Rebecca Monroe didn’t waste time on pleasantries, which suited Ethan just fine. Her services weren’t cheap, and every minute mattered. Sharp-eyed and impeccably dressed in a tailored navy suit, she tapped her tablet with manicured precision, pulling up the contract on the screen.

“Let’s dive in,” she said, her voice crisp and professional. “There are a few clauses here that require closer scrutiny.”

Ethan leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he followed her movements.

“You’re required to use and test Cho’s proprietary system—the ‘Cognitive Edge Interface,’” Rebecca continued. “Nothing unusual there, but what caught my attention is the level of integration expected.”

She clicked a link on her tablet, revealing a diagram of a sleek patch. “This is hardware that interacts directly with your neural activity. It’s not just a passive tool; it’s designed to augment decision-making in real time.”

Ethan’s jaw tightened. “Yeah, Victor already gave me the sales pitch. What I need to know is where this thing could bite me later.”

Rebecca’s lips curved slightly, acknowledging his focus. “Fair enough. First, the liability waiver.” She scrolled to a dense section of legal text. “By signing this, you’re releasing Cho’s company from any claims related to side effects, physical or psychological. That’s common for experimental tech, but it doesn’t mean you should ignore the risks.”

“Side effects like what?” Ethan pressed.

“That’s the question,” Rebecca replied. “The contract doesn’t specify. If something goes wrong, you’ll be on your own medically and legally.”

Ethan exhaled sharply. “Great. What about during the tournament? If the device fails mid-hand?”

Rebecca’s brow furrowed slightly as she scrolled further. “The contract doesn’t explicitly address device malfunctions during gameplay. That’s a gap we should close. You’ll want a clause ensuring you’re not penalized for technical failures outside your control.”

Ethan nodded. “And disconnections? Say I need to take it off for a few minutes—what happens then?”

Rebecca tapped her tablet thoughtfully. “Another gray area. It’s not clear whether temporary disconnections are allowed. We could propose a stipulation for a minimum allowable downtime—something reasonable, like five minutes per hour for emergencies.”

“Makes sense,” Ethan said. “Anything else?”

Rebecca’s lips pressed into a thoughtful line. “Yes. You’ll want pre-tournament testing of the device. That’s standard for experimental tech and will help identify potential issues before you’re under pressure. It’s in both parties’ interests to ensure smooth operation.”

She swiped to another section of the contract. “Lastly, I’d push for a contingency plan. If the device fails during a critical moment, the prize pool payout should remain unaffected as long as there’s no misconduct on your part. That protects you from being penalized for something beyond your control.”

Ethan studied her, weighing her words. “You think Cho will go for it?”

Rebecca’s sharp gaze met his. “He might, if you frame these changes as safeguards that protect both you and his reputation. It’s about mitigating risk for everyone involved. Besides, he’s smart enough to know the fallout if his tech fails without a backup plan.”

Ethan leaned back, his mind churning. The contract was already a gamble, but he couldn’t afford to go in blind. “All right. Let’s make the amendments and see how he reacts.”

Rebecca’s fingers moved swiftly over the tablet. “I’ll draft the revisions and send them over for approval. In the meantime, consider this: the more control you retain, the less likely you are to become collateral damage in Cho’s grand experiment.”

Ethan’s lips curved into a faint, wry smile. “Collateral damage, huh? That’s reassuring.”

Rebecca returned his smile, her tone dry. “Reassurance isn’t what you’re paying me for, Mr. Reed. Survival is.”

***

Victor didn’t bother looking up as Ethan entered, his attention fixed on the tablet in his hand. “I’ve reviewed the modifications Rebecca suggested. Consider them approved.”

Ethan nodded, though he felt no relief. “So what’s next?”

“Onboarding,” Victor said simply, gesturing toward the door as it opened.

Vera stepped inside, her silhouette framed by the light from the hallway. Gone was the softness Ethan had glimpsed days ago.The Vera who stepped through the door was a stranger: sleek, composed, and armored in her precision. Her eyes flicked to him, unreadable, before she turned her attention to Victor.

“Vera will oversee your integration with the Cognitive Edge Interface,” Victor continued. “You’re in good hands.”

Ethan’s stomach tightened, though he kept his expression neutral. “Looking forward to it,” he said, forcing a smirk.

Vera’s lips curved into a faint smile—more an acknowledgment than any real warmth. “Shall we?” she said, gesturing for him to follow.

Ethan trailed behind Vera down the dimly lit hallway, the sharp staccato of her steps striking the polished floor with a rhythm that felt almost militaristic. She moved with a rigid grace, her posture straight and unyielding, as if answering an unseen command.

It was almost impossible to reconcile this Vera with the one he’d seen two nights ago. That Vera had been raw, electric—a mess of gasps and trembling limbs, her skin flushed, her control shattered. For a fleeting moment, she’d been entirely human, utterly exposed. Now, there wasn’t a single crack in the facade. She was impenetrable.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

The contrast felt like a trick of light, her former vulnerability now buried so deep it might never have existed. He hated how the memory clung to him, sharp and unshakable. Was this icy professionalism the real Vera, or was it just another mask? He wasn’t sure which possibility unsettled him more.

Ahead of him, Vera didn’t glance back, didn’t acknowledge his presence beyond the brisk pace that demanded he keep up. She keyed a code into the panel at the door, the faint beep breaking the stillness. For a moment, as the doors slid open, she turned her head just slightly, her profile catching the sterile overhead light. Their eyes met, and in that fleeting second, he thought he saw something—a flicker of recognition, maybe even hesitation.

But then it was gone, and she stepped inside without a word, leaving him to follow.

***

The training lab was a blend of clinical sterility and cutting-edge tech, the hum of machinery filling the air. “Welcome to the future,” Vera said, gesturing toward the table where the device awaited.

