When I arrive at Soma five minutes to ten-hundred hours, Huxley appears in my line of vision wearing a gray Oxford shirt and black jeans. A crooked smile lights up his once again flawless face as he saunters toward me.

“I’m disappointed you don’t have a black eye,” I tell him.

“Nalani and her magic.”

“Really? Even after how rude you were?”

He shrugs. “She can never stay mad at me for long.”

“No, I guess no one can.”

He takes my hand, tugging me into Soma’s line. The Cosmics around us chatter in low voices, undoubtedly wondering what their Boss is doing waiting in a coffeeshop queue like a plebeian. Huxley nudges me and points to the shop’s awesome logo. “I’m not sure what creature that’s supposed to be. A unicorn? A fish?”

“You’re joking right?”

“What?”

“It’s a narwhal.” I pull up a picture of the animal and show it to him.

“No way. You have these on Earth?”

“Yep.”

“I’ve never heard of this creature.”

“Sure.” I’m not convinced of his ignorance, but why would he lie to me?

After drinking what might in truth be the best coffee I’ve ever tasted—literal straight mocha and marshmallows—Huxley coaxes me into watching a comedy with him. The movie theater is relatively empty with only a couple other individuals present, but I hardly notice them whenever Huxley laughs. He’s relaxed, not his usual suave and chill pretense, but truly comfortable. I still hate him, but the passion behind the feeling has subdued.

The movie ends, and we throw jokes at each other on our route to an ice cream boutique. The lady behind the counter hands us our orders—mine in a cup, his in a sugar cone—and we choose an elaborately decorated booth near the back.

“Coffee flavor?” Huxley exclaims. “Seriously? You’re disgusting.”

“What?” I counter, “You think you’re so sophisticated with your Peanut Butter Cookies & Cream? Get out of my sight.”

“Hey, I don’t pretend to be anything. I’ve accepted the fact that I’m forever seven years old. You, on the other hand…”

He cuts himself off at my narrowed eyes as they dare him to finish that sentence. “You want to die?” I offer, “Because that can be arranged.”

Biting his lower lip, he leans forward, catching a stray lock of my hair between his index and middle fingers. “I love…”

My smile vanishes.

“... your hair.”

I can breathe again. I shrug, my visage unaffected. “Born with it.”

“I love this.” He touches a spot above my eyebrows.

“My forehead?”

“Your mind. Your method of thinking.”

“Well, that’s too bad. I’ve already decided to donate my brain to the University of Leonardo after I die.”

He cocks his head. “Really?”

“Mm-hm. It’s in my will and everything.”

“Aren’t you too young to be contemplating a will?”

“With my line of work, I’m not.”

“What if your body isn’t returned to Earth?” he asks, inscrutable.

“Then I presume Leonardo will be in tears over the loss of my spectacular organ.”

“Mmm.” He leans back in his chair, ice cream gone. “Someone certainly believes she’s special.”

“Social proximity effect. Your ego is rubbing off on me.”

He stares at me for a minute, pondering, impassive. “You done?”

My eyes drop to my empty cup. I don’t even remember eating the dessert. “Evidently.”

“Good.”

Déjà vu smacks me in the face when Huxley snatches my forearm and sprints out the back of the boutique. “Wait!” I demand. “What about our trash?”

He pretends he didn’t hear me.

“You’re not making me bungee jump again,” I aver as he drags me into the… alleyway? This is new. Titan, formerly a cruise ship, has a fake alley. For tourist entertainment purposes, I glean, considering the spotless floors, smooth faux brick walls, and immaculate graffiti.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

My back hits the wall, and Huxley’s all up in my space. I don’t dare move for fear of brushing up against him. His eyes flare dangerously, like the first light flash when the core of a star collapses during a supernova. What did I do?

“You have anything you want to tell me?” he asks.

I sigh inwardly. Him and his inexplicit questions. If he’s aware that Felix and I are in cahoots, we’d already be dead. It must be something else. “Nothing that comes to mind.”

“The ‘proximity effect.’ Does it apply to men who sleep in your bed?”

My jaw slackens. I’m immediately on defensive mode. “It’s not like that. He wants to protect me.”

“And you don’t think that’s what I want? Why do you suppose I hired the guards for you?”

“Well… they have access to my room… Timour doesn’t trust…”

He gives a concise, mirthless laugh. “That’s a new one.”

“A new what?”

“Excuse. You think an electronic lock is going to stop anyone from breaking into your premises?”

“Makes it harder.”

“I wouldn’t have needed to hire Valentino and Wolfe if you had only accepted my gracious offer to let you stay with me.”

I try to lean away from him, but the wall only digs into my shoulder blades. “Gracious offer,” I repeat dumbly, stupefied. I wish I could think of something to say, something to snap back with, but my heartbeats pound in my ear, erasing all thoughts as he inches closer, his legs pressing against my bare ones, his palms flat against the wall on either side of me. He’s staring at me so intensely I don’t know whether he wants to kiss me or kill me, and I’m not in the mood for either option.

Shuddering, I attempt to duck under his arm and sneak away. And he allows it.

