Primal Instinct

4– RUN DOWN

The first thing I noticed the next morning was the quiet. Not city quiet, where there’s always some distant siren or neighbor arguing through paper-thin walls. This was deeper. A layered silence that made you aware of your own breathing, your own heartbeat, the tiny sounds of sheets sliding over skin.

I lay there for a second, eyes still closed, listening. No cars. No pipes rattling. No upstairs neighbor doing their 6 a.m. cardio routine directly over my bedroom like the old apartment. Just that faint hum, low and steady, coiled under my ribs like it had moved in and started paying rent.

I cracked one eye open.

For a second, I forgot where I was. The ceiling was higher than anything I’d ever rented. The bed was way too comfortable. The early light was pouring in through the uncovered windows, turning the room soft gold.

Then yesterday hit in quick flashes, the mountains, the glass building, his eyes, his hand, that growl, this suite, that balcony. Right. Crystal Lunar Springs. Freight Tech. Trenton Steele. My new life. I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, exhaling slowly.

“You did it,” I told myself. “New town. New job. New boss who looks like a sin you pray about after.”

My body felt weirdly rested despite the long day. A little heavy, a little warm, but not unpleasant. The hum was still there, familiar now, something I could almost ignore if I pretended hard enough.

Almost.

My phone, plugged in on the nightstand, was still showing the mocking little x where my bars should be. The time read 5:42 a.m. Too early for reasonable people. Right on schedule for anxiety. I dragged myself out of bed, feet sinking into the plush rug. In the bathroom, I caught my reflection and paused.

My curls had staged a coup sometime in the night, spiraling out of the loose pineapple I’d put them in. My eyes were puffy but bright. Normal. No pink. No shimmer. Just me.

“Good,” I muttered. “At least that part was a fluke.”

I showered, letting the hot water beat some of the tension out of my shoulders. By the time I’d done my hair, makeup, and wrestled myself into a navy blouse and black high-waisted slacks, it was a few minutes after six. My first official day started at seven.

Plenty of time to find coffee. Hopefully, the real kind and not whatever mystical mountain energy had been buzzing through my veins since I’d passed that town sign.

The estate was quieter at this hour, too. The corridor outside my door was empty when I stepped out, welcome packet tucked under my arm and keycard in my pocket. To the left, the hallway dead-ended in a set of double doors. To the right, it turned and disappeared.

I was about to go right and see where I landed when a voice came from behind me.

“You’re up early. Good sign.”

I turned.

A woman was striding toward me from the far end of the hall, barefoot, coffee mug in hand. She had warm brown skin, long braids streaked with soft silver, and a face that managed to be both youthful and ageless. Leggings, oversized t-shirt, no makeup, and somehow she still looked like she belonged on the cover of some lifestyle magazine called Rich & Unbothered.

“Uh,” I said brilliantly. “Hi.”

She smiled, wide and genuine. Dimples. “You must be Nairiy.”

She said it right. That alone made me like her.

“That’s me,” I said. “Most people just call me Nai.”

“Good. I was going to steal that anyway.” She stuck out her free hand. “Lyric Steele. HR director, sometime therapist, professional older-sister-figure to idiots who live in this house.”

Steele.

My brain did the math. “As in…?”

“As in unfortunately related to your boss,” she said dryly. “Older sister.”

I blinked. “You’re older?”

“Don’t get distracted by the good skin,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. “Come on, newbie. The kitchen’s this way. First day requires caffeine and a rundown before you walk into the shark tank.”

She started walking without waiting to see if I’d follow. Something about her energy made it easy to fall into step beside her.

“So,” she said, glancing at me. “How’s the suite? Anything broken? Do you need extra blankets? A security escort? An exit strategy?”

I snorted. “The suite is ridiculously luxurious. I’ve stayed in hotel rooms smaller than the bathroom. I don’t think I’ve fully processed that this is temporary housing.”

“Don’t let him hear you call it ridiculous,” she said. “He’ll take it as a compliment and make it worse.”

“I—” I stopped. “You’re talking about your brother like he’s a… problem.”

She smiled into her mug. “Trent is a lot of things. Problem is one of them. You’ll figure out the rest.”

“That’s comforting.”

“If it’s any consolation, he’s a fair problem. Brutal, but fair.” She nudged me lightly with her elbow. “Damien said you survived your meeting yesterday. That’s more than most people do in their first impression.”

