Page 117 of The Sterling Acquisition

“The snake-filled chambers are a reasonable occupational hazard. It’s the booby traps that are historically inaccurate.” Dante paused, considering.

Orion looked over at him, eyebrows raised. “Please tell me you’re not speaking from personal experience about the archaeological expeditions.”

“Gensyn’s Employee Enrichment Program included ‘Cultural Awareness Through Historical Site Exploration’.”

“Corporate archaeological expeditions?”

“Corporate-sponsored cultural immersion experiences,” Dante corrected. “The fact that artifacts found their way into private collections was coincidental.”

“Corporate tomb raiding.”

“Corporate cultural preservation with mutually beneficial outcomes for all stakeholders.”

Orion started laughing, the sound bright and unguarded in a way that made Dante feel warm and fuzzy. “That might be the most ridiculous euphemism I’ve ever heard, and I spent a year listening to Leo explain his ‘behavioral modification protocols.’”

“Corporate speak is an art form. The trick is making everything sound like it benefits humanity while obscuring the fact that someone’s getting fucked over.”

“Speaking of getting fucked over,” Orion said, then tensed as if he’d revealed more than he’d intended. He shifted away on the couch, putting space between them even as his voice remained conversational. “What’s the actual plan here? Because I’m enjoying this...” He gestured vaguely at the domestic scene around them, his jaw tightening. “But we both know this isn’t a vacation.”

Dante noticed the way Orion’s shoulders had tensed, the shift in his posture creating a careful distance between them. The warmth that had been building in the room chilled several degrees. Orion’s scent changed too, taking on that familiar sharp edge that indicated his defenses were back at full strength.

It should have been frustrating. Instead, Dante found it oddly reassuring. If Orion had suddenly become compliant overnight, it would have meant either that the man he’d been drawn to no longer existed, or that something was fundamentally wrong.

“Tomorrow,” Dante said, “we stage our deaths. Burn the van, make it look like we were either killed or kidnapped, then walk back to the rendezvous point after cutting out my remaining implants where Lilac will meet us.”

“And the catch?”

“The catch is that we need to make it convincing enough that both SVI and Gensyn stop looking for us, while ensuring we don’t accidentally kill ourselves in the process.”

Orion absorbed this information while watching the movie’s protagonist survive what should have been a fatal encounter with a very large boulder. “So we’re faking our deaths in the middle of nowhere and hoping both corporations buy it.”

“That’s the optimistic interpretation. The pessimistic interpretation is that we’re about to commit arson and amateur surgery in a location that’s far enough from medical help that if something goes wrong, we’ll end up actually dead instead of just pretending.”

“And the realistic interpretation?”

“The realistic interpretation is that we’re about to find out if desperate people make better decisions or just more creative mistakes.”

Orion considered this as the credits rolled, his expression skeptical as he processed their conversation. “You know what’s funny?”

“What?”

“Three weeks ago, the idea of faking my own death would have terrified me. Now it’s just Tuesday, and I’m sitting here planning arson with someone who I—” He stopped, his jaw working as if he’d been about to say something he wasn’t ready for. “This is insane. All of it.”

Dante studied Orion’s profile, noting the tension in his shoulders and the way his hands had curled into loose fists. “That’s either a sign that you’re adapting well to crises, or that we’ve both lost our capacity for rational threat assessment.”

“Definitely the second one.” Orion reached for the remote with more force than necessary, his movements sharp with restless energy. “Want to watch another one, or are you going to suggest something else?”

The question came out as a challenge, loaded with the kind of confrontational edge that suggested Orion was looking for a fight—any fight—rather than deal with whatever emotions were threatening his carefully maintained control.

“Actually,” Dante said, his voice dropping to the register that made Orion’s pupils dilate, “I was thinking we might find a more interactive way to spend the evening.”

“Interactive,” Orion repeated. “That’s certainly one way to put it.”

“I have a gift for euphemism.”

Now there was something else underneath the tension—a recognition that whatever happened between them was no longer about survival or corporate obligations.

It was just about them.