Page 8 of Jump or Fall

Mara

Gordon’s suit was packed in the carrier under her desk. She tapped her nails impatiently. The repairs had been simple. Despite his dissection of the suit, the only real issue had been a few crossed wires.

The corners of her mouth twitched at the thought of watching him struggle to piece everything back together.

That morning, he’d messaged to say he installed the panels so they were ready for the swap. He didn’t need the full suit, but carrying the entire thing made the modified gauntlets less conspicuous if her bag was searched.

Her mind drifted to the moonlit waves and Gordon’s hand wrapped around hers.

He hadn’t let go. She’d worried the walk back would be awkward, that he would retreat to his quiet persona.

But he hadn’t. If anything, he’d seemed lighter, easier to talk to.

His presence did something to her, made her feel like a human again.

A sharp ping broke through her thoughts.

A meeting request. Frowning, she opened it, but the only thing inside stated it was urgent.

Thanks, Tamar .

Mara scrunched her face and tapped to accept. As she dragged herself toward the conference room, she passed the front desk where Tamar sat with her head down.

That wasn’t a good sign. She was already chilly toward Mara, but she usually glanced.

The room, like most in the building, was filled with natural light streaming through the black windows. A long, polished slab of dark wood dominated the space, surrounded by ten chairs.

Seated at the table was Millon Hirono, the company’s owner and CEO. His eyes darted in her direction before returning to the window. The other chairs were occupied by Asher, Silva, and Dawson, whose usual cold scrutiny swept over her from head to toe.

Her stomach clenched, but she swallowed hard to maintain composure.

Dawson gestured for her to sit beside him. Like a trained dog, she obeyed, keeping as much distance as she could.

Millon was in his early forties, with pin-straight black hair, and dressed exclusively in black.

Today he wore a black button-down shirt with rolled-up sleeves and matching slacks.

His father, Kenji, also had an affinity for the color—reflected in the building’s exterior.

The bulletproof material could be made into other colors, but the Hironos always chose black.

Millon’s left arm ended just above the elbow, replaced by a sleek bionic prosthetic. Rumors circulated about how he’d lost it, but no one knew the truth. His personal life remained just as mysterious as the missing limb.

“We need to discuss the status of synth-minds,” Millon began. “Mara, how’s it coming?”

Her spine stiffened. She needed to think of something fast. “I only need to test one more thing and we’ll be ready to deploy.”

“What still needs testing? ”

She scrambled for an answer. “The weapon sync. The delayed reaction time compensation is fully functional, but we need to ensure the weapon fires correctly too.”

The weight of Dawson’s stare was almost crushing—she hoped he believed it. The Silvers were anticipating this extra advantage, and the time it had taken already felt like she was pushing it. His presence at this meeting meant she had no buffer left.

Silva nodded. “Makes sense. No point in having the gun point accurately if it doesn’t do anything.”

Millon considered this, his olive-skinned face still as a photograph while he stared out the window.

“How long will this take?”

She glanced at Silva, who answered for her. “One week, provided there are no surprises.”

Millon drummed his fingers on the table. “Good.” He rose. “Asher.”

Her apprentice paled at the sound of his name.

“You’ll take on Mara’s fittings and repairs until this project is complete.

Silva, delegate as needed.” He tapped a metal finger on the table.

“Also, test the effect of non-combatants in close proximity and ensure it doesn’t shoot unless the certainty is at least ninety-eight percent.

We can’t risk the suit targeting the wrong person. ”

Silva inclined his head. “Of course.”

Lastly, Millon turned to Dawson and cleared his throat. “Secretary.” With a sharp nod, he exited the room.

Silva and Asher followed, neither saying a word.

Dread seeped into Mara’s bones. She kept her eyes lowered and waited.

Dawson swiveled to face her, leaning back with his head resting in one hand. “Stand.”

She obeyed, standing stiffly as he kicked her chair away.

“You’d probably stand there until you collapsed, my beautiful Kaplan doll. ”

She said nothing.

“Come here.” His tone was soft, almost tender. He reached out, pulling her over to face him.

With a simple gesture, he instructed her to kneel. She did, resting back on her heels, hands folded in her lap.

Her shoulders relaxed slightly. If he was keeping her here for the usual, maybe she wasn’t being punished for the synth-mind delay.

A long sigh escaped him. “You’ve always been my favorite. So well-behaved. And such an entertaining profession.”

He leaned forward and cupped her face, extending the claw on his thumb to trace her lips. She held perfectly still as he ran the sharp blade across her teeth.

“You understand your good behavior is why you have so much freedom, correct?”

“Yes.” Her body tensed again, unsure of where this was going.

The claw trailed up her cheek. “How old are you now?”

“Thirty.”

He tsked. “Still so pretty, but your eyes give you away. I think you need more sleep.”

Her breathing remained steady but her mind raced. Had he searched her bag and found the extra tablet? Had someone seen her with Gordon? Was he already dead?

Don't react. Don't move.

He dug the claw into her cheek, dragging it down again and parting her lips. She didn’t flinch. The pain gave her something else to focus on.

He reached for his belt—but a soft chime interrupted him. Someone was calling.

Jaw clenched, he tapped his ear. “What do you want?” He stared off while he listened. “Fine. Have Nella brought over afterward.”

With another tap, the call ended. He looked down at her, amusement playing across his features.

“Lucky for you, doll. Business calls.” He gave her cheek a light slap .

“Nella’s still afraid of these.” He playfully extended a claw before retracting it. “Someday she’ll sit as pretty as you.”

He shrugged. “Or she won’t.”

With a bark of laughter, he turned and left the room, leaving Mara alone on the floor, staring at her knees.