Chapter 29: Scratched-Out Truths

The console pinged with a soft tone as Rowan entered the apartment.

He paused in the entryway, the familiar metallic hiss of the door sliding shut behind him. The lights inside were dim, casting long shadows across the clean, minimal surfaces. Rain tapped rhythmically against the wide pane of reinforced glass, the city beyond a blur of silver and neon.

A quiet alert glowed on his personal console in the corner.

He crossed the room slowly. The message was marked:

NEW ENTRY – UNAUTHORIZED ARCHIVE ACCESS

UNLOCKED FRAGMENT – VEIL_ARCHIVE.BK46

There was no sender. No timestamp that made sense. Just a blinking icon, pulsing gently like it had been waiting.

Rowan sat down. One breath. Then he opened it.

The data spilled in glitching shards—corrupted code, half-destroyed logs, layers of old encryption bypassed by some anonymous hand. Among the distortion, lines emerged.

ANCHOR CANDIDATE: MERCER, ROWAN

SECONDARY LINK (UNSTABLE): VAUGHN, L.

TEMPORAL RECURSION ATTEMPT #43: FAILED

STATUS: DEGRADATION IN PROGRESS

Rowan leaned forward, cold settling into his spine.

He remembered the night he first came across Project Veil—back on the rooftop with Lucian, weeks ago. That was when they'd shared their broken pasts. Rowan had spoken of the Rift outbreak that killed Jonas and Elira—his adoptive parents—how they'd shielded him with their bodies, and how he'd awakened screaming, his Guide power flaring without understanding. And Lucian had bared his own truth, quietly but without flinching: the accident that killed his parents when his Esper abilities first erupted, the years of being treated like a weapon, a thing. The experiments. The silence. The pain.

Later that night, haunted and unable to sleep, Rowan had used Evelyn Zarek's override access to delve into restricted archives. His fingers had trembled as he decrypted layer after layer of locked code. And there it was—half-erased, smeared with redaction blocks but undeniably present in Lucian's sealed records:

PROJECT VEIL

A name he hadn't understood then.

And still didn't now.

He hadn't understood what it meant then.

Now, he was starting to.

He scrolled through the fragment again.

One phrase pulsed at the bottom of the file:

STABILIZE THE ANCHOR STABILIZE THE ANCHOR STABILIZE THE ANCHOR

The cursor blinked, waiting.

Behind him, the apartment door slid open.

Lucian entered, his presence cutting through the stillness like a blade wrapped in silk.

Water clung to the hem of his black coat, dripping softly onto the tile with each step. His shirt beneath was damp, clinging to the sculpted lines of his chest and stomach, fabric darkened just enough to hint at muscle and heat beneath. His boots moved silently across the floor, his lean frame casting a tall shadow in the low light.

His dark hair was tousled from the rain, strands curling slightly at the nape of his neck and dripping onto his collar. A single droplet slid down his temple, tracing the sharp edge of his cheekbone.

His eyes—storm-grey with flecks of darker silver—swept the room, landing on Rowan with laser focus. Something unreadable flickered in them. Concern. Curiosity. A pull he wasn't hiding.

He said nothing at first. Just watched.

Like Rowan was the only thing worth seeing.

"Hey," he said softly. "You're back early."

Rowan didn't look up. "Vitals normalized. They let me go."

Lucian set his coat aside, tension already forming across his shoulders. He crossed the room slowly, pausing at the edge of Rowan's peripheral vision.

"Something wrong?"

"No. Just tired."

Lucian's gaze lingered. He didn't press.

Rowan closed the file with a swipe. The screen dimmed, returning to its idle glow.

But the questions it left behind burned hotter than any answer.

He didn't have the full picture—just puzzle pieces scattered in the dark. Names. Terms. Failed recursions. His own name repeated in fractured loops. Nothing concrete, nothing complete. And that made it worse.

He turned. "Do you ever get the feeling we've met before? Even before all this?"

Lucian's brow furrowed. He moved to the kitchen counter, flipping the kettle switch with more care than necessary.

"Sometimes," he admitted. "I know things I shouldn't. Not facts—just... moments. Instinct."

Rowan rose from the chair and crossed the room, watching him. "Like what?"

Lucian glanced over. "Like how you hate over-steeped tea. Or how you look out the window when you're overwhelmed. I knew that before I saw you do it."

