His eyes narrowed. “Coincidence.”

  “Mm-hmm. And if that cup mysteriously vanishes into your hand while you’re not paying attention,” I said, nudging it closer with my index finger, “I’ll pretend I didn’t see it.”

  Eren muttered something under his breath—probably a prayer for patience—but he picked up the cup anyway. Slowly. Like it might bite him. He took a sip, the tiniest one possible, and grimaced like I’d handed him battery acid.

  But then… he took another.

  And this time, the grimace didn’t stick. His shoulders eased. His jaw unclenched.

  Oh-ho. Victory.

  “Just one sip,” I teased, arms crossed, already beaming. “Isn’t that what you said?”

  He said nothing. Just lifted the cup again, his expression unreadable—though I swore I saw the tiniest twitch of his mouth. Not quite a smile. But close enough to light my whole soul like a sunlamp.

  “This is your idea of pleasant?” he finally muttered, voice low and flat and full of that dry sarcasm he used like armor.

  “Yep,” I replied brightly. “Spicy tea, brooding company, and a muffin on standby. Honestly? I’m living the dream.”

  Eren set the cup down with a resigned sigh, like he’d just agreed to tolerate joy for five minutes.

  “Don’t expect this to become a habit,” he said, but the edge in his voice had softened. A lot.

  “I won’t,” I said sweetly. “But I’m also not not going to bring you one again.”

  He gave me a look—full of warning, maybe even a sliver of disbelief—but didn’t argue.

  And for one perfect moment, in our tiny, shared office filled with reports and shadows and unspoken baggage… it felt like we might just be figuring out how to exist beside each other. Not just agent and cadet.

  But something like partners.

  And if that required winning him over one mug at a time?

  I had plenty of chai.

  By the time I’d cleared space on the shared worktable, I’d already shifted into a rhythm—notes fanned out, datapad at the ready, chai steaming within reach. Across from me, Eren mirrored my posture, though his half of the table looked more like a classified war map than a murder board. Figures.

  We weren’t talking much, but the silence wasn’t cold. It was concentrated. Charged.

  I tapped a finger on the napkin we’d found at Pulse, the faint shimmer still catching bits of light like an oil slick under glass. “We know this connects to the suppressant. The residue’s almost identical.”

  Eren leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he examined it. He didn’t speak right away—just stared like the napkin might whisper a confession if he glared hard enough.

  “It’s not just residue,” he murmured finally, almost like he was thinking aloud. “This shimmer… it’s tailored. Modified. Not street-level.”

  “That’s what I was thinking too,” I said, excitement curling in my chest like sunrise through a fog. “Someone went out of their way to mask it. Whatever they were doing, they didn’t want it traced.”

  He nodded, just once. It wasn’t approval exactly, but it was something. And in Eren Thorne language? It was basically a high-five.

  I reached for the vial I’d found, the glass cool and faintly humming against my fingers. “If we can get this analyzed, maybe we’ll know what kind of suppressant it was. Or who made it.”

  Eren took it from me carefully, holding it to the light with a precision that felt almost reverent. I watched him for a moment—how focused he was, how meticulous—and realized this was the part he loved: peeling back the layers until the truth bled out between the cracks.

  “There’s still the woman,” I added softly. “She doesn’t fit the rest of the picture.”

  His eyes flicked to mine—sharp, assessing. “You think she’s involved.”

  “I think she was the match in a room full of kindling.” I leaned in, propping my chin on my hand. “Finn wasn’t scared of his own power. He was scared of what someone wanted to do with it.”

  Eren grunted—classic agreement-without-actually-agreeing—and tapped something into his datapad.

  “What’re you doing?” I asked, trying not to sound too nosy.

  “Requesting a lab consult. Someone with clearance high enough to break this compound down.” His voice was calm but edged with purpose.

  I perked up. “Dr. Merrick. I studied under her last year—she’s brilliant and terrifying and keeps eucalyptus in her office to make students think she’s calm. She might recognize the shimmer compound.”

