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Kaos’s spirit seethed with need while Kohl’s body threw a jealous tantrum, furious that it hadn’t been him in her confession.

Such a strange state of existence he was in.

Two lives. Two bodies. With identical obsessions and identical rages to protect it.

And the only reason he didn’t flick the human obstacle aside was because he couldn’t.

Not if he was going to have her at all times.

In both forms. With every appetite he possessed.

But wondering what she would feel and taste like on the tongue of this humanity he was imprisoned in held its own treasures he craved to have.

He listened as drawers opened, fabric flung, and curses spilled under her breath.

Kaos still stood where she left him, silently celebrating.

That dream would always live in her now.

Her ache now had shape. And her possessive fury clutched it closely.

He’d marked her spirit. Branded her breath.

All that remained was getting her to give the same thing to Kohl.

****

Jaxi stepped outside and the wind met her first—cool across her skin, useless against the heat still rolling through her body.

Everything clung to her like a mixed-medium-pour, right on her skin.

The dream, the man now stalking behind her, their voices, mouths, the weight and glory of one body pressed into hers and the agony and longing for the other.

For Kohl, for the way he watched her like he already knew what lived under her defenses—what she craved, what she’d give if someone ever reached far enough.

The one shadowing her while her skin remembered someone else.

That truth pulled like a blade through her chest.

He’d looked her in the eye and said it—harder than my Queen ever did. No shame. No hesitation. Like the dream had belonged to him, too. And maybe it did. Maybe it had always been him.

The air shifted around her—folding his presence in closer. She kept her eyes forward. Her body already tracked him—just behind her left shoulder, close enough to touch, close enough to want.

The path ahead curled clean between stone and clipped grass. The building at the end looked like it had no interest in greetings—Trojan HQ didn’t do welcome. It sat in the landscape like a steel verdict.

She walked toward it with her spine tight and her senses wide open. Boots on stone, wind in her coat. Phantom heat rising off the man behind her in waves that caught her breath every third step. Somehow his silence followed her closer. Pressing. Each footfall too measured and perfect.

The scent of him suddenly caught on the breeze—clean, dark, sharp as war ash. It wrapped around her lungs and refused to leave.

The building came closer and his image cut through the glass like a shadow built to walk through walls. Black on black. Calm on the outside. Eyes nearly black too—except for the red, glinting low and mean, like embers that refused to die even after the fire had.

He looked calm. Too calm. A still surface trying to convince the world it had no teeth underneath. But he was also her rear guard. A strange, comforting distraction she couldn't stop wanting to stare at.

She reached the main entrance and pulled the door open. Cool air washed over her as she stepped into the front corridor—polished floors, quiet lighting, and a silence built into the walls.

This part of the building didn’t make noise. It wore specs and listened with a quirked brow.

Ahead, a second door waited. Beyond it was the meeting room if she remembered correctly.

She paused at the threshold, hand on the glass handle.

Voices hummed on the other side—soft, focused. The kind of tone people used when making decisions about things they didn’t plan to reverse.

She felt him behind her. Close. Still.

She wanted to say something. Maybe something small. Just enough to anchor herself before walking into whatever this was.

She turned toward him. And forgot every word.

His gaze caught hers the second she faced him—dark, unreadable, fixed with that impossible stillness that felt less like restraint and more like something waiting to snap. His eyes, black near the edges, gleamed with those low red flecks—alive, watching, wanting something it would never voice.

She stood there, locked in the prison. Her lips parted, but nothing came out.

His jaw ticked once. “The door,” he murmured, his soft tone surprising her.

Her stomach pulled tight. She turned back without a word and his hand closed around her other wrist, pulling.

She faced him, breath lodged in her chest. His eyes lowered and locked on her mouth. Her pulse scattered. His fingers closed over her jaw, soft, hot, like his focus on her lips.

She closed her eyes, unable to see him so close, so beautiful. His finger moved slowly, firmly at the edge of her lips, drawing her light gasp.

“A smear.”

His touch left and her brain sputtered. A smear?

“Like a child that can’t color in the lines,” he added, the soft words meandering through her body.

She froze, realizing what he meant. She spun to the glass door, staring at her reflection, breaths too fast now. She looked back at him. “Is it okay now?”

He took his time answering, spending too many seconds staring at the job. “Perfect,” he finally said.

The praise hit her hormones like a shockwave, obliterating all her focus.

“Allow me,” he said, reaching for the door.