Because once I’m free of his cage, he catches my forearm in a bruising grasp and shoves me against the same wall. Wincing, I open my mouth to condemn his behavior when I discern the resolution in the set of his jaw, his high cheekbones pronounced.

“Hey…” I start warily, “you gave me your word.”

“I lied.”

Then his mouth is on mine, and I’m at a loss as to what to do. It’s like a nuclear explosion goes off, and all his pent-up, unrestrained frustration flows into me. The feeling is supernatural, almost appalling. And I really want to despise it. The ounce of dignity left urges me to pull out my gun and shoot him.

But soon I forget I even have a weapon, I forget I’m supposed to fight. I convince myself this is what is required if I want to return home. He needs to trust me, to desire me. I need to get under his skin. And yet the second I think that, my body responds, and it scares the hell out of me. My fingers shake as they curl against his chest, and he takes the opportunity to lift me, whispering in my ear, “Wrap your legs around me.”

And like a good little robot, I do as he says. Flattening me to the wall, he kisses me again, hard and brutal. Maybe he is trying to kill me. On the other hand, if he stops touching me, I’ll die. There’s no way out of this zero-sum game.

I reassure myself that under different circumstances, I would be indignant about his forceful nature. That our attraction to each other is a blessing in disguise—to use to my advantage only, and never a power to hold over me. He doesn’t ask, he doesn’t wait for me to catch up, he doesn’t garner whether this is something I’m okay with. He simply takes what he wants.

And maybe deep down, I like that.

I eventually have to break away for air, but Huxley keeps moving, his lips leaving a fiery trail down my neck to my shoulder. That’s when I open my eyes.

Felix stands three meters away. Watching us.

His face is impassive, but his stance is taut, his eyes oddly focused. Usually they’re glassy due to his regular alcohol consumption, but today they’re sharp. Sober.

I freeze, and Huxley notices the change, pulling back and asking, “What’s wrong?”

Felix finally speaks, “Well, this is awkward.”

Huxley helps untangle my legs, lowering me to the ground. Cheeks flushed, he turns toward Felix, who’s by the entrance of the alley, and throws out his arms. “What do you want, Oringo? I’m a little busy.”

“I can see that,” Felix replies dryly. “I have critical information to impart.”

“Is now really the time?”

“You wanted me to notify you when the forensic test was finished.”

Huxley’s posture relaxes. “You found a match.”

Felix nods once.

“A text would have sufficed,” says Huxley.

Felix raises his eyebrows, challenging, “Would it have?”

Four seconds pass. “No. Thanks for the update.”

“My pleasure.” A slight smirk appears on Felix’s face, reminding me of his familiar self. Then his eyes shift my way, and the corners of his lips turn down, his eyes empty. “Apologies for the interruption.” He starts to leave.

“Wait, Felix,” I call.

He stiffens, looking over his shoulder at me. “Yes?”

The words stick in my throat, but I force them out, “Why didn’t you come visit me in the hospital?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it. “I had things to take care of.”

“I almost died.”

“You look fine.” As if that doesn’t hurt enough, he adds, “The planets don’t revolve around you, Ailee.”

“Hey, man, come on,” says Huxley, walking over to him and reaching out to grip his shoulder. Felix shrugs his hand off. “What’s going on?” Felix steps away and disappears. Shaking his head, Huxley walks back to me, rubbing my arms soothingly. “Don’t worry about him. He’s only irritated I made him stop drinking.”

“You banned him from alcohol?” I ask. Maybe it’s wishful thinking to believe that’s the root cause of his glacial state.

“Just until he got a DNA match from the crime lab. He’s clever when drunk—and a lot more fun—but he’s brilliant when sober.”

I halt. “DNA from the intribot?”

Huxley nods. “Yeah. I’ll need to go down to the lab soon. Check it out.”

“That seems too easy.”

He snorts. “Trust me, it wasn’t easy. This guy’s done his due diligence—erasing security footage, wireless encryption… we don’t even know which section of the ship the intribot came from. The typical markers on the bot were erased. But we did find DNA other than yours on one of the inner plates. Might not be the perpetrator, but it brings us a step closer.”

A few seconds of silence pass, and when I don’t say anything, Huxley pulls me to him, entrapping my face between his hands. Gentle, elegant hands that juxtapose everything else about him.

“Hey.” His eyes pierce mine. “I don’t want you worrying about this, alright? We have it under control. You are safe. I mean, I’d still prefer it if you accepted my offer to stay with me…”

Shaking my head, I give him a look.

He smirks. “Didn’t think so.” His palm glides down my arm until he reaches my hand and laces his fingers with mine. “I’ll take you back before I head to the lab.”

Of course he knows my schedule—around this time on Saturdays, I like to relax in my room before going to the gym. On the journey over, Huxley doesn’t broach the topic of Timour, and I’m not sure whether I’m relieved or disquieted. Out of the corner of my eye, I memorize his distinctive features and frown.

If he was less stunning… if he could just play his part as the evil mastermind and stop showing me moments when he cares…

It’s all an act. It has to be. He’s using me as much as I’m using him. He simply wants project NeuroQueue completed, and in case the threat on my life falls flat, he’s doubling down by trying to… what? Woo me?

Good luck with that, I want to say, but even the voice in my head trembles.