Chen paced the plush carpeting of his suite like a caged predator, emotional frequencies spiking in jagged, discordant patterns that made my teeth ache. The static pulse of Darian beside me provided unexpected relief—a buffer against Chen's anxiety that radiated in waves sharp enough to cut.
"She knows." Chen stopped abruptly, hands trembling slightly before he shoved them into his pockets. "The Helsinki reference wasn't coincidental. That's where we discovered the neural interface stability flaw."
I perched on the edge of a leather armchair, cross-legged, watching him unravel. His fear tasted metallic on my tongue—a distinctive frequency that reminded me of blood.
"Explain Helsinki to me," I said, keeping my voice neutral. "I need context if I'm going to help you."
Chen's gaze darted to Darian, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. Permission granted. Interesting power dynamic.
"Six months ago, we tested the neural interface on twenty volunteers in Helsinki." Chen's voice dropped, professional veneer cracking. "The technology allows direct communication between human neural networks and external systems—computers, prosthetics, even other neural networks."
"Mind reading?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Not exactly." Chen shook his head. "More like... creating pathways. Imagine bypassing verbal communication entirely. Emotions, sensory data, even complex concepts transmitted directly from one mind to another."
The implications hit me like a physical blow. No wonder they wanted someone who could read emotional frequencies. This technology was basically attempting to replicate what I could do naturally.
"The stability flaw?" Darian prompted, his static presence shifting subtly closer to me.
Chen's frequency darkened to a sickly olive tone. "Seventeen of twenty subjects developed severe neural disruption within days. Three died. The others..." He swallowed hard. "They're still institutionalized. Their brains couldn't handle the foreign emotional input. It caused a cascading failure of neural pathways."
"Jesus fucking Christ." The words escaped before I could stop them. "And you still want to develop this?"
"With safeguards," Chen insisted, desperation creeping into his tone. "The potential benefits are incalculable. Medical applications alone—"
"Bullshit." I stood, unable to contain my agitation. "Your client isn't funding this for medical applications. They want a weapon."
The silence that followed confirmed my suspicion. Chen's frequency stuttered, then flattened—the emotional equivalent of shutting down.
Darian remained impassive, but I felt the static intensify between us. A warning.
"The applications are numerous," he said carefully. "But you're correct that defense contracts would likely be the first major revenue stream."
"Defense." I laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. "That's a nice fucking euphemism for weaponized mind control."
Chen's anxiety spiked again, but Darian didn't flinch. Those shifting eyes remained fixed on me, unreadable.
"Your role isn't to judge the technology's applications," he reminded me. "It's to help ensure the merger proceeds as planned."
"By countering Lilith." I crossed my arms. "Who I'm guessing was part of ECHO-7 with you."
A flash of something—not quite anger, not quite respect—crossed Darian's face so quickly I nearly missed it.
"Yes." The admission hung between us. "Lilith was Subject Three. The most successful of the program participants."
"And what were you?" I pressed, sensing an opening. "You said you weren't a subject, but a specialist. What exactly did you specialize in?"
Chen looked between us, confusion evident in his frequency pattern. Clearly, he wasn't aware of the full history between Darian and ECHO-7.
"Counter-techniques," Darian said after a moment. "Methods to block empathic intrusion. The static you perceive is one such method."
"One of several," I guessed, watching his expression carefully.
He inclined his head slightly. "Yes."
"And Lilith?" I continued. "What can she actually do?"
"Originally, she could only detect micro-expressions and physiological tells—essentially reading body language at an advanced level." Darian's voice remained clinically detached. "But based on what you observed tonight, her abilities have evolved. The emotional projection you detected is new."
"Not just new," I said. "Dangerous. She was influencing everyone in that room."
"Except you and Darian," Chen interjected, his frequency sharpening with interest. "Why is that?"
I glanced at Darian, wondering how much to reveal. The disc had enhanced my abilities but potentially left me more vulnerable. Was that something Chen needed to know?
"I recognized the manipulation and consciously blocked it," I said, deciding on a partial truth. "As for Darian..." I gestured vaguely at him. "Static."
Chen nodded, seemingly accepting this explanation. "So she can be countered."
"Potentially," I hedged. "But I'd need to understand how she's projecting these emotional frequencies. Is it deliberate? Targeted? Can she sustain it indefinitely or does it drain her?"
