Off Limits
The psychological friction inside my chest reached a volatile, near-critical threshold.
She was negotiating a structural modification to the treaty. She was demanding that I tolerate her beautiful, chaotic mess within the absolute core of my private sanctuary. If I refused, she would rebel; her pride would drive her to find another blind spot in my security grid, exposing her coordinates to Arthur Vance’s external network. If I agreed, I would be forced to stand in this doorway night after night, watching her fingers manipulate pigment, watching her body move under the blinding ring lights, torturing my sensory systems with a proximity I was strictly forbidden from consuming.