Page 40 of The Alien in the Archive

“In a few years, yes, if I don’t drink,” I tell her. “It’s why my people deserved to die, Page. Because our immortality was only gained at the expense of others…and of whole planets. I refused to drink, and…yes. I fled here to die.”

Her breath hitches, sharp and audible in the quiet. I see her hand move, just slightly, as if she’s about to reach for me, and the thought alone makes my chest ache.

Then she does move, taking a tentative step closer, her arm lifting?—

I step back instinctively. “You should go.”

“What?” She stops in her tracks, blinking at me in confusion. Her hand falls back to her side, and she tilts her head slightly, her grey eyes searching mine. “Thorne, I?—”

“Go,” I repeat, the firmness in my tone almost cracking under the weight of her presence. “This place isn’t safe for you. Not tonight.”

Her brow furrows, and I can see the flicker of resistance in her expression—the way her lips press together, the way she plants her feet just so, as though preparing to argue. I brace myself for it, almost hoping she’ll fight me on this, that she’ll stay.

But then she sighs, the sound soft and resigned, and her shoulders slump as she gathers her bag. “Fine,” she says quietly. “But this conversation isn’t over.”

I watch her as she turns, her steps hesitant, almost reluctant, as if she’s waiting for me to call her back. And gods, I want to. I want to tell her to stay, to let her reach for me again, to let her presence ground me the way it always does.

But I don’t.

Instead, I wait until the sound of her footsteps fades completely before letting out a shaky breath. My back presses against the edge of the table, and I grip the wood so tightly my knuckles ache. The quiet feels unbearable now, the emptiness of the room clawing at me.

Her blood, her touch, her presence—they’re all a storm I’m not sure I can weather. It’s as if she’s burrowed under my skin, her every word, every breath, leaving marks I can’t erase.

And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I’m afraid.

Not for myself.

For her.

Because if I lose control, even for a moment, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.

16

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Iknow I’m taking a risk, but there’s no way around it.

I have to tell my brother what’s going on.

Riley’s place is a mess of engineering parts and half-drunk coffee cups, as usual. I’ve been here countless times before, sprawled on the couch and reading a book while he tinkers with some gadget or another, but tonight, my nerves won’t let me sit still.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Riley asks without looking up from his workstation, waving a small tool toward a circuit board. “Does this interface look like something that could actually work, or am I just screwing around at this point?”

“It looks like a pile of junk,” I say, pacing across the room. “No offense.”

“None taken,” he replies dryly. “I’ll have you know this ‘pile of junk’ could revolutionize Nyeri’i neural interfaces…or short-circuit an entire server room. Fifty-fifty odds.”

“Great. You’re either a genius or a saboteur,” I mutter, glancing at the cluttered table. “Do you even know what half this stuff is?”

Riley looks up with an exaggeratedly wounded expression. “Excuse me, this is the very picture of organized chaos. Everything is exactly where I need it to be.”

I scoff, stepping over a stray coffee cup. “Yeah, sure. I’ll remind you of that the next time you’re tearing this place apart looking for a screwdriver.”

I keep pacing, probably annoying the hell out of Riley. I’m partially nervous because of his potential reaction…but also because I’m worried Thorne will freak out. If he hears any of this conversation, he might think I’ve compromised him, even though I’m certain Riley would never tell a soul.

That’s why I’m shielding my mind, per Thorne’s instructions.

I hope it works.

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