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"Stop looking at me like I’m some kind of stray dog you’re forced to adopt," I snapped, leaning back against the cold metal of the interrogation chair. My wrists were still stinging from the cuffs. "I didn't ask for this 'partnership.' I didn't ask for you."
Wren Starr didn't even blink. She was standing three feet away, bathed in the harsh, clinical light of the Agency’s holding room. She looked perfect—too perfect. Not a single blonde hair out of place, her white-and-gold hero suit pressed so sharp it could probably cut glass. She looked like a doll. A very expensive, very annoyed doll.
"Believe me, Noelle, the feeling is mutual," Wren said. Her voice was a polished chime, the kind of voice that sold millions of action figures and energy drinks. "I have a brand to maintain. My fans expect a savior, not a babysitter for a girl who breaks everything she touches. Do you have any idea what this does to my approval ratings?"
"Oh, poor you," I sneered. "Your ratings might dip. Meanwhile, I’m pretty sure the Agency has enough dirt on me to make sure I never see the sun again unless it’s through a barred window. So let's skip the 'tragedy of the golden girl' act and get to the part where you tell me why the hell we're linked."
Wren stepped closer. The smell of vanilla and something metallic—like ozone after a lightning strike—hit me. She didn't stop until her boots were inches from my toes. She leaned down, her face hovering just a few inches from mine. I could see the tiny gold flecks in her iris. She wasn't smiling.
"Because the Agency says you're the only one who can stabilize my output," she whispered. "And I'm the only thing keeping your power from eating you alive. We're a leash, Noelle. I'm yours, and you're mine."
I laughed, a harsh, dry sound. "A leash? I don't do leashes. I'm more of a 'burn the house down' kind of girl."
"Try it," Wren countered, her voice dropping an octave. "Try to walk away. I can feel your pulse from here. It's erratic. You're terrified, aren't you?"
I stiffened. She was right. Every time I breathed, I could feel that black, jagged hunger inside my chest, clawing to get out. It felt like swallowing broken glass. I tried to mask it with a smirk, but my hands were shaking. I hid them under the table, digging my nails into my palms.
"I'm not terrified of you, Starr."
"You should be," she murmured. She reached out, her gloved hand hovering just above my wrist. She didn't touch me—not yet—but I could feel the heat radiating from her. It was an invitation and a threat all at once. "Because the second we link, I'm going to feel everything. Your fear, your anger, every little dirty secret you're hiding. There's no privacy in a bond like this."
"Get out of my face," I spat, but I didn't move. I couldn't. The air between us felt thick, like we were underwater.
Suddenly, the heavy steel door groaned open. Cade Rowan walked in, looking like he’d just rolled out of a dive bar and into a corporate boardroom. He had a tablet in one hand and a smirk that made me want to punch him in the throat.
"Alright, lovebirds, enough with the sexual tension," Cade announced, his voice grating. "The board has made a decision. Since you two are now biologically tethered—congrats on the soul-bond, by the way, real romantic stuff—you're moving in together."
I froze. "What?"
Wren straightened up instantly, her face returning to that mask of golden perfection. "Excuse me? I have a penthouse in the Heights. I am not sharing a bathroom with a villain."
"Not your penthouse, sweetheart," Cade said, tapping the tablet. "The Agency owns a secure apartment. High-tech, soundproof, and most importantly, monitored. You'll be living in a gilded cage for the next three months. If you can prove the link is stable and the public likes the 'enemies-to-lovers' arc we're scripting, maybe we'll talk about separate zip codes."
"I'm not an actress," I snarled.
"You're whatever we tell you to be," Cade replied coldly. "Otherwise, you go back to the hole you crawled out of, and I'll make sure the debt collectors find your new address within the hour. Your choice, Noelle. The fancy apartment or the gutter."
I looked at Wren. She was staring at me with a mixture of disgust and something else—something that looked almost like pity. I hated it. I hated her. I hated that she was the only thing keeping the black fire in my veins from turning me into a pile of ash.
