The aftermath of their "grounding" attempt was a tangle of limbs and an even deeper identity crisis. While the physical tension had been addressed, the psychic landscape was a mess.
The air in the master suite was still thick with the lingering hum of their synchronized heartbeats, but the silence that followed wasn't peaceful—it was confused.
Samantha sat up, dragging a hand through her hair. The icy, tactical precision of the former Overseer was beginning to recede, leaving behind a frantic, buzzing Samantha-ness that was trying to reassert control.
"Okay," she breathed, her voice finally losing that clipped cadence. "That was... intense. But I'm still thinking in three-point tactical plans, and Marcus is currently staring at a dust mote like he wants to hunt it. We need our own souls back."
