Page 154 of Seer Prophet

When I came in through the hatch, he was stretched out on the bed, ankles crossed, headset on. I didn’t have to look at his face to know he was working. He must have been pretty deep in it, because when he felt my light, he jerked violently, looking up in surprise.

He didn’t hesitate, but unfurled from his position like a cat.

He ripped the headset off without slowing his rise.

None of it was visibly aggressive, but something about the way he moved made me think of being in the ring with him. It also made me pause. I remained by the door, watching him warily as I took in his light. I tried to measure the unreadable look on his face.

Only his eyes were expressive.

Borderline cold, they shone at me from above those high cheekbones, watching me as carefully as I watched him.

I realized I could still feel Neela, and glanced over my shoulder.

Meeting the female seer’s gaze, I noted the worried look there, and motioned casually with one hand, my voice calm.

“It’s okay,” I told her. “You can close it. And please turn off the surveillance.”

I watched Neela’s face as she struggled with my instructions.

I could feel the part of her that wanted to say something, to remind me they’d be outside, maybe mention some of the security measures inside the tank. I could see her wanting to impart some other meaning, as well, maybe just to let me know they wouldn’t stand for him harming me in any way.

More than anything, I could tell she didn’t want to turn off the surveillance.

I could also tell she didn’t want to disobey me, not in front of Revik.

Eventually, the last part won out over the rest.

“Of course, Esteemed Bridge,” she murmured.

Her cheeks looked redder than usual, but she immediately began to close the door. I watched until she had it shut entirely, and the red, blinking light over the door turned back to solid blue.

Once the light went out in the God’s eye camera, I faced Revik.

His expression had changed in the pause.

Some of the cold had seeped out of his eyes.

He still looked angry, but something about that anger struck me as more open, or maybe just more willing to fight me outright.

I watched as he tossed his headset to the table covered in larger, more animal-like machines. When he looked at me next, his narrow mouth curled into a frown.

“Well?” he said.

I felt his light like an electrical charge. It snaked around me and through me, made my skin tighten, along with my fingers, my jaw, the muscles in my stomach. It grew more intense in those few seconds, like a fire coursing through myaleimi. I couldn’t even define what I felt as anger. It felt more like power, a charge he barely held in check.

It coursed down from the higher regions of his light.

“Are you going to start?” he asked. “Or shall I?”

He took a step towards me.

As he did, I felt something in his self-control break.

A rush of emotion hit at the higher regions of my light. It didn’t come to me in words, or discrete pieces of thought. It felt more like a wave of heated feeling, tangled up in thoughts, desires, rationalizations, frustrations, wants, a desire to communicate––all in a confused mass somehow separate from his conscious mind.

“Alyson,” he said, louder. “Are you going to talk to me?”

He made another move towards me. I acted without pause or thought, maybe because I could still feel that fight thing all over his light.

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