—emotions had always been my weak point, the unpredictable variable in my otherwise ordered mind.

I didn’t want to jeopardize Daxon’s position or our work together simply because I couldn’t keep my feelings in check.

I cracked my knuckles and dove in, determined to find a way to completely delete both the malicious section of code and my original architecture.

It wouldn’t be easy—maybe not even possible—but I’d be damned if I wouldn’t try.

For these peaceful cyborgs who deserved their freedom.

For Daxon. For whatever future might exist beyond these screens.

The hours blurred together as I worked, testing various approaches only to have them fail spectacularly. One promising method sent the system into a recursive loop that forced me to do a hard reset. Another nearly wiped out crucial security parameters that would have affected the entire settlement.

Thankfully, the system I had tested my potential solutions on was offline, and didn’t impact any of the cyborgs or the settlement.

But the thought of my near failures and the possible detrimental consequences they could’ve caused sent my mind reeling with doubt and worry.

I needed to figure out how to fix this glitch problem without ruining anything else permanently.

The stakes were becoming increasingly higher by the hour.

Outside my window, the two suns began their descent toward the jungle horizon, painting the sky in magnificent shades of amber and violet.

The view from my private office overlooked a section of the colony where residential structures nestled between towering native trees.

Cyborg and human colonists moved along the stone pathways, some returning home after their day’s work while others headed toward the night market.

I stretched my arms overhead, wincing as my spine crackled in protest. Five hours hunched over a keyboard, and I had nothing to show for it except an impressive collection of failed approaches and a neck cramp that would probably linger for days.

“Damn it,” I muttered, massaging the back of my neck. “There has to be a way.”

Tim would have told me to walk away, take a break, and let my subconscious work on the problem. But walking away had always been my specialty—walking away from problems, from people, and from connections. Not this time.

I leaned forward again, the glow of the monitors highlighting my determined expression. I couldn’t walk away from this one. Too much was at stake—an entire peaceful society and the future of a species.

And Daxon. Always Daxon, hovering at the edges of my thoughts like a promise I wasn’t sure I deserved.

As if my thoughts had summoned him, Daxon appeared in the doorway of my private office, his broad shoulders filling the frame. The light from the corridor cast a halo around his jet-black hair, and his eyes found mine immediately.

“I thought you might be hungry,” he said, his deep voice sending involuntary shivers through me. “Would you like to have dinner with me again? At my quarters this time? I could cook something for us.”

My heart skipped several beats at once. Dinner at his place. His personal space. The idea of seeing where he lived, how he existed when no one was watching—it was suddenly the only thing I wanted.

“Yes!” I blurted and then winced at my eagerness. “I mean, that sounds great.” I quickly logged off my systems, my fingers fumbling over the commands in my haste.

Daxon’s lips curved into that rare, genuine smile that transformed his entire face. A low, throaty chuckle escaped him as I practically bolted from my chair and crossed the room to him.

“Eager to escape your screens?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“You have no idea,” I admitted as we stepped into the corridor. “My eyes are starting to cross from staring at code all day.”

He guided me out of the security center, his hand resting lightly on my back. The casual possessiveness of the gesture should have bothered me. Instead, it felt like an anchor in a world that had been spinning too fast since my arrival.

The suns were completing their descent, painting the jungle canopy in shades of amber and gold. The air felt thick with moisture and the heady scent of alien flowers that bloomed only at dusk.

“This place is so beautiful,” I breathed, taking in the stone pathways winding between structures partially hidden by lush vegetation. “It’s nothing like Earth cities.”

Pride radiated from Daxon as he gazed around the settlement. “We wanted to work with the environment, not against it. The jungle provides natural cooling, filtration, and protection.”

We followed a smaller pathway that branched from the main thoroughfare, leading deeper into the residential sector. Colonists nodded greetings as we passed. Many smiled knowingly at the sight of us together, which sent heat rushing to my cheeks.

Daxon’s quarters were housed in a modest structure with a composite facade that incorporated natural materials from the surrounding jungle. Inside, the space reflected his personality perfectly—ordered, precise, yet surprisingly warm.

Everything had its place. Books (actual paper books) lined a small shelf.

His furniture was minimal but comfortable-looking.

The lighting adjusted automatically to a warm amber glow as we entered.

And the smell—clean linen, earth after rainfall, and something spicy that was uniquely Daxon filled the air.

I inhaled deeply, drawing his scent into my lungs without thinking.

“What is it?” he asked, catching me mid-sniff.

Heat flooded my face. “I, uh… it smells nice in here. I’m surprised.”

“Surprised that cyborgs don’t live in sterile metal boxes?” His eyebrow lifted, but humor danced in his eyes.

“Honestly? Yes.” I grinned. “And I’m even more surprised you know how to cook. Do they program that in, or…”

“Learn or starve,” he said with a shrug, moving toward the small kitchen area. “Or spend all your credits at the marketplace. I chose option one.”

I laughed and settled onto a high stool at his kitchen island, watching as he moved with efficient grace around the compact space. His hands—those large, strong hands that had held me so gently—moved with surprising dexterity as he prepared ingredients.

“What’s on the menu?” I asked.

“Synthesized protein with herbs from the hydroponics dome,” he explained, “and fresh vegetables from our gardens.”

The sounds and scents of cooking filled the small space as I watched him work. Something was intensely intimate about being in his personal space, seeing this domestic side of him that I imagined few others ever witnessed.

When he finally set the plates on his small dining table, my stomach growled embarrassingly loud.

“Perfect timing,” I said, sliding into a chair.

“Perfect execution,” he corrected with that hint of a smile. “I’ve never miscalculated a meal yet.”

I took a bite and hummed with pleasure. “This is actually incredible.”

“You sound surprised again.” His eyes never left my face as I ate, studying my reactions like they were data points to be collected and analyzed.

“I am. But pleasantly so.” I took another bite. “By the way, all my potential solutions failed today. Spectacularly. One nearly wiped out crucial security parameters. Thank god I was offline.”

“You’ll find the answer,” he said with absolute certainty. “Your mind works differently than anyone I’ve ever encountered. You see patterns others miss.”

The compliment caught me off guard. In my experience, men either ignored my intelligence or were threatened by it. But Daxon spoke as if my brilliance was simply a fact to be acknowledged and appreciated.

“Thank you,” I said softly, fidgeting with my bracelet. “That’s… that means a lot.”

My old instincts screamed to deflect, to make a joke, or to run from this moment of genuine connection. But for once, I didn’t listen to them.

Instead, I lifted my glass in a small toast. “To figuring out who’s trying to sabotage your colony and fixing what they tried so hard to destroy.

” And silently, I added, Thanks, Tim, wherever you are, for watching over me.

For somehow leading me here when I was too stubborn to find my own way to happiness.