  He paused. Looked at me.

  Not like he was annoyed. Like I’d surprised him.

  “Add her name,” he said, flat as ever.

  I smiled as I jotted it down. Not because I needed the validation, but because it felt like something shifted—just slightly. Less opposition, more orbit. Two stars, maybe not colliding… but definitely warming the same sky.

  We went back to work. No small talk. No chaos. Just notes, and theories, and a low hum of something new taking shape.

  Five minutes later, I caught him.

  Eren Thorne, brooding embodiment of authority and low-key doom, was sneaking another sip of the chai he claimed not to like. He held the cup like it might explode—fingers braced around it like a weapon he wasn’t sure how to wield.

  My heart did a little flip. There was something so deeply, ridiculously endearing about it. Him. Steam curling around his scowl, cinnamon softening all that fire.

  When his gaze flicked up and locked with mine, I froze, caught mid-smile like a kid busted for watching cartoons past curfew. He didn’t say anything at first—just leveled me with this look that was probably meant to intimidate. It didn’t.

  “Don’t make it a habit,” he muttered, like I’d forced joy upon him without consent.

  “Too late,” I said sweetly, sliding into my chair like I owned the entire Bureau. “You’re officially part of my morning kindness initiative. It’s very cutting-edge.”

  He rolled his eyes in that Eren way, like the world was too much and I was the ringleader of it all. But there was the barest twitch at the corner of his mouth. A shift. Almost a smile.

  Victory. Tiny, caffeine-scented victory.

  “What’s next on this ‘initiative’?” he asked, leaning back just slightly. Casual, but not careless. More like… curious.

  I tapped dramatically on my datapad. “Let’s see… Operation Grump Overhaul. Phase One: muffins. Phase Two: consistent hydration. Phase Three: reminding you that smiles don’t cost extra.”

  He gave me a look, one part exasperation, one part disbelief. “You really think that’s going to work?”

  “Oh, it’s already working,” I said, gesturing to the mug in his hand like it was Exhibit A. “Look at you—drinking flavored tea like a whole person with emotions.”

  Another sip. This one more defiant. He didn’t break eye contact as he drank, like he was daring me to say something else.

  So I didn’t.

  I just smiled into my own cup, letting the warmth seep in.

  This—whatever this was—felt like the beginning of something strange and promising. A low-level truce forged in muffins and chai. A crack in the armor.

  And I couldn’t wait to see what might slip through.

  Chapter

  Fifteen

  The second we stepped into Dr. Merrick’s lab, I felt it—an invisible crackle in the air, like static right before a storm. The space hummed with quiet intensity, cluttered in the most deliberate way possible. Glass vials glimmered under the harsh fluorescents, and herbs hung from overhead racks like drying relics of another world. It smelled like ozone and dried sage, with an undertone of something metallic—Dominion and science in equal measure.

  Eren’s voice broke through the low hum of machines. “Dr. Merrick.”

  “Right here,” came her reply, sharp and efficient, like the click of a scalpel. She didn’t look up as her fingers danced over a cluttered workstation, rearranging papers and equipment like a conductor tuning her orchestra. Her silver hair was pulled into a tight bun, but a few strands had the audacity to escape. I liked that.

  I stepped forward and held out the napkin and vial like offerings. She took them without hesitation, her eyes narrowing as she tilted the napkin under the light. I watched the way her gaze sharpened. This wasn’t just curiosity, this was calculation.

  “This shimmer…” she murmured, almost to herself. “It’s not for show.”

  “What is it, then?” I asked, leaning in instinctively.

  “A masking agent,” she replied, cool and sure. “Someone wanted to hide what was really on this.” She flicked a glance between me and Eren. “They knew exactly what they were doing.”

  My stomach sank a little. Eren didn’t react visibly, but I could feel the subtle shift in his stance beside me—something tightened, just beneath the surface.

  Dr. Merrick moved on to the vial, holding it up to the light like it might confess its secrets on its own. “And this…” She twisted the glass slowly. “Sophisticated suppressant. Dominion-based. Not homemade.”