"Questions we don't have answers to," Darian acknowledged. "Yet."
Chen sank into a chair, rubbing his temples. "This complicates everything. If she can manipulate emotions during negotiations..."
"She can make you agree to terms you'd normally reject," I finished. "Make you feel confident about projections that should raise red flags. Make you trust people you shouldn't."
"Precisely." Chen looked up at me, desperation flaring in his frequency. "Can you counter her effectively? Protect my team from manipulation?"
I thought of the disc, the way it had amplified my perceptions but left me feeling strangely exposed. Would it help against Lilith, or make me more susceptible?
"I can try," I said finally. "But I need more information. About her, about ECHO-7, about what happened to the subjects after the program ended."
Chen's gaze shifted to Darian. "Is that possible?"
"Some of it." Darian's response was measured. "Much of ECHO-7 remains classified, even to private contractors."
"Declassify it," I said flatly. "Or I walk."
The static between us intensified—not threatening, but definitely pressuring. "That's not how this works, Ms. Voss."
"No?" I stepped closer, deliberately entering his personal space. "Then explain to me how it does work. Because from where I'm standing, you need me more than I need you."
His eyes darkened to that near-black shade I was beginning to recognize as a tell. Not of anger, but of something else—something closer to respect, maybe even arousal.
"You're correct," he said, surprising me. "We do need you. Which is why I'll provide what information I can—within certain parameters."
"What parameters?" I challenged.
"Security protocols established by our client." His gaze remained steady. "Some information is still sensitive."
"Your mysterious client who I'm not allowed to meet." I couldn't keep the sarcasm from my voice. "How convenient."
"The client's identity is irrelevant to your task," Darian countered smoothly.
"Bullshit." I held his gaze. "Everything about this job is connected. The merger, the technology, ECHO-7, Lilith, you—it's all part of something bigger. Something you're not telling me."
Chen cleared his throat awkwardly, his frequency shifting to discomfort. Clearly, he wasn't accustomed to witnessing this kind of confrontation.
"Perhaps we should focus on tomorrow's strategy," he suggested, attempting to redirect the conversation. "The preliminary discussions went reasonably well, aside from the Helsinki reference."
I ignored him, keeping my attention fixed on Darian. "Tell me what happened to the other subjects from ECHO-7."
For a long moment, I thought he wouldn't answer. The static pulsed between us, almost aggressive in its intensity. Then, unexpectedly, it eased slightly.
"Subject One committed suicide two years after the program ended," he said, voice clinically detached. "Subject Two works for a private security firm in Dubai. Subject Four suffered permanent psychological damage and is institutionalized. Subject Five disappeared off-grid three years ago, presumed dead."
"And Subject Three became Lilith Everett, freelance consultant with the ability to manipulate emotions," I finished, processing this information. "What made her different? Why was she 'successful' when the others weren't?"
A muscle in Darian's jaw tightened infinitesimally. "Adaptability. The others fought the conditioning. She embraced it."
"Conditioning," I repeated, the word leaving a sour taste. "That's a nice euphemism for psychological torture."
"It wasn't—" Chen began, but Darian cut him off with a raised hand.
"It was exactly that," he said quietly. "The program's methods were... extreme. Unethical by conventional standards."
The admission hung in the air between us. I hadn't expected such honesty, especially not with Chen present.
"And you participated in this," I said, not a question but a statement.
"Yes." No hesitation, no excuses. Just acknowledgment.
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, genuinely puzzled. "You could have lied. Said it was all standard research protocols."
Something shifted in his expression—the barest hint of vulnerability quickly masked. "Because you need to understand what we're dealing with. Lilith isn't just trained. She's fundamentally altered. The person she was before ECHO-7 no longer exists."
"Like you," I realized aloud.
His eyes met mine, and for a fraction of a second, the static broke. Not completely, but enough for me to catch a glimpse of something raw beneath—a wound that had never properly healed.
"Yes," he agreed softly. "Like me."
Chen watched our exchange with growing unease, his frequency spiking with confusion and impatience. "This is all very enlightening, but we need to focus on the immediate concern. Tomorrow's meeting—"
"Will be a disaster if we go in unprepared," I finished for him, finally turning away from Darian. "Lilith knows about your neural stability issues. She deliberately brought up Helsinki to rattle you, and it worked. You need to figure out how that information leaked before we proceed."
