FIVE
1577 Words
Jaxon’s POV
I’ve been staring at my ceiling for hours.
Sleep didn’t come. Not that I expected it to. My brain’s running like a machine stuck in overdrive, and every time I close my eyes, I see her. Not just Emmelyn but the way she looked at me. Like I was the problem. Like I was poisonous .
I tried telling myself I didn’t care.
That it was better this way.
But if that were true, I wouldn’t be lying here at 4 a.m., listening to the buzz of security drones outside my window and wondering if she opened that envelope yet.
Yeah, I sent it.
No, I don’t regret it.
She needed to see it. To understand she’s not the only one living behind glass walls and half-truths. But something tells me she took it the wrong way.
Again.
She always assumes the worst of me. And the worst part? I can’t even blame her.
I sit up, run a hand through my hair, and glance at my phone.
Still nothing.
No text. No call.
Just silence.
She’s good at that.
Dad’s voice cuts through the quiet, echoing faintly from his office downstairs. He’s up too. That’s not unusual. He sleeps less than I do and works more than any man should. But lately, the meetings have been getting...weird. Whispered calls. Files locked tighter than usual. Code names and phrases like “Project Helix” and “Control Protocols.”
It doesn’t sit right with me.
Especially not after seeing Emmelyn’s face when I said her name in that cafeteria.
She doesn’t trust me. Not really.
And if I’m being honest, I haven’t given her much of a reason to.
I get up, throw on a hoodie, and move quietly down the hallway. The door to my father’s home office is closed, but not locked. He must think I’m still asleep.
His mistake.
I c***k it open just enough to peek inside. His back is to me, hunched over his desk, the blue glow of three monitors lighting up the room like something out of a sci-fi film.
On the center screen, I catch a glimpse of something.
**Blackwood Enterprises. Confidential. Internal Systems Transfer – Beta Neural Sync.**
I suck in a sharp breath.
That’s Emmelyn’s family company.
Why does he have this?
I slip in and move silently to the bookshelf against the wall. There’s a hidden access point behind the third shelf—I found it months ago. Dad always locks his computer, but he never guards the backups. All his drives are encrypted and synced here.
I pull out my phone and open the decryption app I downloaded weeks ago, just in case. I’d planned to use it to find something—anything—on my mom.
But now, I’m not so sure what I’m looking for.
A flash drive sits tucked in the corner slot of the shelf.
**“B.E.N. – Blackwood Experimental Neural”**
I grab it. Small. Matte black. Unmarked except for the initials. There’s dust on the edges, like it hasn’t been touched in weeks.
Why would Dad have this?
Why hasn’t Emmelyn ever mentioned it?
I pocket the drive just as his chair scrapes against the floor.
“Jaxon,” he says, voice sharp. “What are you doing?”
I turn slowly.
Lie.
“Couldn’t sleep. Thought I heard someone talking.”
He narrows his eyes, crossing the room. “This area is off-limits. You know that.”
I shrug. “Didn’t touch anything.”
He doesn’t believe me. I can see it in his face.
But he won’t press.
Not yet.
Instead, he steps closer, hand on my shoulder, tone dropping to something colder. “Stay focused, Jaxon. We’re getting close. One mistake and it all falls apart.”
I nod because it’s easier than arguing. But something shifts in me then—something final.
I can’t be part of this anymore.
Whatever he’s doing, whatever this "B.E.N." project is—it feels wrong. Feels personal.
And if it’s tied to Emmelyn, I need to know the truth before it’s too late.
---
Later that day, I showed up at school like nothing happened.
The halls buzz louder than usual. Whispers, glances, all of it humming under the surface. People are still talking about Gia’s party. About the way Emmelyn and I disappeared and came back looking like we’d walked through a storm.
I don’t care.
I don’t even hear them anymore.
All I see is her.
She’s by her locker, hoodie pulled up, earbuds in. Like always. But there’s something different in the way she moves. Like the air around her is thicker. Like she’s holding her breath and waiting for something to go wrong.