"Fine," I whispered. "I'll play your game."
"Good girl," Cade smirked. "Now get your gear. The car is waiting."
*** The apartment was exactly what I expected: a luxury prison. White marble, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and enough security cameras to make a paranoid schizophrenic feel at home. It looked like a showroom for a life I'd never be able to afford.
Wren walked in first, her heels clicking on the tile like a countdown. She didn't even look at me as she marched toward the master bedroom.
"One rule," she said, stopping at the door. "Do not touch my things. Do not enter my space. And for the love of god, do not talk to me unless the cameras are rolling and the script says so."
"Wow, you're really leaning into the 'ice queen' thing, huh?" I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms. "Does the script include the part where you pretend to be a decent human being, or is that an optional DLC?"
Wren turned, her eyes narrowing. She stepped toward me, her presence filling the hallway. The distance vanished in a second. She didn't touch me, but she pressed her shoulder against mine, forcing me back against the wall. I could feel the warmth of her body, the steady, rhythmic beat of her heart. It was maddeningly calm compared to the storm inside me.
"Listen, Noelle," she whispered, her breath warm against my ear. "I don't like you. I don't trust you. But if we fail this, the Agency doesn't just fire us. They erase us. So you will do exactly what I say, when I say it. Do we have a deal?"
I could feel my heart hammering against my ribs. The proximity was doing something to the link. The black shards in my chest weren't clawing anymore; they were humming. It was a low, vibrating frequency that made my skin itch.
"I don't take orders from girls who wear gold glitter for a living," I replied, though my voice lacked its usual bite.
Wren's gaze dropped to my lips for a fraction of a second. The tension was so thick I could taste it—copper and sugar. She leaned in even closer, her chest brushing against mine. For a moment, I thought she was actually going to kiss me, or maybe strangle me. I wasn't sure which I wanted more.
Then, a loud, electronic *click* echoed through the apartment.
We both jumped. The sound came from the main door. I looked back and saw the heavy security bolts sliding into place with a finality that made my stomach drop.
"What was that?" I asked.
Cade’s voice crackled over the intercom system, sounding way too amused. "Just a little safety measure. The board decided that 'forced proximity' needs to be literal. The doors are locked. The windows are reinforced. You're not leaving this place until the link hits one hundred percent synchronization."
"You can't be serious," Wren shouted toward the ceiling. "Open the door, Cade!"
"Oh, I'm dead serious," Cade replied. "And here's the best part: the link is now bidirectional. If one of you tries to force the lock or use your powers to break out, the other one's respiratory system will simply... stop. You breathe together, or you don't breathe at all."
Silence fell over the room. I looked at Wren. She was pale, her hand gripping the edge of the wall so hard her knuckles were white. I felt a sudden, sharp pinch in my chest, and then, a wave of her sheer, blinding panic flooded into me.
I gasped, clutching my own ribs. I could feel her lungs tightening. I could feel her heart racing in sync with mine.
"You've got to be kidding me," I whispered, staring at the locked door.
Wren looked at me, her eyes wide with a new kind of terror. "Tell me you can't feel that," she breathed.
I stepped closer, my hand instinctively reaching for her arm. "Feel what?"
As my fingers brushed her skin, a spark of black and gold electricity snapped between us, throwing us both backward. The lights in the apartment flickered, and for a split second, I didn't see the room—I saw a vision of a crumbling tower and a voice that sounded like a thousand screaming stars.
I hit the floor hard, breathing in ragged gulps. Wren was sprawled next to me, her chest heaving.
"What the hell was that?" she gasped.
I looked at my palm. A thin, black line was etched into my skin, glowing with a faint, rhythmic light. It was pulsing in time with the heartbeat I could still feel—her heartbeat.
"I think," I said, my voice trembling, "that we just became a lot more than roommates."