“Wait!” she shot out quietly, holding a hand on the glass, the other on her chest. “Let me… have a moment to… focus.”

She drew a slow, deep breath through her nose, closing her eyes when he stared at her with that fire in his eyes. Fury? Want? Obsession?

Only in your dreams, little girl.

She emptied her lungs, slowly, evenly. Drew another breath the same, then repeated, hearing his own huff of impatience.

Her anger snapped. “I’m sorry,” she whispered sharply. “I’m not blessed with your ice-cold self-control. I’m a little more human than you.”

Something flickered in his eyes and he gave the sexiest half smile she’d ever seen. God, it made her want to… kiss him! He was too much!

She yanked open the door, ready to jump into anything to escape the inferno before her.

She stepped into the room and caught her breath.

The space stretched long, the walls brushed with steel and slate looking panels.

A single black-glass table ran through the center like a blade, designed for making decisions.

Five people sat already. Still. Watching.

Kildare stood near a screen at the front, backlit by movement and color. A mug balanced in one hand while calm rested on his shoulders, sharp around the edges.

His eyes found hers and the space between them clicked into something else. His focus didn’t weigh her down, it lifted her slightly—like she was something that had already passed inspection.

“Miss Juniper,” he greeted, holding her gaze one second longer than necessary before turning back to the faces at the table.

She nodded at him and removed her coat, hanging it on the back of the chair near her and sat without looking at anyone. She glanced back to find Kohl standing near the door, already folded into the shadows. Arms crossed, posture easy. Like he was in a battle with silence. Whoever moved first, lost.

Jaxi faced forward, placing her hands neatly in her lap, lacing her fingers.

Kildare stepped away from the screen, the light cutting off behind him.

She unlaced her fingers.

“This is Trojan Horse,” he said. No flourish. Just the name. “We don’t drop bombs. We don’t change laws. We don’t fight power with power.”

He looked at each of them.

“We reverse engineer seduction.”

Jaxi’s brain perked up at that. Reverse engineer seduction. That was way not what she was expecting out of his mouth.

“We go after a system that taught a generation to trade their will for ease, their conviction for comfort, and their ability to think for speed.”

He paced once, slowly, like the words needed space to breathe.

“This isn’t about belief,” he continued. “It’s about architecture. About how humanity’s wiring got rewritten.”

He tapped something on the table console. The screen behind him shifted to three clean columns.

“Reflex is the new weapon. Ours, and theirs.” He turned back to them. “They use saturation. They use speed. Endless emotional reward, messages dressed in a thousand colors, all built to bypass the brain and flatter the appetite.”

Jaxi straightened, one hundred percent intrigued now.

“The endgame isn’t control.” His gaze landed on her, locking her breath. “It’s addiction. To stimulation, to self.” His eyes settled on the face next to her. “They don’t need anyone to agree. They just need them to stop asking why.”

Jaxi’s hand rose, more instinct than choice.

Kildare caught it with a nod.

“Who’s behind this?” she asked.

He rested his palms on the glass table. “Something systemic. A network. It doesn’t post—it plants seeds. It doesn’t trend—it spreads. It knows exactly what it’s feeding, and where it hits deepest.”

She didn’t look away from him, but his words tightened her chest. Like a moment you realize you’ve been standing in something you didn’t see.

She halfway raised her hand again.

“Miss Juniper,” he acknowledged, sliding his hands off the table.

She focused on measuring her voice, darting a glance toward Kohl. “May I ask what my purpose is here?”

Kildare stepped to the edge of the table. “You’re not looped,” he said. “You haven’t been patterned. And with your gifts, that makes you rare.”

He gestured to the screen.

“These are three emotional payloads designed to work the same way theirs do—but with one difference.” He glanced at her. “They carry a shift.”

She watched closely, feeling now like she should’ve brought something to jot notes.

“We’re not trying to teach. We’re trying to redirect the loop—using the same tools: speed, pleasure, familiarity. But with a thread that tilts the trajectory, just enough to crack the algorithm.”

“And you want me to... rate them?”

“Sort of,” he said. “We want to see where they land in someone untouched. If they make something move. Tilt. Catch.”

She nodded, resisting the need to look back at Kohl.

“If none of them do—then we go back in. Make them sharper. Until they slide in as quiet as everything else already does. And leave something behind.”

His stare got pointed on her.

“You’re here to help us build the kind of message that rewires without permission.”