“So what,” she says softly. “You brought me here to talk me into f*****g you for the good of the mission?”
I huff out a laugh. “Tempting as it is to say yes,” I answer, “no. I brought you here to give you the information you should’ve had years ago. What you do with it is your call.”
The problem is, I’m a liar. Because I do want to touch her. I do want to see if the models are right. I do want to know what our spike looks like.
I drop my hand the last millimeter.
Our palms meet.
It’s barely contact. Skin on skin, warm, dry, human.
The Codex lunges.
I feel it as a static snarl at the edge of my perception, the way the glyph in my chest flares when it’s trying to get clever. It recognizes her, of course it does. It recognizes me, too. It knows my signature from the Tower, the one who
