The Elysian Extraction (Manufactured Mates #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Market Penetration Strategies

Cass

Six months of the Neutral Zone had not made it smell any better.

Cass had thought he might get used to it eventually; the human nose was supposed to adapt to persistent odors, or at least that’s what he vaguely remembered from some long-ago biology lesson.

But every morning the smell hit him like it was personal: open sewage, synthetic food, too many bodies, and the chemical tang of recycled everything.

Back home in Springfield Gardens, the air was carefully balanced with aromatherapy diffusers.

Lavender mornings, eucalyptus workspaces, soft vanilla evenings.

Here, scents just happened, crashing into each other without harmony or purpose.

He didn’t notice it as much anymore during the day. That was something. But he never stopped being tired from it, as if it were a low, constant drain on his energy he couldn’t meditate away no matter how many centering exercises he did.

The Home Away Café was having a slow afternoon, which meant Cass could sit in his usual corner booth without the owner actively trying to chase him out.

The man still shot him looks from behind the counter (six months hadn’t made them friendly, just resigned) but as long as Cass ordered something and didn’t take up space during the dinner rush, they had an unspoken truce.

The coffee here was terrible. He stopped hoping it might taste better; now he just drank it because it was warm and cheap and gave him an excuse to sit somewhere that wasn’t his rented closet of a hotel room.

His meditation beads clicked softly as he rolled them between his fingers, an automatic motion that had long since stopped providing any actual focus.

The clay spheres were supposed to help align his spiritual frequency with the universe’s abundance, but after months of failed recruitment attempts, Cass was starting to suspect his spiritual frequency might be broken in ways that clay couldn’t fix.

Also, the beads kept sticking together with what he was pretty sure was syrup from whoever had used this table before him.

Today will be different, he told himself, the same thing he’d told himself yesterday and the day before and every day for the past one hundred and eighty-three days. Today someone will listen. Today I’ll find the right words. Today I’ll prove I’m not—

He cut off the thought before it could finish.

The bell over the café door chimed, and Cass looked up with the hope that had become as reflexive as breathing: maybe this person would be the one, maybe they’d look lost enough to need what he was offering, maybe today would finally be different…

Brother Matthias walked in, and Cass’s stomach dropped.

No. Not yet. Their scheduled communication wasn’t for another three days. If Brother Matthias was here in person, that meant—

“Brother Cassiopeia.” Brother Matthias slid into the opposite seat, his flowing earth-toned robes somehow immaculate despite the café‘s sticky floors. His face wore the gentle, concerned expression that always made Cass feel like everything might be okay, even when it clearly wasn’t.

“I hope I’m not interrupting your reflection time. ”

“No, I was just—” Cass’s voice came out thin and he had to start again. “I wasn’t expecting you. Is everything all right? Is Honey okay?”

“Sister Honey is fine, dear one. Everyone at home is fine.” Brother Matthias reached across the table and took Cass’s hands in his own, his grip warm and steady.

The familiar comfort of it made Cass want to cry, which was stupid, because he’d been crying too much lately and it never helped anything.

“I came because I’ve been worried about you.

Your reports have shown such dedication, such effort, and I wanted to see for myself how you were holding up. ”

The words were kind. They were always kind. That was the thing about Brother Matthias—he never made Cass feel stupid for struggling. He just looked at Cass with those patient, understanding eyes and explained things again, slower, simpler, until even Cass could understand.

“I’m fine,” Cass said, which was a lie, but he’d gotten better at telling it.

“I’ve been working really hard. I know my numbers aren’t where they should be, but I think I’m making progress.

People are starting to recognize me, and some of them let me talk longer before they walk away, and I helped a family find food last week, which isn’t technically recruitment, but it builds trust—”

“Cassiopeia.” Brother Matthias squeezed his hands gently, and Cass’s stream of justifications dried up. “You don’t have to convince me of anything.”

But he did. He really, really did.

“I’m so close,” Cass whispered. “Someone is going to say yes soon. I just need a little more time.”

He’d been saying that for months. The words tasted stale in his mouth, like the terrible coffee, like everything here.

Brother Matthias’s thumb traced soothing circles on the back of Cass’s hand.