The air between them stretched tight.

Rowan's voice was quieter now. "Do you think... we're meant to be here? In this version of everything?"

Lucian's hand paused halfway to a mug.

He looked over his shoulder, eyes catching the soft glow of the lights reflected in the window. "That's a heavy question for someone still healing."

Rowan gave a humorless smile. "Humor me."

Lucian turned fully now, his hip hooking lazily against the edge of the counter, the sharp cut of his coat parting just enough to show the damp cling of his shirt to his abdomen. His mug was forgotten, his hands bracing lightly on either side of the counter as he watched Rowan with something unreadable in his gaze—focused, magnetic.

He didn't move quickly. He moved like he had all the time in the world to reach him. Each step toward Rowan was deliberate, almost sensual, the way his boots padded softly over the floor, his posture fluid and predatory—shoulders relaxed, head tilted just slightly, like he was studying a question he already knew the answer to.

When he stopped in front of Rowan, the air between them was taut—electric. Lucian's body heat rolled off him in quiet waves, his scent fresh from the rain, all earth and storm and something uniquely his. The shadows caught the planes of his face, the hollow beneath his cheekbones, the way his lashes lowered just slightly as his gaze dropped—first to Rowan's mouth, then his throat, then back to his eyes. He stopped a breath away from Rowan.

"I don't know," he said softly. "But if this is borrowed time... I intend to use every second of it."

There was something in his eyes then—warmth wrapped in something darker, the kind of want that wasn't fleeting. It lingered, slow and molten.

Lucian reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against Rowan's forearm, just a test of contact. Rowan didn't flinch.

Instead, he took a step closer.

Lucian's breath caught, just a hitch, like he hadn't expected permission. His other hand lifted to gently cup Rowan's jaw, thumb tracing the line just beneath his cheekbone.

"You drive me insane," Lucian murmured, his voice rougher now. "Always looking at me like you're not sure if I'm real."

Lucian leaned in until their foreheads touched, the barest brush of skin against skin. His nose grazed Rowan's, and for a long moment, neither of them moved. The world shrank to the sound of breathing—shared and shallow.

"But you feel real now," Rowan whispered.

Lucian's lips curved faintly. "Then let me show you."

And then he kissed him.

It wasn't gentle. It was slow-burning, starved—months of want compressed into one desperate breath. Rowan responded instantly, fingers curling into Lucian's rain-damp shirt, pulling him in. Their mouths moved in sync, tasting rain, heat, fear, and longing.

When they broke apart, both breathless, Lucian leaned his forehead against Rowan's once more.

"This... whatever this is—we don't have forever. You know that."

"Then we take what we can," Rowan said.

Lucian smiled, softer this time. But it didn't reach his eyes.

The storm outside picked up again, thunder distant but growing.

They stood there in silence, breaths shallow, foreheads touching. Rowan's fingers still clutched the damp fabric of Lucian's shirt, the warmth of his body radiating through it. The kiss had left his pulse pounding, skin prickled, breath uneven—but it wasn't just desire burning beneath his ribs. It was something heavier. Something nameless.

"You're soaked," Rowan murmured. His voice was low, a rasp along the edge of his throat. "You should change."

Lucian blinked, drawing back slightly. "It's fine."

"Let me," Rowan said, stepping forward before Lucian could protest. His hands rose again—slow, deliberate—and moved to Lucian's collar. Rain-slick buttons slipped free under his fingers, one by one.

Lucian's breath hitched, but he didn't stop him.

As the shirt parted, Rowan's gaze dropped, and his throat went dry.

Lucian's upper body was lean and sculpted—built from years of fighting, surviving, enduring. His skin was pale and smooth in some places, marred in others by a constellation of old scars and faint, silvery lines that caught the light like whispered memories. A long scar cut across his left shoulder, another down the right side of his abdomen, faded but deep. His chest rose and fell with quiet tension.

Rowan lifted a hand and dragged his fingertips along one of the lines, tracing it gently down to Lucian's ribs. He didn't know why he did it. Maybe to memorize him. Maybe to prove he was real.

Lucian shivered.

"You keep looking at me like I'm going to disappear," he murmured.

Rowan didn't answer right away. His palm flattened over Lucian's sternum, feeling the steady beat beneath.

"Maybe I'm afraid you will."

