Page 16

CHAPTER 16

JACK

I pace my apartment, the warning message from my superiors burning in my mind like a brand. The stark text on my communicator haunts me: "Final warning. Complete mission parameters or face extraction."

My fist clenches. They don't understand. How could they? We're supposed to be studying humans, learning their ways, but all they see are test subjects. Numbers. Data points.

But Vanessa... she's so much more than that.

I slam my hand against the wall, the pain barely registering. Images flash through my mind - things I've heard whispered in dark corners of Project Veritas. Humans disappearing without a trace. Memory wipes that leave shells of people behind. The underground markets where some end up, traded like commodities.

"Fuck!" The word explodes from my mouth, so human, so raw.

My communicator buzzes again. Another message: "Subject 2749 shows concerning levels of attachment. Recommend immediate intervention."

Subject 2749. That's what they call her. Like she's just another specimen in their grand experiment. Like she doesn't light up when she talks about art. Like she doesn't have that little crinkle in her nose when she laughs. Like she isn't the most real thing I've ever known.

I transform into my true form, getting a look at myself in the window - dark red skin, black eyes, horns. This is what I am. What she can never see. Because if she did... if they found out she knew...

The stories echo in my head. The "cleanup protocols." The "memory adjustments." The "subject relocations." Pretty words for ugly things. I've seen the aftermath - blank stares, broken lives, people who just... vanish.

Not Vanessa. I won't let them touch her. Won't let them turn her into another statistic, another "contained variable."

But how long can I protect her? How long before they decide I'm compromised? Before they send someone else to "handle" the situation?

I grab my phone, thumb hovering over Vanessa's number. One text. That's all it would take to start pulling away. To protect her.

My fingers shake. The words blur on the screen.

Sorry, can't make it tonight. Work emergency.

Delete.

Need to focus on my research for a while.

Delete.

Think we should take a break.

Delete.

I hurl the phone across the room. It bounces off the couch with a soft thud. The thought of not seeing her smile, not hearing her laugh, not watching her eyes light up when she talks about her art - it tears something open inside me.

Distance. That's what logic dictates. That's what keeps her safe. That's what the mission requires.

But my body refuses to cooperate. My heart pounds in my chest like it's trying to break free. My skin burns with the memory of her touch. Even now, I can smell her perfume - that mix of coffee and vanilla that clings to her clothes.

I pace the length of my apartment, five steps one way, five steps back. Each time I pass the phone, it calls to me. Each time I ignore it, the pain gets worse.

The smart play is clear. Pull back. Create space. Let her think I'm just another failed romance. Let her hate me a little. It would hurt her, yes, but a clean break now is better than what could happen if my superiors decide to intervene.

But everything in me screams against it. Every cell rebels at the thought of causing her pain. Of being the reason that guardedness returns to her eyes. Of watching her walls go back up.

I stand across the street from The Love Roast, hidden in the shadow of a bookstore awning. The morning rush hits full swing, and through the window I watch Vanessa move behind the counter. Her ponytail swings as she works the espresso machine, but her movements lack their usual grace. Her shoulders slump. Dark circles ring her eyes.

Three days since I stopped answering her texts. Three days of watching that spark fade from her face.

A customer says something and Vanessa forces a smile - the kind that doesn't reach her eyes. My chest aches. I did that. I put that emptiness there.

She checks her phone during a lull, and I know she's looking for messages from me. My own phone weighs heavy in my pocket, filled with her unanswered texts. Each one cuts deeper than the last.

Hey, haven't heard from you...

Is everything okay?

Jack?

Did I do something wrong?

The last one came this morning: I guess I got my answer.

My fingers itch to respond, to tell her everything. To rush across that street, take her in my arms, explain why I've gone silent. But I can't. Because the moment I do, she becomes a liability. A threat to the project. And I know exactly what happens to threats.

I cross the street, each step heavier than the last. The door pushes back as I enter - a sound that used to make my heart leap. Now it's just another nail in the coffin.

Vanessa's head snaps up, hope flashing across her face before uncertainty takes over. "Jack?"

"Hey." I keep my voice flat, emotionless. Clinical. Like she's just another subject in my research.

"Where have you been? I was worried-"

"Been busy." I cut her off, hating how her face falls. "Look, we need to talk."

She grips the counter, knuckles white. "Okay..."

"This isn't working for me." The words taste like ash. "I don't see it going anywhere."

"What?" Her voice cracks. "But I thought... we were..."

"You thought wrong." Each word is a knife, but I force them out anyway. "It was fun, but that's all it was."

The light dies in her eyes. That beautiful spark I love - loved - flickers and fades. She takes a step back, arms crossing over her chest like armor.

"Right. Of course." Her voice turns brittle. "Anything else?"

"No." I turn away before I can see the tears I hear in her voice. "That's all."

The bell chimes again as I leave, and it takes everything I have not to look back.