"Stay down if you want to keep your lungs," a voice hissed.
I didn't stay down. I slammed my shoulder into the side of the girl who'd dragged me into this alley, pinning her against a damp brick wall. My hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off her scream, while my other arm locked across her chest.
"Who the hell are you?" I spat. My voice sounded like gravel grinding in a blender. I hadn't used it in months.
She didn't panic. She didn't even struggle. She just stared at me with these wide, gold-flecked eyes that looked way too expensive for the Neon Slums. She reached up, her fingers grazing the jagged scar running down my neck—the place where they'd tried to shut me down.
"I'm the one who just saved your life, you idiot," she mumbled against my palm.
I shoved her back, just enough to breathe. "Saved me? I was fine in that trash heap until you decided to play hero."
"Fine?" She scoffed, leaning back and crossing her arms. She was wearing a silk coat that probably cost more than the entire block we were standing in. "You were bleeding out from a puncture wound in your side and dreaming about a funeral. You're welcome."
I looked down. She wasn't lying. A makeshift bandage—some kind of high-grade corporate gauze—was taped to my ribs. The pain was a dull roar, but the adrenaline was louder.
"Get away from me," I said, stepping back. "I don't do favors. And I definitely don't do people."
"Too bad," she snapped. "Because you're the only thing in this city that can get me past the Sector 4 gates without a retinal scan. Now, walk. Or I'll just leave you for the scavengers."
I laughed, a dry, hacking sound. "You think you're in charge here? I could snap your wrist in three places before you could even blink."
She didn't flinch. Instead, she stepped closer. Really close. I could smell something like vanilla and ozone coming off her—a scent that didn't belong in a place that smelled like burnt plastic and desperation. She leaned in, her breath warm against my ear, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
"Try it. But if you do, I'll tell the squad trailing us exactly where you're hiding. I'm guessing the 'discarded weapon' doesn't want to go back to the lab for a second round of erasure?"
I froze. My heart hammered against my ribs—not from fear, but from a sudden, violent spike of something else. A surge of electricity shot through my chest, a weird, humming vibration that didn't belong to me.
I gasped, clutching my chest. It wasn't my pain. It was hers.
I could feel it—a cold, sharp spike of terror, a frantic drumming of a heart that wasn't mine. It was like a wire had been soldered between our souls, and the current was suddenly live.
"What the hell is this?" I growled, grabbing her wrist.
She looked down at our joined hands, her expression shifting from arrogance to genuine shock. "I... I don't know. I just felt it. Like a shockwave."
"Get off me!" I shoved her away, but the sensation didn't stop. The more I pushed her, the more the link tightened. Every time she breathed sharply, I felt the air catch in my own throat.
"Stop moving!" she yelled. "Every time you jerk away, it feels like someone's stabbing me in the gut!"
"Maybe that's the point!" I snapped back. "Maybe your body is trying to tell you to run the other way."
"Shut up and move!" She grabbed my sleeve, pulling me toward the mouth of the alley. "We have three minutes before the drones cycle back. If we're still here, we're both dead."
I wanted to argue. I wanted to knock her into a puddle and vanish back into the shadows where I belonged. But the link was screaming. Her fear was becoming my fear, and her desperation was starting to feel like a command.
We sprinted through the rain-slicked streets, dodging neon signs that flickered like dying stars. Every time she leaped over a pile of debris, I felt the ghost of the jump in my own legs. It was sickening. It was intimate. It was a nightmare.
"Why me?" I asked, my voice strained as we dove behind a rusted shipping container. "There are a thousand mercenaries in this city. Why hunt for a ghost?"
She leaned against the metal, her chest heaving. The proximity was suffocating. I could see the pulse jumping in her neck, and I could feel it in my own fingertips.
"Because the mercenaries work for my father," she whispered, her eyes darting to the sky. "And you're the only weapon he built that he couldn't actually control. You're the glitch, Kael. And I need a glitch to break into the Vault."
"I'm not your key," I said, my voice low and threatening. I stepped into her space, looming over her, trying to use my size to regain the power. "I'm the thing that kills the people who make keys."
She didn't back down. She looked up at me, a small, defiant smile playing on her lips despite the terror radiating through the link. "Then kill them for me. It's a win-win."
I stared at her, wondering if I should just finish the job and leave her here. But then the air changed. The humming in the link turned into a high-pitched whine.
*They're here.*
I didn't hear the drone. I felt it through her. A spike of pure, blinding panic hit me so hard I nearly buckled.
"Down!" I tackled her, slamming her back into the grime of the alleyway just as a red scanning beam sliced through the air where her head had been a second ago.
I pinned her down, my body shielding hers. The weight of her against me was electric. I could feel her heart racing—fast, frantic, terrified—and it was syncing with mine. One beat. Two beats. We were breathing in the same rhythm, our chests rising and falling as one.
"Don't move," I whispered, my lips inches from hers.
For a second, the world stopped. The sirens, the rain, the screaming drones—it all faded. There was only the heat of her skin through the silk and the terrifying pull of the bond. I felt her hand slide up to my chest, her fingers clutching my shirt, not to push me away, but to hold on.
"You're not dead," she breathed, her voice trembling. "The records said you were erased."
"Records lie," I said, my gaze dropping to her mouth.
Suddenly, a heavy boot slammed into the pavement beside us. A squad of corporate Enforcers stepped into the alley, their black armor gleaming under the neon lights. The leader stepped forward, his visor sliding up to reveal a face scarred by old burns.
He didn't raise his weapon. He just looked at us—me pinning the heiress to the ground, our breathing synchronized, our energies blurred into one single, glowing frequency on his scanner.
He started to laugh. A slow, cruel sound that made the hair on my neck stand up.
"Well, look at that," the leader said, his voice dripping with amusement. "The dead weapon didn't just survive. He bonded with the little princess."
He reached for his comms, clicking the transmitter. "Sir? We found them. And you're not going to believe who the asset is linked to."
I tightened my grip on her, my muscles coiling to spring.
"Is it really him?" a cold, familiar voice crackled over the radio—the voice of the man who had rewritten my DNA and then tried to delete it.
"In the flesh, Victor. And he's holding the girl. Should I terminate both?"
There was a pause. A silence that felt like a guillotine blade hovering over my neck.
"No," Victor replied. "Bring them to me. I want to see how the link handles a total system collapse."