Page 75 of Monsters in Love: Lost in the Stars

Kanzex

Something was off.

It had started as a subtle feeling—a slight unease, like a shadow in the corner of my vision, flickering and fading when I turned my head. But it was growing now. Thick, suffocating. I could feel it creeping in, settling on my shoulders, in the pit of my stomach. The crew had been whispering more than usual, casting sideways glances when they thought I wasn’t looking. Their voices were hushed, but I heard them. I heard every word.

I had known, deep down, that Karrus was off—the new crew member who had joined after a few were mysteriously lost on a supply run. I couldn’t explain it, but there was an unnatural stillness to him, a coldness that made my skin crawl. He moved too deliberately, too smoothly, like he knew things he shouldn’t, like he was always just one step ahead of the rest of us.

Today was no different.

I’d been working late in the lab, my eyes tired from analyzing data, when I heard the clicking footsteps. Slow. Measured. It was only when they paused at the entrance to the lab that I glanced up.

Karrus stood there, framed in the doorway. He was a Gusqix—a large race with sharp features, no nose, and writhing tentacles that sprouted from his upper cranium. The dim overhead lights cast strange shadows across his face, his eyes cold and unreadable. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched me with that unsettling gaze.

“Researcher,” he greeted, his voice smooth, but there was a sharpness in the way he said it. “I see you’re working late tonight.”

I didn’t respond immediately. Instead, I studied him, letting my gaze drift over his posture, the way his hands were held loosely at his sides like he was waiting for something. Or maybe testing me. I didn’t trust him. Not at all.

“It’s Dr. Scil, and I’m busy,” I said, forcing my voice to sound steady. My hands, however, clenched beneath the table, betraying me.

Karrus stepped further into the room, uninvited, his presence filling the space like a dark cloud.

“I’m sure you are,” he said, his voice dropping, low and smooth like silk. He took a step closer, and I felt the air around us grow thick with tension. “But I was hoping we could talk.”

The short spikes on my back lifted away from my scales, pushing my lab coat away from my skin. With a few deep, calming breaths, I forced myself to meet his gaze, even though my gut screamed to look away before I did something I would regret. “About what?”

He took another step, his eyes never leaving mine. “About the subject of your research,” he said, his words measured, deliberate. “The prisoner.”

I felt a sudden jolt in my chest, the blood rushing from my face. The way he spoke—so casually, so calmly—made my skin prickle with unease. Most of the crew on this ship, besides the researcher, spoke of her in wariness and abject fear. So why wasn’t he? I stood up, an instinctual protectiveness leaking to the surface. The rational part of my mind urged me to keep my distance, I didn’t need to write up an incident report on top of my regular reports.

“What do you want with her?”

Karrus’ lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “Nothing, yet.” He leaned slightly closer, his eyes gleaming with something I couldn’t place. “But I have a feeling we both want the same thing.”

I bristled, my muscles tightening, my scales shifting colors. I wanted to lash out, to demand he leave, but I knew I had to play it carefully. There was a subtle danger about him in a way I didn’t fully understand, but I could feel it creeping under my skin like a slow poison.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, trying to steady my breath, but the words came out harsh, too sharp.

He raised an eyebrow, his smile widening ever so slightly, his tentacles writhing faster.

“I think I do,” he said, his voice dripping with a quiet mockery. “We’re both here for the same reason, aren’t we? To understand her. To understand what she is.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. Who was he?

His eyes narrowed, studying me as if I were some kind of specimen, some puzzle that he was piecing together with every word. Every movement. It was as if he saw right through me—knew everything I was thinking.

“You’re becoming more obsessed with her than you realize, aren’t you?” he said, his tone casual, but there was an edge to it. “I can see it in your eyes, Researcher. The way you look at her. The way you protect her. You’re attached, aren’t you?”

The words hit me like a slap, and I felt my fists clench at my sides, my blood boiling with the rush of anger. He was wrong. I wasn’t obsessed with her. It was deeper and more significant than his accusation.

They were all wrong.

But the more I tried to push the offense down, the harder it pressed against my chest. She was all I ever thought about, all I dreamed about when I took my rest breaks.

“You have no idea what yo—” I started, but Karrus cut me off.

“You don’t need to lie to me,” he said, his voice smooth and dangerous. “I know what’s happening here. We’re not so different, you and I. The way you go to her cell every night, the way you watch her when she doesn’t notice. You’re not just fascinated by her. You’re possessed by her.”

I stood frozen, unable to move or speak. The room felt colder, the air thicker. He was right. How did he know all this when I made sure not to have anyone follow me?

But there was something else there, something I wasn’t ready to admit. And it twisted my stomach into knots.

I was afraid. Afraid of what I was becoming.

But he didn’t need to know that. And he shouldn’t have been armed with such information.

“What’s your point?” I snapped, my gums aching to get rid of him.

Karrus smiled, but it wasn’t kind. It wasn’t friendly. It was a grin full of teeth, predatory, almost... knowing, as if he was thinking along the same lines.

“My point, Researcher,” he said slowly, “is that she doesn’t belong to you, she never has. And you’d be wise to remember that.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there with my tail swishing, the weight of his words pressing down on me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly, irrevocably wrong.

He was watching me. And I was watching her.

And neither of us were ready for what would come next.