“Survived is a strong word,” I muttered. “Endured, maybe. He was super intense.”

Lyric barked a laugh. “That’s one way to put it. What did he do? Glare? Ask you for your entire life story? Read your soul like a spreadsheet?”

“Something like that,” I said, remembering the way he’d looked at me when he said bad habit. The way his jaw had flexed when I talked about my ex. The growl that slipped out like it had escaped on its own.

I didn’t mention that part.

We turned a corner into a wide, open kitchen that looked like it belonged in a cooking show with a massive island, industrial stove, double fridge, enough cabinets to hide a small army. The far wall was all windows, morning light flooding in, painting the countertops in pale gold.

A couple of people were already there—a man in joggers and a t-shirt making a protein shake, a woman in scrubs pouring coffee. They nodded politely when Lyric nodded at them, eyes lingering on me with open curiosity.

“Staff housing,” Lyric said, setting her mug down to refill it. “Most of us rotate between here and town, depending on the schedule. You’ll learn who’s who fast. People talk.”

“I noticed,” I said. “Yesterday, when we drove in. Felt like everyone was… watching.”

“They were,” she said casually. “New energy. New face. Mountain gossip material.” She slid a mug toward me. “Drink. You’ll need it. Trenton likes to start the day by pretending he doesn’t need anyone and then proving that everybody has a job for a reason.”

I wrapped my hands around the mug like it might anchor me. “You really just say whatever you want, huh?”

“Perk of being his sister.” She leaned her hip against the counter. “Let me give you the quick version before you walk into the big bad wolfs office.”

She ticked points off on her fingers.

“One, he’s not big on small talk. Don’t take it personally. If he wants something, he’ll say it. If he doesn’t say it, assume he still wants it but hasn’t decided if he trusts you yet.”

“Comforting,” I said again.

“Two, he will test you. Little things. Late requests. Last-minute changes. Watching to see if you crack or cry or get sloppy. Don’t. Accept chaos, then quietly make it look like order.”

I nodded slowly. “I can do that. I’ve done that.”

“Good. Three, never lie to him.” Her tone dropped a fraction. “Ever. Even about small things. If you’re late, say you’re late. If you messed up, say you messed up. He can work with flawed. He cannot tolerate deceit.”

Images flashed in my head of his silver eyes, that rumble in his chest, the way the air seemed to snap when he was displeased.

“Noted,” I said softly.

She studied me for a second, then tilted her head. “He growled, didn’t he?”

My hand jerked enough that a bit of coffee sloshed over the rim. “What?”

She smiled, a little too knowing. “People who haven’t met him are scared of the idea of him. People who have met him and walk away still willing to come back the next morning? That’s usually because they’re confused instead of terrified.”

I debated pretending not to know what she was talking about. It felt pointless. Her eyes were too sharp.

“It was… weird,” I said finally. “I thought I imagined it at first. The whole room sort of… shifted.”

Lyric nodded like she’d expected that answer. “He does that when something gets under his skin. Most people don’t notice the sound, just the pressure. But you heard it.”

It wasn’t a question. “Yes,” I said.

“And how do you feel this morning?” she asked lightly, like we were talking about the weather. “Any headaches? Weird dreams? Restless? Heavy?”

I hesitated. I could say no. I could brush it off as nerves. New job, new town, new everything. Of course my body was going to be a little confused.

But something in her face, something gentle and intent, made me say, “A little restless. Like my nerves are on a delay. But I assumed that was anxiety.”

She hummed, like that answer made sense and also raised ten other questions. “Drink water. Eat something. If you start feeling… off, find me or Damien. We’ll talk more then.”

Before I could ask what “off” meant, she pushed away from the counter and clapped her hands once.

“All right, Nai. I’ve stolen enough of your first-day buffer. The office is a ten-minute drive from here if traffic doesn’t exist, which it doesn’t, so you’re golden. Damien’ll drop you off on his way down.”

“You’re not going in?” I asked.

She wrinkled her nose. “I work from my home office most mornings. Less testosterone, more plants. But I’ll be around.”

She squeezed my shoulder as she passed, warmth seeping through the fabric of my blouse. “You’ll be fine. Just remember: if he’s quiet, he’s thinking. If he’s too quiet, walk away.”

“Noted,” I said again, wondering why my list of notes for this job already sounded like warnings from a haunted house.