I don’t approach her.
Not yet.
She sees me, though. Our eyes meet for the briefest second and her gaze flickers to my pocket.
She knows I have something.
Of course she does.
She’s always been good at reading what I don’t say.
---
Sixth period.
Group project day.
And of course, fate’s cruel enough to put me, Emmelyn, and Riley in the same trio.
Riley wastes no time sinking her claws in. She smiles at me like we’ve got history, like the party meant something, like I didn’t leave the second Emmelyn did.
She leans across the table, voice all sugar.
“So... Jaxon. What are we thinking for the presentation? Robotics? Corporate strategy?”
Emmelyn doesn't even look up.
“I already picked something,” she mutters. “Tech influence in education.”
Riley snorts. “Boring.”
Emmelyn finally looks up—and her eyes are daggers. “Then feel free to switch groups.”
Riley doesn’t respond right away. Just watches her like a cat about to strike. But she doesn’t pounce. Not here. Not yet.
Instead, she turns to me. “You good with that topic, Jax?”
The nickname makes me flinch.
Emmelyn notices.
“Fine,” I say flatly. “Let’s get it over with.”
The tension at our table is nuclear. Riley tries to play mediator, but I’m not biting. Emmelyn doesn’t even try.
After twenty minutes of pretending to collaborate, Riley excuses herself to make a call. Says it’s “urgent.” Emmelyn doesn’t even blink.
But the second she’s gone, she turns to me.
“Why did you send it?” she asks.
I know exactly what she means.
“I needed you to see it.”
“That picture,” she says, voice low. “My mom... I don’t even know who that man is. You think it’s funny? Digging up ghosts?”
“No,” I say. “I think someone else is digging. I just wanted you to be ahead of it.”
She doesn’t believe me. Not fully. But she doesn’t walk away either.
“Why does your dad have files on my family’s research?” she asks.
That catches me off guard.
“How do you—?”
“You’re not the only one who can look over someone’s shoulder,” she says dryly.
I lean forward, lowering my voice. “He’s working with someone else. Riley’s family. There’s a contract. I saw it.”
Her face still goes.
“What kind of contract?”
I pull out the flash drive, set it on the table between us.
“This was in his office.”
Emmelyn picks it up like it might bite her.
“I don’t know what’s on it,” I say. “But if it’s connected to B.E.N., I think your dad’s invention—your name—is more involved than you think.”
She pockets the drive without a word. But her eyes?
Her eyes are fire.
“Meet me after school,” she says. “I know someone who can c***k it.”
And just like that, we’re allies.
Temporary ones, maybe. Fragile ones.
But allies, all the same.
---
That night, we sat in her studio, her real one, the one hidden in the back of the estate where no one goes. It's all canvases and cool light and the scent of graphite. Her hands move fast on the laptop, fingers dancing across keys like she’s done this a thousand times.
I don’t say much.
Just watch her work.
She’s quieter when she’s focused, but there’s a storm behind her eyes.
And when the drive opens, that storm breaks loose.
“Holy crap,” she whispers.
“What?”
She turns the screen toward me.
Code. Diagrams. Blueprints. Neural mapping.
And a project title: **BEN – Behavioral Enhancement Network.**
“It’s not just that ,” she says. “It’s predictive.”
My brows furrow. “Like behavior prediction?”
She nods slowly. “Pattern recognition. Emotional triggers. Real-time surveillance. It’s... it’s invasive. It’s everything Dad swore he’d never approve.”
“Which means he doesn’t know.”
“Or,” she says darkly, “he knows and lied.”
She pulls up one more file. A log. Recently.
**Test Subject: E. Blackwood.**
I got a cold.
“They’re using you,” I say, the words barely audible. “They’ve been watching you this whole time.”
She doesn’t speak. Just stare at the screen. Her hands tremble, but she doesn’t move to close the laptop.
“I think this is bigger than both of us,” she whispers.
And I nod, heart sinking.
“Which means we need to start acting like it.”
- Writer
