Jorak
The first thing I notice isn't the light or the sound, but the cold.
It's a clinical, recirculated chill that smells of ozone and industrial-grade disinfectant.
My head throbs, a dull, rhythmic ache behind my eyes that speaks of heavy-duty sedatives.
I try to move my arms, but they're heavy, pinned by reinforced magnetic restraints that hum with a low-frequency suppression field.
Memories flash back in jagged, ugly bursts.
Hands. Too many hands on Asa. The sound of our bedroom door splintering under a breaching charge.
I remember the roar of the Black Current in my veins, and then the sharp sting of a dart in my neck.
I remember falling, watching Mercer’s retrieval team haul Asa out of the blankets, his face pale and terrified as the sedation took me under.
I open my eyes and the world stabilizes into a nightmare of glass and steel.
I'm in a containment unit, the kind designed for high-output S-Class assets.
Across a ten-foot gap of reinforced flooring, another unit stands identical to mine.
Inside it, Asa is slumped against the far wall, his knees pulled to his chest.
"Asa," I rasp. My throat is parched, tasting of chemical bitterness and the metallic grit of the suppression field. He doesn't move. He’s shivering, the kind of deep, systemic tremors that come from acute distance sickness.
A voice crackles over the intercom, smooth and devoid of any heat. "He cannot hear you, Jorak. The acoustic dampening is active until we establish the baseline for the separation threshold."
I look up at the observation gallery. Mercer Holt is there, a tablet held in one hand.
"Let him out," I say. I don't shout. I keep my voice low, a vibration that I can feel rattling the magnetic cuffs. "He’s an Omega. He’s F-Class on your own damn charts. He shouldn't be in a high-security containment wing."
"The charts were wrong, as we both know," Mercer replies, tapping the screen of his tablet.
"He is a vital component of your stability, Jorak. We are simply quantifying the necessity of his presence. We need to know the exact distance and duration required before your output becomes unmanageable. It’s necessary data. "
Across the glass, Asa finally lifts his head.
His eyes are glassy, rimmed with the red of exhaustion and fever.
He tries to stand, his fingers clawing at the smooth glass of his enclosure, but his legs give out halfway up.
He slides back down, a smear of sweat and slick marking the surface.
He isn't in heat, not yet, but the distress is forcing his body to overproduce.
It smells like bruised vanilla and fear, even through the filters.
"He’s hurting, Mercer," I growl. The Black Current begins to lick at the edges of my consciousness, a dark, oily tide that wants to erase everything in the room. "He’s sick. Look at him."
"It is a controlled observation," Dr. Rue’s voice joins the intercom, sounding slightly more hesitant than Mercer’s but no less clinical.
"We are monitoring his vitals, Jorak. The fever is a side effect of the severed bond.
We need to see if his Anchor protocols can self-stabilize without physical contact. "
Asa’s hand presses against the glass. He’s looking at me now, his lips moving silently. I can read them. It’s okay. The idiot.
"He isn't facility property," I say, the words landing like stones. "He’s not a node. He’s not a piece of equipment you get to stress-test until it snaps. Let him out of that box, or I will kill every person in this wing."
Mercer sighs. "Threats are the language of the unstable, Jorak. You are proving our point. Without the proper containment and pairing protocols, you are a liability to the city. We are merely formalizing the dependency."
I look back at Asa. He’s curled into a ball now, his forehead resting against the glass.
He looks so cold. I can feel the distance sickness pulling at my own heart, a physical vacuum in my chest that only he can fill.
Every second we are apart, the Black Current grows more jagged, more entropic.
It isn't just power anymore; it’s a living scream for its other half.
"One last time," I say, and this time the air in my unit begins to hum. The lights overhead flicker, the frequency of the suppression field stuttering. "Let. Him. Out."
"Increase the sedative drip in unit one," Mercer commands, his voice sharpening. "We aren't finished with the baseline."
I stop arguing. I stop pretending I belong to the ESA. I don't just let the Black Current out; I aim it.
The magnetic restraints don't just unlock; they vaporize.
A shockwave of entropic energy slams into the glass of my unit, the reinforced material spiderwebbing instantly before exploding outward in a shower of shards.
I step out of the wreckage, my skin humming with a dark, violet light that eats the shadows of the room.
Alarms begin to wail, a frantic, discordant sound that barely registers. Guards are moving in the gallery, weapons being leveled, but I don't care.
I don't even use my hands for the door to his unit. I let the power flow through me, a focused beam of entropy that turns the lock mechanism into slag and shatters the hinges. The glass door falls forward, and I catch it with a burst of energy, tossing it aside like a piece of paper.
I’m inside his unit before the guards can even get a clear shot.
Asa is shivering so hard I can hear his teeth clicking together, but when he sees me, his eyes clear for a split second.
I drop to my knees and pull him into my arms, the contact hitting like a lightning strike. The fever in his skin is terrifying.
"Jorak," he whispers, his voice a ghost of itself. He buries his face in my neck, his fingers clutching at my shirt with a strength that tells me exactly how close to the edge he was. "You... you broke the glass."
"I'm breaking everything," I mutter against his hair. I wrap my arms around him, shielding him with my body as the Black Current forms a shimmering, entropic veil around us. "I've got you. I've got you, Asa."
The relief is a physical blow. Asa’s breathing begins to slow, the frantic rhythm of his heart settling into the deep, steady beat of my own. I can feel him anchoring me, the chaotic power in my veins turning steady.
"See?" Mercer’s voice comes over the emergency speakers.
"Look at the vitals, Rue. The stabilization is instantaneous. The dependency is absolute. He is the only thing that keeps you from becoming a natural disaster, Jorak. This only proves that you can never be allowed to leave the facility’s oversight. "
I look up at the gallery, my vision swimming with dark spots of rage. I can see him looking down at us, at Asa trembling in my arms, and he’s smiling.
"He isn't my stabilizer," I snarl, my voice echoing in the ruined chamber. "He’s my mate. And if you ever touch him again, if you ever put him in a cage to see how long it takes for him to break, you’ll regret it."
I pull Asa closer, my nose brushing against the junction of his neck and shoulder.
I need his scent. I need the pear and vanilla to wash away the smell of the lab.
I inhale deeply, seeking the familiar comfort of him, but then I stop.
My whole body goes rigid, the power in my veins stilling in a way I’ve never felt before.
Under the scent of the fever, under the sharp tang of his distress slick and the lingering traces of his heat, there is something else. It’s faint, a soft, sweet change in the chemistry of his skin that I shouldn't be able to detect.
I don't say it. I can't. Not here, with Mercer watching like a vulture and the guards still aiming their rifles at my head. I just tuck Asa’s head under my chin and squeeze my eyes shut.
"Step away from the asset, Thorn," a guard shouts from the doorway, his voice cracking with nerves. "Jorak, remember who you belong to. You are state property. Don't make this worse than it already is."
I don't move. I just wrap myself tighter around Asa.