"Stop staring at it like it’s a holy relic, Vivian. It’s just a piece of fabric," I said, leaning against the lab table. I tried to sound bored. I tried to sound like a girl who hadn't spent the last hour shaking in her boots.
Vivian didn't even blink. She had the scrap of dark material pinned under a digital microscope, her brow furrowed in that intense way that made my stomach do a weird flip. She looked too good in the lab coat—too clean, too focused. "It's not just fabric, Tess. This weave is synthetic but reinforced with a gravitational lattice. I've never seen anything like it in the civilian sector."
"Maybe it's from some fancy new yoga line," I joked, though my voice sounded thin. "Who knows? High-performance leggings are a thing."
Vivian finally looked up. Her eyes were wide, searching mine. She stepped closer, the smell of vanilla and ozone clinging to her. She was so close I could see the tiny gold flecks in her irises. "Tess, this came from the site of the collapse. The same site where Fallstar was seen. This isn't yoga gear. This is a signature."
I felt the collar around my neck tighten. Not physically—not yet—but the psychological weight of it felt like a noose. I shifted my weight, stepping back just an inch. "And? What does that mean for me? I'm just the girl who helped you carry the wounded out."
"It means someone was there who doesn't exist in any official registry," Vivian whispered. She reached out, her fingers grazing my forearm. Her touch was warm, steady, and it made me want to scream. "And you were there. You're always there when things go wrong, aren't you?"
"I'm a magnet for chaos, Viv. You know that," I snapped, pulling my arm away. "Look, if you're trying to play detective with me, maybe just... go back to the microscope?"
"I'm not playing," she said, her voice dropping an octave. She stepped into my space again, forcing me back against the cold metal of the workbench. She didn't grab me, but she didn't have to. Her presence was its own kind of trap. "Tell me the truth. Do you know who Fallstar is?"
I looked at her—really looked at her. This was the only person in this godforsaken city who didn't treat me like a disposable asset or a debt-ridden loser. She actually liked me. She trusted me. And here I was, wearing the skin of the monster she was hunting.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I lied. The words felt like ash in my mouth.
"You're lying," she said softly. She didn't sound angry. She sounded disappointed, which was ten times worse. "Your pulse is jumping in your neck. I can see it."
I scoffed and turned away, pretending to examine a beaker. "Maybe I'm just caffeinated. Or maybe I'm stressed because my landlord is threatening to throw my bed on the sidewalk again."
"I could help you with that," she offered immediately. "Tess, if you're in trouble, if you're being coerced by someone—"
"I'm fine!" I yelled, a bit too loud for the small room. "Just... drop it, okay? Please."
Vivian sighed, the tension breaking just a fraction. She stepped back, giving me air. "Fine. But I'm not letting this go. I'm going to run a full spectral analysis on this scrap. If it matches the energy readings from the collapse, I'll have a physical lead on Fallstar's gear."
I felt a cold sweat break across my spine. "Right. Great. Good luck with that."
I practically bolted from the lab, my boots clicking frantically on the linoleum. The second I hit the hallway, I ducked into a storage closet and ripped my phone out of my pocket. My hands were shaking so hard I almost dropped the damn thing.
One new message. From Silas.
I opened it, and my heart stopped. It wasn't a text. It was a photo.
It was a high-res shot taken from a hidden camera—likely one of the many drones Silas had buzzing around the city. The photo showed Vivian, leaning over the microscope, the dark fabric scrap centered perfectly in the frame. The timestamp was from three minutes ago.
Underneath the photo, Silas had typed a single line:
*"She's getting warm, Little Star. But you're getting cold. Your quota is still lagging. If she finds the source of that fabric, you're not just failing the contract—you're becoming the evidence."
I leaned my head against the wall, closing my eyes. The collar beneath my scarf seemed to hum, a low-frequency vibration that reminded me exactly who owned my life. Silas didn't do warnings. He did deadlines.
"Fuck," I whispered, sliding down the wall until I was sitting on the floor. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
I could see the path he wanted me to take. He wanted me to go back in there and destroy the evidence. Or better yet, frame someone else. He wanted me to hurt the only person who had ever looked at me and seen something worth saving.
My phone buzzed again. Another message.
*"Ten minutes, Tess. Either that scrap disappears, or I activate the 'compliance' mode on your collar. You know how much that hurts."
I remembered the last time the collar had flared. It wasn't just pain; it was a total system override. My body had moved on its own, crushing a concrete pillar into dust while I screamed inside my own head, a passenger in my own skin. I couldn't let that happen here. Not with Vivian standing right there.
I stood up, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. I had to do it. I had to be the villain. I had to be the disaster.
I walked back toward the lab, my footsteps heavy. I could see Vivian through the glass partition, humming a little tune to herself, completely unaware that the girl she was trying to help was the one about to ruin her night.
I pushed the door open. The chime of the bell sounded like a death knell.
"Hey," I said, my voice sounding hollow. "I forgot to ask... where exactly did you put that piece of fabric?"
Vivian smiled, a genuine, bright smile that made me want to vomit. "Right here on the slide. Why?"
I stepped closer, my hand twitching toward the gravity-well trigger hidden in my sleeve. I could feel the pressure building in the air, the subtle shift in weight that always preceded a collapse.
"Because," I said, my voice trembling, "I think it's time this thing disappeared."
Vivian's smile vanished. She didn't move, but her eyes locked onto mine, narrowing. "Tess? What are you doing?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't. I just watched as the air around the microscope began to warp, the metal of the table groaning under a sudden, invisible force.
Then, my phone chimed in my pocket. A third message from Silas. I didn't even have to look to know what it was. He was watching. He was enjoying this.
Vivian reached out, not to push me away, but to grab my wrist, her grip firm and desperate. "Tess, stop this. Whatever is happening, just tell me—"
"I can't," I choked out, the gravity spike peaking. "Viv, get away from me!"
Just as the table buckled with a deafening screech of tearing steel, the door to the lab slammed open. A man in a suit—one of Silas's cleaners—stepped in with a smug grin, holding a handheld jammer.
"Wrong timing, Hero," the man sneered, and he pressed a button on the device.
Suddenly, the collar around my neck didn't just hum. It screamed. A bolt of white-hot agony surged through my nerves, slamming me to my knees. My vision blurred, and the gravity I'd been holding exploded outward in a violent, uncontrolled wave.
Everything shattered. Glass rained down like diamonds. The microscope disintegrated. And Vivian—Vivian was thrown backward, her back hitting the wall with a sickening thud.
I gasped for air, clutching my throat, the collar searing my skin. Through the haze of pain, I saw the cleaner walking toward the wreckage, picking up a single, charred fragment of the fabric that had survived the blast.
He looked at me, then at the unconscious Vivian, and chuckled.
"Silas says you're too soft, Tess. He decided to help you out."
He turned to leave, but paused at the door, glancing back at me with a cold, clinical interest.
"By the way," he added, "he's sending you a new target for tomorrow. Someone you actually know."