Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The studio smelled faintly of eucalyptus and rubber. Bea dropped onto her mat next to Lillian’s, and felt the stretch bloom down her back. Her body didn’t resist the poses anymore.
Her spine aligned. Her breath dropped lower. Her body had learned to obey.
Each pose Nova called was a small demand. A call to stay present. Her breath synced to motion, her mind focused. The thoughts that had been clawing for attention all week were finally muted.
Manny was waiting outside the studio, arms folded, looking half like a bouncer.
“Hey, Manny,” Bea said.
“You ever consider upgrading from slow torture to fast?”
“Huh?”
“Krav Maga. Muay Thai. Something with blood potential. Catharsis.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready for catharsis that throws punches.”
“Just come watch,” he said, grinning, already turning on his heel.
They followed him.
Bea had been hurrying past these classes ever since she joined the gym over a year ago. Not because she wasn’t curious. She was, but it had felt wrong to ogle. It wouldn’t have been her intention, but definitely would have been the outcome. Mostly men. Mostly muscle. Not one of them looked normal.
Now that she was standing beside Manny, she could watch.
The sparring wasn’t vicious, just unrelenting. One man ducked a punch, rolled into a counter, and the thud of impact echoed off the walls. A woman landed a clean kick to the midsection. She looked strong in ways that had nothing to do with body type and everything to do with intent.
Bea watched, arms folded loosely across her chest. The air smelled like sweat, leather, and something electric.
Not violence—discipline.
“What do you think?” Manny asked her.
Bea’s eyes were still on the mat. The woman in the corner had just landed a clean combo. Her partner stumbled back, then nodded once.
Bea answered, “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“You’re getting more tempted every time.” He grinned, then glanced sidelong at Lillian, who immediately shook her head, wide-eyed.
“No, thanks.”
They waved goodbye.
Bea and Lillian stepped out into the cold, their breath fogging instantly. Bea zipped her coat, still warm from the studio. Lillian strode beside her, hugging her tote like a shield.
The sidewalks were quiet at this hour, city lights bleeding onto wet pavement, reflections smudged under their boots.
“If someone keeps asking you out,” Lillian said softly as they walked, “and you’re not sure how you feel…but he’s patient, and convincing in a way that makes you feel like maybe it could work, what do you do?”
Bea looked over. Lillian wasn’t looking at her.
“Is it Seth?” she asked. “From Naomi’s engagement party?”
Lillian gave a small nod. “He’s very…persuasive.”
“And handsome,” Bea said, nudging Lils with her elbow.
“And older.”
Bea shrugged. “You’re grown.”
She sighed. “He makes me laugh. Even when I don’t want to. And he says things like he means them.”
Bea smiled. “Terrible qualities.”
“I don’t think we’ll work. We’re too different.”
“How do you know?”
“A feeling?”
Bea thought about that. “Do you want to like him?”
“Yes,” Lillian admitted.
“Maybe that’s enough to try.”
“Is it okay to start with maybe?”
Bea looped her arm gently through Lillian’s. “Absolutely. Maybe is how the best stories start.”
And together, they walked the last block home.
It was that weird stretch of night where phone calls were off-limits but overthinking was fair game. Bea lay in bed, her phone the only source of light.
The first text came through at midnight.
CLAIRE BEAR: Just finished a presentation on concrete curing. Everyone clapped. Except the guy I might be dating. He just smirked like a proud contractor.
BEYA SLAYA: Wait wait. BACK UP.
CLAIRE BEAR: His name is Marco. He builds things. Like walls. And sexual tension.
BEYA SLAYA: OMG I’m so into this for you. Send pic
CLAIRE BEAR: Can’t. He’s in my structural mechanics class. I’m playing it cool. He only knows me as “that girl who broke the tensile model and then blamed it on a ghost.”
BEYA SLAYA: A classic meet-deranged.
CLAIRE BEAR: Speaking of which, you good? You haven’t panic-texted me in like 48 hours.
BEYA SLAYA: Not since Gage came by with the Tier 4 documents a couple of days ago.
CLAIRE BEAR: Severance still pending?
BEYA SLAYA: Yeah.
CLAIRE BEAR: Does that mean you’re waiting for confirmation you broke up?!
BEYA SLAYA: No? I don’t think so…
BEYA SLAYA: Do you think it’d be weak of me to withdraw it?
CLAIRE BEAR: Do you want to withdraw it?
BEYA SLAYA: I don’t know. After reading the fine print it doesn’t just give him rights, it gives me guarantees.
BEYA SLAYA: Would it be crazy if in hindsight I…didn’t hate that part?
CLAIRE BEAR: What woman in her right mind would say, “No thanks, I’ll risk it”? Show me. I just want to check her for a pulse.
Bea snorted a laugh.
BEYA SLAYA: Enough about me. What’s happening with your job apps?
CLAIRE BEAR: I’m not applying to the UR.
BEYA SLAYA: What?? You don’t want more free stationery?
CLAIRE BEAR: I had a moment of clarity after I dropped a plate of fries on an accountant.
CLAIRE BEAR: I need experience first. Get my sea legs before trying to impress a republic that gives toddlers financial advisors.
