32. GhostInTheSystem
GhostInTheSystem
Playlist: Spectre - Bad Omens
Lyra
Kael’s penthouse is absolute perfection; dark and beautiful, unfortunately, just like him.
No clutter, no softness, only clean modern design for a man who prefers perfection in every corner of his life.
The cityscape is on display in full force through the glass windows that line the outer wall, allowing the neon night to reflect on his walls in pinks, purples, and blues.
He had the feeds sent to his penthouse so he could work from home, and since I’m in the feeds, well, here I am. Lucky for me, there are as many monitors on the wall in his penthouse as there are in the lab. He really needs work/life balance.
Is it really spying if I was sort of invited? Maybe deep down I’m just a digital stalker. I reach for the window program and use my latest party trick, courtesy of Ash and boredom, to hide behind the blackness of the screens. A one-way mirror.
He’s in the corner of his enormous living room, a makeshift gym/dojo with a soft mat on the floor the color of blood against a sea of black.
The wall behind him is a tidy museum of violence: staffs, swords, blades, each one hung like a trophy.
Several ancient Japanese masks line the other wall, as if looking down upon him with approval while he practices.
A kitsune mask sits highest of all, gold on pearl white, its painted eyes a red so bright it looks like two perfect rubies.
Kitsune. Sword. The RedRoom.
Oh no.
My mind goes back to that night. The tiles of memory click into place as I feel my chest drop.
DreamNet. The RedRoom.
Every detail snaps back with clarity. The way the lights made everyone move like animals in the wild. The thrum of sensual bass, the allure of shadows, the masked figure who moved like he owned not only the floor but every person on it.
The man who turned violence into art, who kissed with a passion so fierce it consumed everyone around him. I’d thought it was some stranger, some ghost of the DreamNet underground. This specter who made me so aroused I had to sit up and cross my legs. But no.
Could that have been Kael?
Heat coils low inside me, abrupt and humiliating. Maybe he was the one behind the mask, the one who made me ache in a room designed for indulgence. Maybe. And now all I have is hate mixed with hunger. A furious, confused, embarrassed wanting that tastes sour, but oh so sweet.
And suddenly, the pieces slot together in a way that makes my knees weak. The holo-girl. The digital face he built when he wanted to see me. The way her hair had the same highlights as mine. Her body, all her features, mirrored mine.
Kael Ryudon didn’t just trap me in his system. He designed me as his obsession before this even happened. He had already placed me inside his machines, woven into his code, his fantasies, his RedRoom dreams.
Is that why I’m here? Why I’m trapped? No, it couldn’t be that simple. Could it?
I should be furious. I should be screaming at the violation, the way my image was claimed without my consent.
But the truth settles somewhere darker.
A part of me likes it.
The idea that a man like him, disciplined, polished, revered inside the digital empire he built, would fixate on me. Would choose me. The realization spreads through my veins like wildfire. Terrifying and yet exhilarating. Hating him feels far more dangerous than wanting him.
I remain silent, watching. I’ll need to find out for sure. Confront him about the RedRoom.
On the floor, Kael moves like a reptile.
His body is coiled with precision, bare chest and perfect abs gleaming with the sweat of repetition.
Each strike and turn is a meditation—held in perfect check.
His fists snap against the padded column beside him, each punch releasing a burst of pent-up energy.
His breath is measured, his shoulders taut with hours of training.
He fights as though the demons in him are shoving their way out, reaching for escape, with nowhere to go.
I light the monitors up, unannounced and uninvited. My image flickers into being across his wall of glossy screens. The arrival cracks into his sanctuary like lightning. Kael doesn’t turn, doesn’t even slow his movement. His pupils dart to the side and right back to his practice.
Strike. Block. Pivot. Breath.
The dragon tattoo down his spine, coils and writhes with his motions. At one point I think I see it glimmer gold and burnt orange through the droplets of sweat, like embers stirring back to life.
I pause. A single thought scrambles my brain. He’s magicless. So, what exactly am I doing to him? What am I projecting? The idea that my power could be seeping into him, rewriting him the way his system rewrote me, is worrying.
I file it away for a later date.
I bite my lip, but I’m unable to stop the words from spilling. “Don’t you sleep?” I become a blank space to hide the way I’m admiring him. My gaze tracks the lines of ink running down his chest, the ripple of his stomach, his muscular thighs planted in his stance. Stars. I hate myself for noticing.
