Chapter 247: Borrowed Bodies.
Melissa pulled her chair forward another few inches, the wooden legs scraping softly against the polished floor. She sat back down with deliberate poise and crossed her legs. The black heel dangled loosely off her toe, swaying in small, absent movements—the unconscious rhythm of someone settling in for more than a minute.
[Telepathy blocked. Misdirection engaged.]
Did you just start that, or has it been running the whole session?
The system stayed silent. That silence was answer enough.
"Why is everything in your head about sex?" Melissa asked, her voice calm, almost conversational, as if she were commenting on the weather.
I met her gaze, keeping my face neutral even as my pulse kicked up a notch. "Excuse me?"
"It’s fine." She uncrossed her legs in one smooth shift of fabric and crossed them the other way. The heel resumed its gentle sway. "I’m a mind reader, Abram. That’s hardly a secret around here. Every corridor I walk through in there—" she tapped her temple lightly "—leads back to the same room."
[Misdirection holding.]
I see. Thanks for the precision.
"I went through your file," she continued. Her shoulders eased a fraction, the crisp professional mask softening into something closer to real curiosity. "Lord Bala wrote about you in terms he rarely uses. General Sinn speaks of you the same way, and Sinn doesn’t hand out praise lightly. It’s a genuine pleasure to meet you properly."
She extended her hand again, fingers steady, nails painted a deep, understated red.
[She doubts what she’s seeing. She wants back in.]
I took it. Her grip was cool, firm, and brief. I let the system guide the moment wherever it had decided this should go.
"Why am I actually here?" I asked, releasing her hand and leaning back slightly.
She smiled at the word actually—a small, knowing flicker at the corner of her mouth. "Because I wasn’t certain you believed in the objective. And I need you fully on board."
"I believe in it." I shifted forward, closing some of the distance between our chairs, body language open and unhurried. "What I don’t believe is that Mrs. Rivers will work with a second government. She was loyal to CGI—not just tactically. Personally."
"She will." Melissa didn’t blink. "I read her once. She was ready to turn against them right up until the day you walked into her house. You changed something in her. You can change it back."
"Ma’am—"
"Melissa."
[This mission offers proximity. Proximity leads to marking.]
"And if she refuses?"
"That won’t be your problem." Her eyes held mine without wavering, steady as a sniper’s scope. "All I need from you is the attempt."
I paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough for her to feel its weight. "Okay. One condition."
"Name it."
"I meet her with you."
[I wasn’t aware of your game.]
Neither was I, entirely. But she was the only woman inside these walls who hadn’t softened, hadn’t shifted, hadn’t offered even the smallest opening the way nearly everyone else eventually did. No stray thought had crossed the space between us since I sat down. Whatever path led to marking her, it ran through time and proximity, not charm.
"I don’t think that works," she said. "I’ll be direct. I brought Becky in because I assumed the two of you work well together."
"We do. She’s a good partner. I trust her." My voice stayed level. "But Mrs. Rivers needs a mind reader in the room. You’ve read her before. You know the difference between what she says and what she’s actually thinking. Without that, we’re just two outsiders standing in her mansion asking for something she’s already decided to refuse."
Melissa studied me for several long seconds. Her eyes narrowed slightly, the way someone might when pressing deeper into a locked drawer.
She’s in there right now, I thought. Trying to dig past the misdirection.
"Stop." The word slipped out as a whisper, meant for herself. A sharp flicker of irritation cracked her composure for the first time—her jaw tightening, a quick flare of her nostrils. "You absolute pervert."
"Excuse me?"
"I’m sorry." The recovery was instant and flawless, the professional mask snapping back into place before the apology had fully left her lips. "I’ll organize the meeting."
"Thank you, Melissa."
I stood and walked toward the door, my footsteps measured against the sunlit floor.
"Wait."
I turned my head.
"You grew up outside the walls," she said. "Correct?"
"Correct."
"And your name is Nadez."
There it was. The real reason I was still in this office. Everything before had been the approach.
"Yes." I turned fully to face her. "It was my father’s name. Before the infected got him on the plain."
Something shifted behind her eyes—not surprise, but confirmation.
"So you grew up with him," she said softly.
"Until a few years ago."
"I see." She forced a smile that never reached her eyes. "Sorry to pry."
I opened the door.
[Her telepathy is strong. Extended proximity will erode the misdirection.]
[Prioritize marking her. Curiosity is access.]
Understood.
I stepped into the corridor and let the cool air settle over my skin, closing the door behind me with a soft click.
Mute was walking toward the office. Our eyes met. He smiled, slow, unhurried, the smile of someone who had all the time in the world and knew exactly how little of it I had left.
[That is not Mute.]
[Mute is a vessel. Something ancient is inside him. I cannot access the identity.]
Wait, what?
The pieces clicked together with brutal clarity.
Riya’s unfinished letter on her sofa. The awakening is not a single day. It has already—
Celestine outside the café, her voice cutting through my enhanced hearing. Says someone living in a borrowed body.
Mute in this same corridor last night. Of all the bodies available inside these walls, why this one?
Glimpses of the awakening had already begun.
Mute stopped a few feet away. The smile widened, revealing something ancient and predatory flickering beneath the familiar features.
"Miss me?"
Who the hell are you.