BEYA SLAYA: I guess I probably won’t even be here next year.
BEYA SLAYA: I’d be so sad if you were here and I wasn’t
CLAIRE BEAR: Exactly.
BEYA SLAYA: I really need to sleep.
CLAIRE BEAR: Go. I need to get to work.
CLAIRE BEAR: P.S. I’m letting Marco buy me coffee today. If this ends in vows and a home extension, you’re maid of honor.
BEYA SLAYA: I’ll coordinate your bouquet with the wall paint.
A crisp knock at the door startled Bea. She looked up from her textbook.
She opened it. And there he was. Not in a suit for once, in slacks and cashmere.
It had been a handful of days. A few clipped texts. She’d needed the space. Used it, even. Studied. Slept. Gotten her head clear.
Gage’s blue eyes caught hers. “Had dinner?”
She shook her head.
“Didn’t think so.”
He didn’t wait for permission. They weren’t broken. Just dented.
He headed straight for the kitchen, setting the bag on the counter like it was just another Thursday.
She closed the door slowly so she wouldn’t have to look at him right away.
He was already at the sink, sleeves rolled, calm as you please. Like she hadn’t snapped at him last week. Like he hadn’t deserved it, and taken it.
She padded to the stool, tugged her sleeves over her hands.
He peeled garlic, crushed it flat, and set it aside. The pan was heating while he seasoned the chicken with zest, thyme, and lemon juice.
He steam-fried the asparagus and broccolini in garlic and butter. It smelled divine. Once the greens were done, he set them aside, added oil. The pan hissed when the chicken hit.
By the time he returned the vegetables to finish, she was already salivating.
Once it was done, he plated for one. Just her.
“You’re not eating?”
“I ate earlier.”
“You came just to feed me?”
“Yes.”
She stared at the plate like it might blink first. He’d cooked for her before, but it was different this time. What was this? Damage control? Apology? Repentance?
He set the fork beside it. “Eat.”
Her stomach, miraculously, had the decency not to grumble. She reached for the fork as if she could just as easily take it or leave it, and started eating.
Gage sat next to her. Not touching or talking. Just there.
They’d never fought before. She wasn’t even sure what she’d expected, but hadn’t been bracing for succulent rosemary chicken and garlicky blistered vegetables.
Halfway through her plate, she paused. “You’re really not going to bring it up?”
“No.”
“You’re just…waiting?”
“I’m not waiting,” he said. “I’m here.”
His hand reached out, moved to her knee. She didn’t flinch. It was more like an involuntary stillness. Like her body didn’t want to startle the moment.
She’d missed his touch.
“I don’t think you were trying to trick me,” she said, poking at her broccolini.
“I wasn’t.”
“I also think you’re not used to explaining your instincts.”
“I’m not.”
She glanced at him. “Can you try?”
He met her gaze. “I didn’t hide it to be strategic,” he said. “I acted like it was already mine. That’s how I operate.”
Bea turned back to her chicken, thinking that through.
When the plate was empty, she pushed it slightly forward. Sat back.
“You’re afraid,” he observed.
“Of course I am.”
“Of me?”
No. Not him. She was afraid of how rational this all sounded when he presented it to her. Of how easy it was to forget her doubts in the face of the UR’s logic.
Of how clear his vision always was, because he fully believed in his world.
“Of this system. Of getting lost in it.”
His thumb moved on her knee. “That’s not what it’s meant to do. It’s meant to let you choose, through your actions, where you want to set up camp.”
“And then?”
“And then help me make sure you flourish there.”
She paused, remembering the phrase from the Harvest Summit. “The walled garden,” she said softly.
He nodded. “You’ve been Tier Four since February. It’s June. You didn’t even know about it, because it hasn’t stopped you from anything.” He added quietly, “Neither have I.”
He wasn’t wrong. No rules had appeared in her inbox. No alarms or restrictions. But maybe that was only because she hadn’t tried the door.
“I didn’t think I was choosing anything. I just thought I was staying over.”
“In Canada that’s probably what it would have been,” he said. “But in the Republic, choices count. You spend the night, it means something. A pattern becomes a path. No one’s surprised where they end up.”
In other words, no one forced you. But the system kept track. Mirrored your steps back to you as proof.
It didn’t care what you meant. The feedback loop was based on what you did.
She stared at the empty plate. At his hand still resting lightly against her leg. She wasn’t ready for him to go home. Not yet. But she didn’t want to talk about the Tier Four issue anymore. She just wanted him close.
“I’ve got an econ question. You got time?”
His mouth curved. “Always.”
GAGE
The skyline was grey when Gage woke. Quiet rain on glass, the kind that blurred the city into outlines. The penthouse felt still.
He made coffee—black. Reached for his phone only when he sat down.
One new notification.
Tier 4 Proximity Record | Status: Severance request retracted by initiating party | Timestamp: 06:31 a.m.
Gage looked at the line for a moment.
Then he breathed in, deep and steady, like the body does when the peril is gone, even if the mind never named it.
Not because he’d won.
Because she’d taken the thing he gave her—choice—and still chose to stand beside him.