Chen's frequency darkened with frustration. "We've vetted everyone—"
"Obviously not thoroughly enough," I cut in. "And there's another problem. The disc Darian gave me."
Both men's attention sharpened.
"It enhances my abilities, yes," I continued. "But I think it might also make me more vulnerable to Lilith's projections. When I was using it, her manufactured frequency became much clearer—almost overwhelming."
Darian's expression didn't change, but I felt a subtle shift in his static pattern. "That's... unexpected."
"Is it?" I challenged. "Or did you know this might happen?"
The static intensified again—defensive. "The technology was designed to amplify your natural abilities. A side effect could be increased sensitivity to all emotional frequencies, including projected ones."
"Convenient that you didn't mention this risk," I noted dryly.
"It was theoretical. Now it's confirmed." His tone remained even, professional. "We'll adjust accordingly."
"How?" I demanded.
"Training," he replied. "Between now and tomorrow's meeting, we'll work on strengthening your ability to filter specific frequencies. The disc amplifies everything, but with practice, you can learn to isolate and block certain patterns."
Chen nodded eagerly. "Yes, this could work. If you can identify Lilith's projections and neutralize them—"
"I didn't agree to this yet," I reminded them both. "Training how, exactly?"
Darian's gaze met mine. "Practical application. I'll project various emotional patterns, and you'll practice filtering them."
"You?" I raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Static himself?"
The corner of his mouth quirked slightly. "As you've noticed, the static isn't perfect. It breaks under certain conditions."
"Physical contact," I recalled, remembering the electric shock of emotion that had transferred when I touched him.
"Among other triggers." He nodded. "We can use those breaks to create controlled emotional projections for you to practice with."
The implications sent an unexpected heat through me. Training would mean more physical contact. More of those moments when his careful control slipped and I caught glimpses of what lay beneath the static.
"Fine," I agreed, trying to sound reluctant rather than intrigued. "But not tonight. I need time to process everything I've learned."
Chen looked ready to protest, but Darian nodded. "Tomorrow morning then. I'll send a car at nine."
"Make it ten," I countered, reclaiming some control. "I have a club to run."
"Ten it is." He inclined his head slightly, that not-quite-smile appearing briefly. "We'll meet at my residence. The environment will be more... controlled than the church."
"Your place?" I raised an eyebrow. "Not the client's?"
"My residence has been specifically modified for this kind of work," he explained, not rising to my bait. "Soundproofing, frequency dampening, specialized equipment."
"Of course it has," I muttered, wondering what other "modifications" his home contained. "Text me the address. I'll be there."
Chen stood, clearly eager to wrap up our meeting. "What about tomorrow afternoon's negotiation? Should we postpone?"
"No," Darian replied immediately. "That would alert Lilith that we've detected her ability. For now, our best advantage is her uncertainty about how much we know."
"I agree," I said, surprising myself by siding with Darian. "But you should prepare your team, Chen. Without telling them specifically what's happening, warn them to be skeptical of any sudden emotional shifts during the negotiations."
Chen nodded, relief evident in his frequency. "I can do that. I'll frame it as standard negotiation tactics—emotional manipulation through conventional means."
"Good." I gathered my clutch, ready to leave. The revelations of the evening had left me mentally exhausted, and I needed space to sort through everything. "I should go. Kass will be wondering where I've been all night."
"I'll walk you out," Darian said, moving toward the door.
Chen extended his hand. "Thank you, Ms. Voss. Your insight has been... illuminating."
I shook it briefly, noting the genuine gratitude in his frequency. Whatever else was happening, Chen truly believed in his technology's potential. He wasn't just a corporate puppet.
"See you tomorrow," I said, then followed Darian out of the suite.
In the hallway, with Chen's door closed behind us, the static between Darian and me seemed to expand, filling the narrow space. Neither of us spoke as we walked to the elevator. I pressed the call button, hyperaware of his presence beside me.
"You were surprisingly honest in there," I finally said as we waited. "About ECHO-7. About Lilith."
"You needed the information." His voice revealed nothing beyond professional assessment.
"No." I turned to face him fully. "You could have given me sanitized versions. Half-truths. But you didn't."
