Page 19 of Raven

“The manager, Bo.”

“What are you asking exactly?”

“If there’s something going on between him and you, I’d like to know.”

“We are friends.” That slight hostility is back in her eyes. “Anything I should know about you and anyone else?”

“No.”

She nods and studies me, slowly dragging her gaze up and down my body, then meets my eyes. “Anything else?”

I swear, I can see a smile in her eyes, though not a single muscle on her face moves.

My gaze drops to the straps of her dress, one shoulder strap with fluffy trim is slightly twisted. Slowly, I walk up to her, bring my hand to her shoulder, and fix the strap.

And there it is—a tiny sharp intake of air through her parted lips. She’s holding her breath, and goosebumps break out on her shoulder. I give it a little stroke with the back of my hand and offer a smile.

“That’s it.” I turn around and leave without looking back

I know she won’t stop thinking about me now. I know she will imagine how it will happen the first time, what will happen, and how many times afterward.

I am not in this for sex per se. I am not in a hurry to get my dick inside her. I want to make her mine. She is the most valuable and dangerous asset on this island right now, and I have her all to myself.

Only one thing suddenly irritates me—the no-kissing rule.

Because as I walk out of the building, I can’t stop thinking about her lips.

8

RAVEN

“We are bringing you the most innovative research and the guarantee of a healthy and happy future,” says the voice on the TV screen that shows images of a happy family, a young couple with two kids who embrace and laugh with their mouths open.

“The new generation of hope and new beginnings,” that same voice says as the two linked strands that form DNA elegantly twist like a spiral ladder against the light-blue background.

“We put years into the research that will now be available to each—and every—one of you.”

The young female AI-generated voice is soothing, motherly, affluent, with a speck of high upbringing and scientific insight, patronizing enough to sound knowledgeable but just a tad soft to relate to the poorest. It’s incredible how many markers AI can combine to please most of the audience regardless of race, age, and gender.

“Because this is our motto,”—the camera first shows that same family, then starts zooming out and turning into an aerial view of a multi-racial crowd, then the entire globe—“no child left behind. Gen-Alpha. The generation with a bright future.”

The Gen-Alpha logo freezes on the giant screen on the wall, and everyone in Archer’s office exchanges looks.

“Why are we watching this?” Nick Marlow asks.

Archer tosses the remote control onto the desk and leans against it. “Because Gen-Alpha just made a statement about going public.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yes. For the benefit of the public.”

“And?”

Chase Bishop, a former military meteorologist and undercover agent, stares at the screen without much interest. He used to live at the Divide, in the jungle. Now, he is at Ayana daily. In his thirties, he stayed away from people for years. Now, he is back in action, but he’s not into politics or market shares or pharmaceuticals.

And I’m not good with the investment trading thing either, even though I have large shares in Gen-Alpha—that was the deal Archer offered me after the Change when I negotiated our dealings with Butcher.

“The funding for the lab stays the same,” Archer explains. “But the private funding for Zion’s security was cut by sixty percent.”

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