Chapter 6 – Static
The door clicked shut.
The car glided forward.
Silent interior. Frosted glass. Distant city lights.
Sera didn't move.
She sat with her back straight, hands clenched in her lap.
Perfect posture. Polished nails digging through her silk gloves.
But her fingertips were cold. Her face, flushed.
Her skin felt too tight across her cheekbones.
Too warm under her collar.
She reached up—lightly touched the side of her neck.
It was still warm.
Not from the air.
From him.
She inhaled. Then exhaled too fast.
What the hell was that?
Her reflection in the darkened window blinked back at her.
She looked calm. Collected.
Liar.
Sera, you idiot.
You wanted to be cool. Remote. Elegant.
Instead, you ran. You hid.
Flaked.
She replayed it.
The way he entered the lounge—dark shirt, calm shoulders, scanning the room like he owned it.
The way she fled.
The view from the mezzanine—him dialing, waiting. The patience. The tension in his stillness.
The moment he looked up.
Eyes locking. That slow recognition. That knowing stare.
She hadn't meant to let it linger. She just… froze.
And then she felt that unfamiliar feeling in her stomach and ran again.
He chased.
Caught her wrist.
Sera.
The sound of her name in his voice—low, certain.
Unscripted. Real.
Then the way he looked at her as she shut the car door. Confused, curious. Grounded.
It was too much.
She buried her face in her hands.
Heat bloomed under her fingertips. Her heart was thudding. Her neck burned. Her entire body buzzing with something she didn't have a word for.
Get a grip.
She dropped her hands and sat upright.
Tried to drag her mind back to something clinical.
Reflex. Neural trigger anticipation. Physical sync primer. A spike in emotional latency, not interest. Just data.
Right.
Her phone buzzed softly in her hand.
A new message.
[DREAM INC. INTERNAL - SESSION STATUS: CONFIRMED]
Client: Shaw, Sera
Assigned Actor: Kamakura, Ryden
Session Start: T-minus 6 days
Reminder: Please refrain from additional unscheduled contact to preserve role conditioning.
She opened her phone. Locked it again. Opened it once more.
Her thumb hovered over the handler's name. She didn't press open.
She didn't need to.
She leaned back against the leather seat. Closed her eyes.
The sound of the tires against wet pavement blurred into static.
She told herself it was fine. She was fine.
Six days.
Just six days until session.
She bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to smile.
And failed.