Page 66 of Elas

“The door locks automatically,” I say as I walk over behind him and put my hands on his shoulders. He tenses for a moment, but my thumbs dig into his stiff muscles, and he releases a moan that’s downright scandalous. “We’ve got food and liquor for later… something tells me we’re going to need it after reading these—”

My eyes go wide as he spins and slams a palm over my mouth. “We have to be quiet!” His stage-whisper might as well be a scream with how loud it is, and I choke on my laugh.

Fuck, he’s cute.

I grip his wrist and pry his hand away from my mouth. “These barracks were built with our kind and our heightenedsenses in mind. The walls are extra insulated and soundproof. No one will hear us.”

He bites his lip between his teeth with an embarrassed grimace. “Can we still do the chair thing?”

I bark out a loud laugh that only makes him look even more sheepish. Not wanting him to think I’m laughing at his expense, I tug him into a tight hug. “We can do the chair thing,” I agree with a cheek-splitting smile as I hold him against me. The smile never leaves my face as he releases me and grabs a kitchen chair. He spends the next few minutes positioning it where he wants it, and it thunks to the floor a few times, but eventually he’s happy with it.

“How should we do this, then?” he finally asks.

I remove my bag and gesture towards the couch. “Get comfortable. Let’s each take one and go from there. I don’t know what we’ll find in these files, but…”

“It’s probably not good.” My lips pull back into a tight line as I nod, and he reaches up to drag the pad of his thumb over the scar under my right tusk.

“What happened here?”

Dark memories flood my mind, but I can’t allow them in right now. I take his wrist and guide his thumb to my lips, pressing a soft kiss on the tip. “A story for another time.”

“Right.” He blows out a shaky exhale as I sit my bag on the table, lifting the flap and staring at the manila spines inside. “How do I even pick? Newest? Oldest?”

“You’re over-analyzing things, doc,” I say, grabbing a file at random and handing it to him.

“Yeah, I tend to do that.” After a quick detour for drinks, we settle on the couch, and August takes a few breaths to steady himself.

“What’s this?” he asks, and I glance up to find him holding a solid white card.

“Looks like a security badge, but there should be a name printed on it.” He flips it over, showing me the empty back. “Where’d it come from?”

“Fell out of my folder. There’s nothing written on it.”

He shrugs and tosses it onto the side table before reclining and opening his file. I do the same, a sense of dread washing over me as I read the names at the top. The papers in my hand suddenly feel like a tombstone, those names carved into stone as nothing more than a memory.

August’s eyes are troubled as I make a simple dinner. “We’ll have to eat on the couch,” I say, with a glance at the chair wedged underneath the door handle. He huffs a quiet laugh, but it’s more out of politeness than any genuine amusement.

We’re both more than halfway through reading our first files. They’re thick, and filled with medical terminology August has to explain to me. My file is only twelve years old, compared to August’s thirty-seven. So far, they’ve given us similar information, and as we predicted, none of it is good news.

What’s abundantly clear is that the military has been tracking mated couples for decades… likely since shortly after the rifts closed. They scout for them in the cities, posting propaganda like the flyer August found. With the military’s iron grip on the urban population, convincing them to report any glowing marks is a simple task.

Fear is a powerful motivator.

Earlier humans may have rebelled more easily, may have askedwhy, but the current generation has grown up under constant control. They accept this level of direction without question.

The signs have presented identically in both files. An inexplicable attraction to the other person, followed by a glowing mark that appears on their body where they first touch. According to the notes, the mark shows up within three to ten hours of that initial contact. They all describe the sensation of a pull towards their mate like a binding around their middle.

Dirty blonde hair falls over August’s forehead as he reads. The tip of his pencil rests between his lips and his eyes squint from time to time. A bittersweet smile finds my mouth as that rope around my own stomach cinches.

“Put it away, baby, and get some food.”

He sighs but sets his papers aside, accepting the plate from me with a quiet thanks. “Let’s compare notes,” he says, popping an apple slice into his mouth. “They notice the mark, they go into the clinic, and they’re immediately quarantined.”

“Together,” I add, and he nods.

“Together. In both cases, they’ve left them together.” He takes another bite, and a thoughtful expression pincheshis brows. “Why is this only happening in the cities? Why not on the bases?”

“Easy. Most bases don’t house any humans aside from prisoners.”

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