Page 11 of Fourth

He still hadn’t moved. Still hadn’t spoken. But the charge built between them, the unspoken question ricocheting in the space he refused to close.

“You can’t figure out what I am?” Her voice dropped. “Let me help you out. I’m the thing you weren’t ready for.”

The words hung there, fiercer than she’d expected. She hadn’t planned to say them, not exactly, but they sounded right. Solid. For a moment, she felt taller, steadier. Like the power inthe room had shifted. Maybe she wasn’t just reacting anymore. Maybe she was becoming something he hadn’t accountedfor.

His fingers curled into fists, the motion sharp, silent, and tight with restraint.

She watched every muscle twitch. Noted every flicker of restraint.

“If you’re going to dissect me,” she said quietly, “do it now.”

He didn’t answer rightaway.

Instead, he shook his head, his long hair flowing across his chest and shoulders. “I do not wish to harm you.”

Maya blinked. That wasn’t what she’d expected.

“You already have,” she said, voicelow.

He gave a fractional nod. “Not like that.”

“Then what is this?” she challenged. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like mercy.”

He hesitated again. “I do not understand why you are affecting my systems. This is... anomalous.”

“Welcome to the human condition,” she muttered.

And still, he didn’t move. That, more than anything, unsettled her, whichsaid more than any words.

She didn’t let up. “Whatever this is—experimentation, interrogation, elimination—just get it over with. Don’t drag it out like it’s merciful.” Her voice didn’t shake. “I’d rather die with my spine intact and my mind my own than end up another broken experiment on your slab.”

He didn’t speak.

But something changed. The air shifted, just slightly, like a breath held too long. Afaint ripple passed through the space between them, and Maya caught the barest scent of ozone, sharp and wrong. Her skin prickled a half-second before the change in temperature.

It started subtle. Aflicker in the air. Then theheat.

Wrong heat.

It hit her skin like a phantom flame, not burning, but distorting. The air thickened, charged with a low, vibrating static that buzzed in her ears. She could smell something sharp and metallic, and her eyes stung as the lighting in the chamber shifted, too bright around the edges, dim in the center, like the room couldn’t decide how to hold shape. Every sound became muffled, swallowed by the pressurized hum building all around them. Her lungs struggled to draw air that no longer seemed like oxygen.

She sensed it before she saw it, the shift in the air, the change in his posture. Atightening across his shoulders. The way his hands curled into fists, not like a threat, but like he was barely holding himself together.

He stepped back, sharp and purposeful. His pupils flared. Something beneath his skin began toglow.

Maya’s stomach clenched.

“What—what’s happening to you?”

He didn’t answer.

Couldn’t, maybe. His body convulsed. His hands slammed against the chamber wall. Heat rolled off him in waves, shimmering the air, fracturing the illusion of stillness.

The diagnostic panel blazedred.

She jerked against the table, the restraints holding her down. Panic surged. Her pulse thundered. The room was too hot now. Too bright. Like the air itself had turned volatile.

Her eyes flicked toward the seals along the wall, searching for any weakness, any exit. Nothing. She catalogued what she knew about chambers, about heat stress, about overloading systems. She tried to slow her breath, tried to focus. Five senses. She could still count. Still think. That meant she wasn’t out of options yet. Not completely.

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