Page 14

CHAPTER 14

JACK

I sit at my desk, staring at the glowing screen before me. My research notes are a mess - scattered between actual anthropological observations and increasingly personal reflections about Vanessa. Instead of analyzing human mating patterns, I find myself typing "how to know when you love someone" into the search bar.

The results flood my screen. Racing heart. Constant thoughts. Physical reactions to their presence. Desire to make them happy. I close my eyes, remembering how my skin tingles when she touches me, how my chest tightens when she laughs.

"This is compromising the mission," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. But the words feel hollow now. The mission seems less important with each passing day, each moment spent with her.

I pull up my research logs, trying to focus. The cursor blinks accusingly at me. I should be documenting our interactions clinically, noting patterns and behaviors. Instead, I'm remembering the way she curled into me afterward, her breath evening out against my chest.

My communicator chirps - another warning from my superiors. I ignore it. They don't understand. They can't understand how she's different, how she makes me question everything I thought I knew about humans. About myself.

I open a new document and start typing:

"Subject shows remarkable capacity for emotional depth while maintaining strong boundaries. Intelligence manifests in subtle ways. Approach to life demonstrates..."

I delete it all. I can't pretend anymore. Can't reduce her to data points and observations. She's Vanessa. She's the way she rolls her eyes at bad jokes but laughs anyway. She's the slight tremor in her hands when she's nervous but trying not to show it. She's the fierce pride when she talks about making it on her own.

For the first time in my career, I don't know how to document what I'm experiencing. How do you quantify the way your world shifts when someone walks into a room?

I pace my apartment, the weight of my secret pressing down on me. My true form itches beneath this human disguise. Each time I'm with Vanessa, the urge to show her who I really am grows stronger.

"Hey, by the way, I'm actually a Vakutan warrior studying human behavior," I practice saying to my reflection. The words sound ridiculous even to me. But keeping this from her feels worse with each passing day.

I sink into my couch, running through our last encounter. The way she trusted me, opened up to me. The vulnerability in her eyes when she talked about her fears. And here I am, hiding the most fundamental truth about myself.

My communicator beeps again. Another message from command, probably. I ignore it. They'd tell me to terminate the relationship, stick to the mission parameters. But they don't understand what I've found here. What she means to me.

I pull out my research tablet, scrolling through articles about human relationships. Trust. Honesty. Communication. Everything I read tells me relationships built on lies eventually crumble. But would knowing the truth hurt her more?

The memory of her laugh echoes in my mind, the way she teases me about being "like an alien sometimes." If she only knew how right she was. Would she run? Would she think everything between us was fake?

"It wasn't fake," I whisper to my empty apartment. "None of it was fake."

My fingers trace the edge of my tablet, where I've stored countless observations about human behavior. But Vanessa isn't just another data point anymore. She deserves to know who she's really with, what she's really feeling when she touches me.

The thought of losing her makes my chest tight. But the thought of continuing to deceive her feels even worse.

I finally open the messages on my communicator, each one more severe than the last.

"Agent status: compromised."

"Mission parameters: exceeded."

"Emotional entanglement: detected."

"Final warning: Extract imminent."

The last one makes my blood run cold. The clinical language can't mask the threat beneath. I've seen extractions before - agents yanked mid-mission, their human lives erased without a trace. No goodbyes. No explanations. Just... gone.

But those agents are normally guilty of things far worse than a date or two. Like exposing multiple humans to their true form, engaging in violence, or trying to interfere in human politics.

Surely, falling in love doesn't count among those wrongs?

My fingers trace the edge of my desk as I read the final message again:

"Your behavior patterns indicate dangerous deviation from mission objectives. Personal involvement with subject V.W. has exceeded acceptable parameters. You have 48 hours to resume standard observation protocols or immediate extraction will commence. This is not a request."

I slam my fist on the desk, hard enough to crack the wood. In my frustration, my form slips - red skin bleeding through my human disguise before I catch myself. Years of training, of discipline, of putting the mission first... all undone by a woman who makes terrible puns and draws hearts in coffee foam.

But they're right. I'm compromised. Every time I see her, I forget why I'm here. Instead of studying human behavior, I'm lost in the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she's nervous. Instead of maintaining professional distance, I'm planning ways to make her smile.

The choice looms before me: my duty or my heart. Everything I've worked for, everything I am, against everything I've discovered I could be. With her.

My communicator buzzes again. Another message:

"Countdown initiated. 47:52:13 remaining."

The numbers tick down, each second pulling me closer to a decision I'm not ready to make. My training says duty. My heart...

My heart says Vanessa.