  “Is it common?” I asked, though the answer felt obvious already.

  She shook her head, her expression grim. “Not unless you’re a high-level operative. Someone with access, someone with clearance.”

  “Then we’re not just talking about shady experimentation,” I said, feeling a quiet dread coil in my chest. “We’re talking about someone on the inside.”

  Dr. Merrick set both items down gently, her movements suddenly reverent. “These compounds can destabilize a Dominion’s core function—throw off their balance, suppress their control. It’s dangerous. Not just to the user, but to anyone around them.”

  I felt the words settle deep in my bones. This wasn’t about Finn just making a bad decision. Someone had known what they were doing. Someone had made it look like nothing at all.

  And that someone might still be close.

  Dr. Merrick’s voice cut through the lab like a scalpel—precise, clinical, and heavy with implication. The moment she said the suppressant pointed to someone within Dominion ranks, the air shifted. Tension curled in the corners of the room like fog.

  Beside me, Eren didn’t move—not at first. He stood completely still, like a statue forged from resolve. But I felt it: the barely perceptible shift in his weight, the way his jaw tightened just a fraction too long. To anyone else, he looked the same—stoic, detached. But I had spent enough time around him by now to recognize the difference between calm and containment.

  He took a step forward, voice low and firm. “Do you have any leads on where this compound may have originated?”

  Dr. Merrick didn’t miss a beat. “There are only a handful of labs authorized to produce suppressants this complex,” she said, tapping her tablet and spinning it toward him. “Most are government-sanctioned. One or two have been flagged for unapproved modifications in the past five years.”

  Eren scanned the data with sharp focus. “Names. Locations. I want them all cross-checked with Finn’s personal contacts. If there’s overlap, I want to know about it.”

  He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t pace. But the air seemed to buzz, charged with purpose.

  "Okay," I said.

  I stood quietly at his side, fingers laced in front of me, letting the stillness settle into my bones. I didn’t push. I didn’t ask. This wasn’t my moment to speak—it was his case, his lead. And even though I had questions swirling behind my teeth, I held them there. There was more to this than just the compound or the shimmer on a napkin. Eren’s silence carried weight. His focus was razor-sharp, but beneath it, something deeper stirred. I could feel it.

  Dr. Merrick continued, “If someone’s diverting or modifying this level of suppressant, it’s not happening alone. You’ll need to look at black-market intermediaries—especially ones with Dominion clearance.”

  Eren gave a tight nod. “Send everything you have. We’ll handle it from here.”

  Dr. Merrick looked between the two of us, then passed the evidence back in sealed cases. “Be careful. Whoever’s behind this… they know how to stay invisible.”

  I leaned against the edge of Dr. Merrick’s desk, careful not to knock over any of the vials or delicate tools scattered across its surface. The weight of everything we’d learned pressed against my chest, heavy and real, but I kept my breath even. There wasn’t room for panic—only clarity.

  Eren stood at the center of it all, spine straight, arms folded tightly across his chest. His focus was sharp, like a blade honed over years of use. I could feel it radiating off him: not anger, exactly, but a precision that left no room for distraction.

  “Let’s consider the players involved,” I offered, voice calm, steady. “We know access to these kinds of suppressants is tightly controlled. Whoever’s behind this isn’t working alone.”

  Eren gave a single nod, his gaze cutting toward Dr. Merrick. “Who has enough clearance to get this kind of compound without setting off alarms?”

  Merrick didn’t hesitate. “There’s a faction—quiet, but not invisible. They’ve been lobbying behind the scenes for increased control protocols, especially on cadets with high-variance Dominions. They see suppression as a safeguard.”

  My stomach turned. High-variance. That was code for unstable. Dangerous. People like me.

  Merrick tapped her tablet, fingers gliding fast. “Landry’s name shows up repeatedly. He’s got a reputation for pushing the limits—lots of ‘gray zone’ decisions. Always just within line of protocol.”