He met my gaze, those color-shifting eyes now a deep amber in the hallway's soft lighting. "Would you have believed sanitized versions?"
"Probably not," I admitted. "But most people would have tried anyway."
"I'm not most people." The elevator arrived with a soft chime, doors sliding open soundlessly.
"No," I agreed, stepping inside. "You're not."
He followed, standing beside me as the doors closed. In the confined space, his static felt different—less oppressive, more focused. Almost intimate.
"What are you expecting to happen tomorrow?" I asked, staring at our reflections in the polished elevator doors. "With this training."
"Results," he said simply. "You have a natural talent. With proper conditioning, you could be exceptional."
"Conditioning," I repeated, the word still leaving a sour taste. "Like what you did to Lilith?"
His reflection remained impassive. "Different methods. Similar principle."
"And if I refuse?"
"You won't." The certainty in his voice should irritate me. Instead, it sent a strange thrill up my spine.
"So sure of that, are you?"
"Yes." He turned slightly, bringing us face to face. "You're too curious. Too hungry for understanding. You won't walk away now."
The accuracy of his assessment left me momentarily speechless. He was right, of course. Despite every red flag, every warning, I couldn't stop now. The puzzle of Darian, of Lilith, of the strange technology that could enhance my abilities—it was too compelling.
"Why me?" I asked suddenly. "Out of all the people with abilities like mine, why choose me for this job?"
Something flickered across his face—too quick to identify. "What makes you think there are others like you?"
"There's Lilith," I pointed out. "And the other ECHO-7 subjects. There must be more."
"None exactly like you," he said quietly. "Your particular manifestation—hearing emotional frequencies as physical sensations—is unique in our records."
"Our records," I repeated. "Meaning the military's?"
The elevator reached the lobby, doors opening to reveal the elegant hotel entrance. Darian placed his hand at the small of my back, guiding me forward. The touch, even through the fabric of my dress, sent a ripple through his static barrier—not breaking it completely, but thinning it enough that I caught a hint of that electric current beneath.
"We should continue this conversation tomorrow," he said, smoothly deflecting my question. "When we're somewhere more private."
I stepped away from his touch, needing distance to think clearly. "Fine. But I expect real answers then, Darian. No more deflections or half-truths."
He studied me for a moment, expression unreadable. "Within parameters, you'll get them."
"Not good enough." I stood my ground, aware of the hotel staff discreetly watching our interaction from the front desk. "I need to know what I'm really involved in here. All of it."
"That's not possible," he said simply. "Some things remain classified, even to me."
"Bullshit." I stepped closer, voice dropping. "You know more than you're saying. About the technology, about Lilith, about why your client chose me specifically."
For a moment, I thought he might continue denying it. Then something shifted in his demeanor—a subtle relaxation, as if he'd made a decision.
"Tomorrow," he promised, his voice low enough that only I could hear. "Nine a.m., not ten. My driver will collect you."
"I said ten," I reminded him, irritated by his presumption.
"Nine," he repeated firmly. "What I have to show you will take time. Be ready."
Before I could argue further, he reached for my hand. The contact was brief, formal—a businessman concluding a meeting. But the static fractured for a critical second, and I caught a surge of... determination? Concern? It vanished too quickly to properly identify.
"Goodnight, Emira." He released my hand and stepped back. "Try not to overthink everything before tomorrow."
"That's like telling water not to be wet," I retorted, ignoring the flutter in my chest at the use of my first name.
That almost-smile appeared again, gone as quickly as it came. "Nine a.m."
I watched him walk back toward the elevators, his posture perfect, movements controlled. Only when the doors closed behind him did I finally exhale, realizing I'd been holding my breath.
Whatever waited for me tomorrow at Darian's residence, one thing was certain—I was diving deeper into something I didn't fully understand. The smart move would be to walk away now, return to my predictable life at the club, forget about static barriers and emotional projections and military experiments.
Instead, I pulled out my phone and texted Kass that I'd be unavailable tomorrow morning. Then I headed for the hotel's exit, already calculating how early I needed to wake to be ready by nine.
The cool night air hit my face as I stepped outside, but it did nothing to clear the static still lingering in my mind—the persistent, addictive mystery of Darian Frost and whatever the fuck he was really involving me in.