Observant as always, he catches on immediately.
“Not when I need clarity.” He continues his movement, forcing out a breath with each punch. “And you’ve made clarity scarce.” He continues practicing his form, paying no attention to my intrusion.
“Like what you see?” He says it slowly, letting the syllables ride the heat between us as if he knows exactly which parts of me he wants to unravel.
I laugh nervously. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not here to watch your little floor show.” But my eyes linger. I’m positive they betray what my mouth could never confess: I’m rattled to my core.
“Whatever you say, Taiyō.” He stops abruptly, grabs a towel, and runs it down his chest slowly.
His eyes engage mine and hold steady while he flips the towel over his shoulder.
The movement is casual but dramatic. The light catches the planes of his face, and time stills for me until there’s only him and the glow of the city.
My mouth opens before my head can catch up. “Don’t be an asshole,” I snap, but my voice is conflicted. This is ridiculous. I should be infuriated with him. Enraged. I am. Yes! Done! Anger achievement unlocked!
But somewhere under that wrath, there’s a small, traitorous part of me that’s already replaying the memory of what may have been him behind the kitsune mask.
He smiles, half-amusement, half-something-darker, and the smile makes my gut tighten. “You’re all I think about. You follow me to my home. You watch me train. You keep me up talking most nights. You make me crazy.” He steps closer to the monitor as if closeness can be translated through pixels.
“You could at least admit to me I’m keeping you awake for better reasons than boredom.” He casually strolls to the doorway, a couple of keycodes from his tattooed fingers, and light beams from the ceiling.
He returns, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. A single bead of sweat trickles down the hollowed center between his pecs. His body hovers near the glass, not touching it. The gesture is intimate in a way that shouldn’t be possible through circuitry. “Holo in. You’re already here anyways.”
“Maybe I like the view from here,” I say, because the truth tastes dangerous and delicious on my tongue. He leans in a fraction more, and there’s electricity in the tiny space between his body and my image on screen.
“So, you admit you do like it.” He turns away sharply, pulling off the towel, dismissing me. “But you just won’t say it out loud. Got it.”
I flinch. Anger? Frustration? No.
Desperation. I haven’t heard this in his voice before.
“You’re...fed up with me?” I question before he can leave the room.
For a moment, everything trembles inside me, I have no idea why.
I’m the one who should be angry, and I am.
But he’s the only thing keeping me sane in this hell I’m living.
He’s all I have to connect my soul to reality, and whether I like it or not, I need him to help me.
He’s the only one who can help me.
He stops just short of the door to what must be his bedroom.
He rolls his shoulders back, sweat still tracing lines down the ridges of his body.
His eyes focus on me like a heavy weight.
“You ran, twice, not caring what the consequences were for your actions. I could be ruined. You could be killed...again,” he says simply.
“I don’t take betrayal lightly, Lyra. And now you’re here again. Why?”
I suddenly feel seen, stripped of my fire. “Kinda cool if I died twice, huh?”
Nothing. My joke deflates like a punctured balloon. Not even a smirk.
I swallow the lump forming. “Because...” I exhale. “Because I panicked, I felt the need to protect him. He’s all I have.” My heart hurts for a beat.
“So, now you know what it’s like.” He throws the towel down on the mat. “At least you have someone to care for. Be grateful that they return your affection.”
Suddenly I don’t feel so sorry for myself. But I also don’t fully understand his tone. He has Ash. He also has intelligence, good looks, money, reputation, and the Corporation behind him catering to whatever whim he might have. He pretty much has it all.
“I know someone could have seen me. I thought I could hide behind my magic. No one the wiser. I’m not a rule follower. I never have been.” My voice cracks on those last words.
I could have brought everything Kael has worked for down in one moment of hysteria. I could get both of us erased if I don’t get a hold of myself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“To run?” Kael leans against the doorframe, arms crossed again, the edge of his authority showing brightly in his body language.
“You told me we would work together, allies, no sabotage, remember?” His face is blank, matter of fact, the cold stone that is the aura of Dr. Ryudon.
“You’re always going to run, Lyra. It’s what you do.
It’s easier than staying and taking a chance on me. ”