Ethan’s gaze flicked to the Cognitive Edge Interface, its flexible patch connected to the black processing unit. He forced a smirk. “Is this the part where I sign my soul away?”

Vera chuckled, the sound low and dry. “You already did that.” She picked up the device, her movements practiced, and turned to face him. “Ready?”

He hesitated, the memory of their last encounter threading uncomfortably through his mind. “You’re the one doing this?”

“Victor trusts me,” she said simply, stepping closer. “And now, so do you. Sit.”

Ethan lowered himself into the chair, the vulnerability of the position sinking in as Vera leaned over him. She moved with clinical precision, attaching the patch to his temple with cool, steady hands. The touch was professional, but he couldn’t ignore the tension crackling between them.

“Comfortable?” she asked, her voice light but edged with something he couldn’t quite place.

“Not remotely,” Ethan replied, forcing a grin.

She smirked, connecting the wires to the processing unit. “Good. You’ll get used to it.”

The device powered on with a faint hum, and at first, Ethan felt nothing. Then, gradually, a warmth spread from the patch, seeping into his temple and down his neck. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was foreign—enough to make his hands grip the armrests.

“Relax,” Vera said, watching his reaction closely. “It’s syncing with your neural activity. Perfectly normal.”

“Define normal,” he muttered, his voice tighter than he intended.

Her gaze lingered on him, something softer flickering behind her polished exterior. “You’ll feel a slight adjustment period. It’s... like breaking in a new pair of shoes. Awkward at first, but eventually, you forget they’re even there.”

Ethan exhaled, his jaw tightening as the warmth deepened into a faint tingling. “And if I don’t?”

“You will,” Vera said, her voice dropping slightly. She placed a hand lightly on his shoulder—a gesture meant to steady him, though it only heightened his awareness of her proximity. “Trust me.”

Her words were simple, but the weight of them pressed against the space between them. Ethan glanced up, their eyes locking. For a moment, the tension from their previous encounter resurfaced, charged and unresolved.

“Trust you,” he echoed, his tone edged with both skepticism and something darker. “That’s a lot to ask.”

Her lips curved, not quite a smile. “You don’t have a choice.”

The hum of the device grew faintly louder, pulling his attention back. The sensation stabilized, the warmth settling into a strange equilibrium. Ethan shifted slightly, testing his range of movement.

“There,” Vera said, stepping back. “You’re ready.”

***

The hum of the CEI grew faint, blending with the background noise of the lab. Ethan exhaled slowly, his hands loosening their grip on the armrests. The warmth from the device had settled, almost forgotten—until a strange sensation crept in, like a faint vibration at the edge of his thoughts.

“Are you sure this thing is safe?” he asked, his voice steadier than he felt.

“You’ve signed the liability waiver, haven’t you?” Vera replied without hesitation, not looking up from the console.

Ethan frowned. “I didn’t ask about the waiver. I asked if it’s safe.”

Vera paused, her fingers hovering over the controls. She glanced at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “That’s exactly what you just asked.”

“No,” Ethan said, his voice tightening. “I asked if it’s safe. I never mentioned the waiver.”

Vera’s expression remained neutral, but there was a flicker of something—confusion? Annoyance? “I heard you mention it. Maybe the nerves are getting to you.”

Ethan’s mouth opened to retort, but the words stuck in his throat. He shook his head slightly, trying to dismiss the strange prickling sensation crawling over his skin.

The lab door hissed open, and Victor entered, his presence immediately shifting the room’s energy. His gaze swept over Ethan before landing on Vera. “How’s he handling it?”

“Smooth calibration,” Vera said briskly, her professional demeanor snapping into place. “No issues so far.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching as if holding back a smirk. “Good. Then we can begin.” He turned to Ethan, his voice calm but commanding. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Ethan said automatically, though he didn’t quite believe it. He glanced at Vera, expecting her to interject, but her focus remained on the console.

Victor tilted his head, his gaze sharp. “You don’t seem fine.”

“I said I’m fine,” Ethan snapped, the edge in his voice surprising even himself. He straightened, forcing a breath. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Victor’s smirk deepened, but he said nothing. Instead, he stepped back, gesturing for Vera to continue. She approached Ethan, her movements precise as she adjusted the wires connected to the CEI.

“You’re going to feel a slight increase in pressure,” she said, her tone clinical. “Just relax.”

Ethan nodded, his shoulders stiffening as the device emitted a faint beep. The warmth intensified briefly, then subsided, leaving a strange clarity in its wake—like a lens had been adjusted over his thoughts.

“Better?” Vera asked, her voice low and steady.

“Yes,” Ethan replied, glancing at her. But when his gaze met hers, her lips weren’t moving.

A chill ran down his spine. “What did you just say?” he asked sharply.

Vera’s brows knit together. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You did,” Ethan insisted. “You just asked if it was better.”

Vera’s head tilted slightly, her expression unreadable. “You must’ve misheard. I was calibrating the device.”

Ethan’s pulse quickened, a knot forming in his chest. He looked to Victor, but the man’s expression was carefully neutral, his eyes fixed on Ethan like a hawk watching prey.

“Everything all right?” Victor asked, his voice deceptively calm.

Ethan hesitated, his gaze flicking between the two of them. The knot tightened. “Yeah,” he said finally, his voice clipped. “Fine.”

Victor’s smirk returned, faint and knowing. “Good. Then let’s see what you’re capable of.”

Before Ethan could respond, the hum of the CEI deepened, and for a fleeting moment, he thought he heard Vera’s voice again—soft, almost a whisper: “I’m sorry.”

His head whipped toward her, his heart pounding. “What did you just say?”

Vera blinked, her confusion genuine this time. “I didn’t say anything.”