“I know you believe that, dear one. And I want to believe it too. But the Council has concerns about how long you’ve been away from the community.

Extended exposure to unenlightened environments can affect spiritual development, especially for someone who was already working through so many challenges. ”

Already working through challenges. The words landed like stones.

“I’m not backsliding,” he said, and he hated how defensive it sounded. “I do my morning meditations every day. I recite the affirmations before sleep. I try to maintain harmonious thoughts even when people are unkind.”

“I know you do. That’s why the Council agreed to give you more time.” Brother Matthias’s voice was infinitely gentle. “Two more weeks. Show us meaningful progress in two weeks, and we can discuss extending your mission.”

Two weeks. Fourteen days to do what he hadn’t been able to do in months.

“And if I can’t?”

“Then we’ll bring you home and provide whatever additional support you need.” Brother Matthias’s smile was sad and warm. “No one is giving up on you, dear one. We just want to make sure you’re getting the help you need to reach your full potential.”

Additional support. Cass had seen people receive additional support. They came back calmer. More settled. More aligned. They smiled more easily and asked fewer questions and never seemed to struggle with anything ever again.

They also never seemed to be quite... there.

“Two weeks,” he repeated, forcing his voice steady. “I can do that.”

I can’t do that.

Brother Matthias released his hands and stood. “I have faith in you, Brother Cassiopeia. Remember, you’re not trying to force anyone into anything. You’re offering them freedom from suffering. The gift of never having to figure everything out alone.” He paused. “May your path lead toward harmony.”

“May harmony guide your steps,” Cass responded automatically. He watched Brother Matthias leave and then he sat very still for a long time, breathing through the tightness in his chest.

Today will be different, he told himself again, and if the words felt more desperate than hopeful, he ignored it. Someone will listen. Someone has to.

There wasn’t any other option.

The first potential recruit told him to fuck off before Cass even finished his opening sentence. It made him flinch, even after all this time. People didn’t use disharmonious language back home, but he was certain he heard even children say foul things out here.

This wasn’t unusual. Cass had learned to identify people likely to respond with immediate hostility and was better at avoiding them, but he’d also gotten more desperate, and desperate people made mistakes.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he tried again. “I just wanted to offer—”

“I know what you’re offering.” The man’s lip curled. “I’ve seen your type before I got out of New St. Louis. All smiles and community belonging, and then suddenly everyone’s trapped in contracts they can’t escape.”

“We don’t use contracts,” Cass insisted, which was technically true. “We just—”

“Save it.” The man shouldered past him hard enough to make Cass stumble. “Tell your handlers their recruitment tactics are getting old.”

Cass caught himself on a nearby wall. He could feel people watching with the usual mixture of indifference and contempt that followed him everywhere here.

It’s not me they hate, he reminded himself. It’s what they think I represent. If they understood what we were really offering—

The second potential recruit was a family huddled in an alcove between two crumbling buildings. Cass had been watching them for several minutes, drawn by the sound of a child’s cough that made his soul ache. The parents were too thin, the little boy too quiet.

He’d approached families like this before. It never went well. But the boy’s cough was getting worse, and Cass had medicine in his bag.

“Excuse me,” he said softly, crouching down. “I couldn’t help noticing your son’s cough. I have some medicine that might help, if you’d like it.”

The mother’s arms tightened around the boy. “We don’t want anything from you.”

“I’m not asking for anything in return. No strings.”

The parents exchanged a look. Cass had seen that look hundreds of times, the desperate calculation of people who wanted to believe him, but think they knew better.

“Please,” he said. “He sounds really sick. You don’t have to take anything else from me. Just... let me help him.”

The boy coughed again, and the mother’s resolve wavered. “Fine. Just the medicine. Nothing else.”

Cass’s heart lifted as he fumbled the fever reducer out of his bag, measured the proper dose, and handed it over.

“This should help bring down his fever,” he explained. “If he’s not improving in a few days, he really should see a doctor.”

“We know what he needs. We also know what it costs.”

“My community has medical facilities. Really good ones. If you wanted to bring him for treatment, there wouldn’t be any cost—”