The echoes of the night market’s distant bustle seemed to fade into a soft, indistinct hum as their lips finally parted. For a long moment, the air between them remained electric, thick with the scent of ozone from the city’s Energy Screen and the sweet, lingering strawberry notes of Monica Bailey’s perfume. The neon signs of the lower district cast long, rhythmic shadows across the pavement, painting the scene in alternating hues of violet and electric blue.
Leo Shaw looked at the girl in his arms. Her eyes were slightly glassy, her cheeks flushed with a deep, radiant heat that had nothing to do with the summer air. In this world of high-stakes Spirit Power and lethal Mutated Beasts, moments of genuine, unrefined human connection were rare treasures. For Monica, who had spent the last we