Lucian's lips parted—startled, touched. "Rowan..."

"Don't say anything," Rowan whispered, voice trembling. "Just... let me look."

Lucian swallowed hard, arms falling to his sides as he let Rowan explore the terrain of his body with reverent hands. Fingertips slid along his ribs, brushed down the center of his abdomen, pausing just above the waistband of his pants. It wasn't about lust, not entirely—it was worship, ache, disbelief.

Rowan stepped in close again, pressing a kiss to the center of Lucian's chest. Then another, over the scar near his heart. He lingered there, eyes closed, breathing him in like it might be the last time.

Lucian's hands twitched at his sides, like he didn't know what to do with himself.

"You're dangerous like this," he muttered, breathless.

Rowan looked up. "What, quiet?"

"No," Lucian said, voice rough. "Focused. You undo me."

A faint, rueful smile curved Rowan's lips. "I think you were halfway undone when I met you."

Lucian chuckled, low and warm. "Then you're the one finishing the job."

The tension between them pulsed like a second heartbeat, thick and heavy in the air.

Then Rowan whispered, "Go change before I make worse decisions."

Lucian lingered for half a beat longer, eyes drinking him in—then surged forward without warning. One hand slid into Rowan's hair, gripping it firmly at the base to tilt his head just right, while the other wrapped possessively around his lower back, pressing their bodies flush together.

The kiss crashed into him—raw, blistering. Lucian's mouth moved over his with a hunger that spoke of sleepless nights and buried longing, lips parting just enough to deepen it further. Their tongues met, twisted, tasted—slick and shameless and greedy.

Rowan gasped into him, hands scrambling over Lucian's torso—one splayed against his abdomen, the other dragging up his spine, nails grazing skin. Lucian responded with a low, guttural noise, biting gently at Rowan's bottom lip before sucking it between his teeth.

The world fell away. There was only this—this heat, this pressure, this desperate, frantic need to feel. Their mouths moved like they'd done this before in a hundred lives and might never get the chance again.

Lucian pushed Rowan back a step until he was against the wall, one thigh sliding between his legs, hands roaming without restraint. His touch was hot, anchoring, claiming. Rowan felt his breath hitch, his entire body alight with sensation.

When Lucian finally pulled back, both of them were breathless, lips swollen, pupils blown wide.

He rested his forehead against Rowan's, voice a broken whisper against his mouth.

"Follow me", Lucian gently took Rowan's hand in his and led him to the bedroom. 

Rowan peeled away his shirt—wet fabric clinging to defined lines of muscle, pale skin scattered with faint scars, old burns, reminders of a life lived like a battlefield.

Rowan's hand brushed across his chest, fingertips barely making contact. He traced a scar along Lucian's ribs with reverence, almost like testing the edge of a dream.

"Sometimes," Rowan whispered, "it feels like you're not real."

Lucian's gaze lowered, searching. "Do I feel real now?"

Rowan didn't answer. His throat tightened too much to form words.

Instead, he leaned in, pressing his lips to Lucian's collarbone. A soft, almost sorrowful kiss.

As if he were already mourning something he hadn't yet lost.

Lucian cupped the side of Rowan's face, grounding him with that single touch. "I'll be right back."

He stepped away, disappearing into the adjoining room to dry off and change.

Rowan remained where he was, staring at the space Lucian had just left. The room felt too quiet now. Too big.

A few minutes later, Lucian returned, barefoot and dry. His black shirt fit snug against his frame, dark pants low on his hips. His damp hair had been towel-dried, loose strands falling into his eyes.

He looked so human. And that made it worse.

Rowan opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, the console chimed sharply.

[SECURE CHANNEL – ZAREK.EVELYN]

URGENT DEBRIEF: RIFT PULSE ANOMALY – INNER PERIMETER

Lucian's jaw tensed.

"I'm coming with you," he said without hesitation.

Rowan nodded.

They moved quickly now, collecting jackets, boots, weapons—though neither said it aloud, the air had changed again. Tension had returned like a tide.

As they stepped out the door, Rowan's console flickered behind them.

The screen, idle only a moment before, suddenly glitched.

A message blinked once, then vanished:

MERCER LOOP DETECTED

ANCHOR UNSTABLE

Neither of them saw it.

But the system did.

And the system was beginning to remember.