Tech Jacket นิยาย & เรื่องราว

The council agrees and they get him a chair next to his father’s, so he sits down in front of us. Now that I’m paying attention and I'm no longer freaking out as much, I realize... Asheron is totally wearing Justin's Gucci jacket. The one I bought him in Italy, the one I had custom made for him with his initials ‘JRK’ sewn on the chest. A completely ugly jacket he hates because it's way too loud and ‘rambunctious’. The one he told me he would never wear. My eyes narrow on Asheron as I listen to his fake story.

He only allowed exposure in the less occupied territory of the pack but this was the main epicenter where all eyes and videos were going to be taken. He made Melissa wear the long trench jacket that he had in his car so she could look decent instead of wearing the outfit she currently had on, which she insisted wasn't pajamas, just a matching pattern of a maroon long-sleeved shirt on plaid pants. “That is the literary definition of pajamas, Melissa. Put this on.” He handed over the trench coat to her, a shiny black Kelluci that would improve her outfit ten times better and make it eye-worthy for the criticizing public.

“You are soaked. You must be freezing.” Florence hesitated, her hands trembling slightly from the cold and from everything that was inside her head. She stared down at her damp clothes, her mind racing with thoughts of her own vulnerability. The stranger, sensing her hesitation, gently placed the jacket around her shoulders. The warmth of the fabric was a comforting contrast to the cold she had been feeling. The oversized jacket enveloped her, providing a sense of security and protection.

I let it be my armor. Tomorrow morning, I will meet her for sure. Dawn hit fast the next day. Cold teeth gnashing on the horizon. The Aeris sits like a black promise on the tarmac, low belly gleaming, impatient. Jalen stands by the open hatch like a statue carved from quiet. He has his face on, no questions, only readiness. That steadiness calms the part of me that still trembles. I wear something simple. Dark. A jacket that bites the air when I move. The obsidian hangs under my collar, cold against my skin.

Her breathing is slow, steady, a rhythm I cling too. I close my eyes. If I can just sleep a little… I let myself drift away. But soon the memories play like a movie. Pete’s voice, clipped and firm. “James, Get out of that harness and get cold-weather gear. Now.” I’d unbuckled, fought my way to the locker, dragging the parka over my head, fumbling with gloves. Beanie. I pulled the hood up and pull the tie tight. “Harness. Immediately.” No time for leg protection so I grab the foil thermal blanket. I strap back in and tuck the blanket firmly under me.

He slammed the desk and barked, "Enough! This ends here. Go to orientation camp and stop causing trouble." I walked out with anger burning in my chest. … That afternoon's orientation camp drill took place under a scorching sun. The field felt like a giant steamer. My skin reacted badly to prolonged exposure, so I wore the sun-protection jacket my father had prepared for me. Its fabric was engineered with a special coating and blocked UV rays dozens of times better than anything sold on the market—and its price matched. During the break, everyone else was flushed red and sweating buckets. I was the only one who still looked relatively fresh, aside from a light sheen on my forehead.

Even then, it was still a little loose on her smaller frame. “It’s a little big,” he said. “Still better than nothing.” Then he put the waterproof jacket on her and pulled the hood over her head. From the jacket pocket, he took out a pair of night-vision goggles and fitted them over her eyes. This way, no matter how hard it rained, the clothes underneath would stay dry. Winter looked at him. He was left in only a thin black shirt, the fabric stretched over his broad frame. When he raised his arm, the muscles there flexed with quiet strength.

"Your jacket, Mr. Thorne." He glanced at my tennis skirt, then back at the jacket. "I don't want to wear it. Just hold onto it." "I have to play, sir. It might be awkward to carry." Carter looked at me, then at the jacket, realizing the practical issue. "Right. Fine. Just tie it around your waist or something." I took the expensive fabric and knotted the sleeves around my hips. The oversized blazer draped down almost to my calves, shielding my legs from the wandering eyes of the club members.

"All of our jackets were personally bought by Mom—top-tier outdoor brands. The one you wore yesterday may look identical on the outside, but the material inside is of the cheapest quality. "This kind of fabric wouldn't stand a chance against Treiceland's sub-zero temperatures. Prolonged contact with skin would even cause redness and itching. Where did you get this jacket?"

The anxiety that had once defined her every choice was completely gone, replaced by a calm, crystalline focus. Jake walked into the bedroom, carrying two heavy, weather-sealed tactical cases containing high-altitude survival gear, specialized biometric relays, and cold-weather provisions. He set the cases down by the door, his broad shoulders easily filling the frame as he looked at her with a quiet, possessive warmth.