  Eren’s expression didn’t shift, but the tension in his jaw told me he knew the name. Knew it well.

  “Gable’s another,” Merrick continued, her tone clipped. “He requested access to a secondary lab last quarter—said it was for field testing, but there were anomalies in the supply chain right after.”

  “Gable,” Eren muttered, like he was turning the name over in his mouth, checking for rot. “He has the rank. The reach.”

  “It wouldn’t be just him,” Merrick added. “If someone’s testing off-grid compounds, they’ve got a network. Lab techs, data scrubs, even a handler to move the vials.”

  I watched Eren take it all in, his mind already five steps ahead while mine worked to catch up. There was something powerful about watching him like this—fully in his element. Not brooding or evasive, just… working. Focused. Driven.

  “I’ll run the compound signature against our database,” Merrick said. “See if it matches any of the off-the-record formulas we’ve confiscated over the last few years.”

  “Good,” Eren replied. Just that one word, but it landed like a command. Like a promise.

  I stood there quietly, letting the pieces settle into place around us.

  Eren glanced at me. “Let’s go.”

  We stepped out of Dr. Merrick’s lab and into the steady buzz of DPA headquarters, where the world kept turning no matter what revelations we carried. The antiseptic chill faded behind us, replaced by that familiar cocktail of caffeine, mission reports, and too much ambition packed into too little hallway.

  I walked a few steps ahead, needing the space to think. My brain was still chewing on every word from Merrick—suppression, access, high-level clearance. It all felt too precise to be coincidence.

  “Suppression,” Eren said behind me, like he was testing the word on his tongue. It came out sharp, clipped. “It has to be connected to whatever Finn got caught in.”

  I glanced back at him. His jaw was tight, his brows pulled together in that particular way that meant he was already fifteen mental steps ahead.

  “You think it’s all about the suppressant?” I asked, trying to keep my tone even—curious, not challenging.

  “It fits the pattern,” he replied. “Illegal compound, restricted access, someone who knew what they were doing. We figure out who’s pulling the strings, we cut the cord.”

  I slowed my pace a little, falling into step beside him. “Maybe,” I said. “But what if it’s not just about chemicals and clearance codes? People do stupid things for personal reasons too.”

  He gave me a sideways look—half skeptical, half amused. “You’re going to tell me this is a relationship drama?”

  “Not drama,” I said with a shrug. “But maybe someone got too close. Trusted the wrong person. Made a bad call trying to protect someone they shouldn’t have.”

  Eren’s mouth twitched, and I couldn’t tell if it was irritation or actual curiosity. “You always see feelings in these things.”

  I smiled, unbothered. “Feelings make people dangerous. More dangerous than most weapons.”

  He didn’t respond right away. Just walked, thinking. “Desperation,” he murmured, more to himself than to me. “It always starts there.”

  I bumped him lightly with my shoulder. “Look at you, getting all poetic.”

  “Don’t push it,” he said dryly, but the edge of his mouth quirked just enough to count as a reluctant smile.

  I laughed, the sound echoing lightly in the hall. The tension between us had a rhythm now—tight, controlled, but with space to breathe. Maybe not trust. Not yet. But something close.

  And right now, close was enough.

  Eren shifted his weight beside me, that calculated stillness of his giving way to a measured intensity. His gaze didn’t waver as he stared down the hallway, already chasing leads in his head. “We’ll wait for Merrick’s analysis,” he said, voice like flint, “but I want to look into Landry and Gable first.”

  I nodded, heart picking up pace as names turned into possibilities. “Do you think they could have black market ties?” I asked, testing the idea out loud. “It makes sense, right? Suppressants like this don’t just fall out of the sky.”

  He turned toward me then, brows pinched, and I could almost see the gears turning behind his fire-shadow eyes. “It’s possible,” he said slowly. “The black market thrives on Dominion demand. Suppressants. Modifiers. Anything people think might give them control.”

  I tucked my hands into my jacket pockets, trying not to feel how cold the idea made me. “Are we talking about one supplier? Or something bigger?”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18