"Motherfucker!"
I jerked away from Darian's touch, blood trickling from my nose as frequencies slammed through my skull like a lightning strike. Two hours into our second day of training, and I'd stupidly suggested pushing the boundaries of what our connection could do. Now my head felt like someone had taken a fucking jackhammer to it.
"That was... intense." Darian's voice wavered, a rare crack in his usual control. Through our connection, I felt his concern mingled with something darker—fascination. He was cataloging my reaction, studying it. Always the fucking analyst.
"No shit." I pressed the back of my hand to my nose, smearing crimson across my skin. The frequency maps we'd been tracking still shimmered in the air around us, but they'd fractured into jagged, discordant patterns after our failed attempt to jointly project emotional states to a target across the city.
Morning light filtered through the penthouse windows, catching dust motes that danced between us. We'd been at it since dawn, testing the limits of our enhanced abilities, pushing ourselves to exhaustion and back. The isolation chamber had proven too restrictive for what we needed to accomplish, so we'd moved to the main living area, with its panoramic view of the cityscape—a sensory playground of frequencies to manipulate.
"Your nose is bleeding." Darian handed me a pristine white handkerchief. Of course he carried a fucking handkerchief. The man was nothing if not prepared.
"I noticed." I pressed it against my nostrils, tilting my head back. Through our connection, I felt his guilt—sharp and immediate. "Stop that."
"What?"
"The guilt. It's giving me a headache on top of the nosebleed."
His mouth quirked—almost a smile. "I didn't realize you could distinguish between specific emotions now."
"Neither did I until about five seconds ago." I dropped onto his obscenely comfortable leather couch, still holding the cloth to my face. "What the hell happened?"
Darian paced, his movements precise and contained despite the adrenaline I could feel coursing through him. "Feedback loop. When we both projected simultaneously, our frequencies amplified each other. Like pointing two mirrors at each other."
"Or like putting a microphone too close to a speaker," I muttered.
He nodded, stopping to look out the window. "An apt metaphor, given your auditory processing."
Through our connection, I could see the frequencies emanating from him—not just hear them as I once would have. They formed intricate patterns in the air, blues and silvers predominating, with occasional flashes of amber when his thoughts turned to our confrontation with Lilith and Marcus.
"We need to be more careful," he said, turning back to me. "The enhanced perception is one thing, but joint projection at this range is clearly dangerous."
I lowered the handkerchief, checking for fresh blood. Finding none, I folded it carefully, the bright red stain a stark contrast against the white fabric. "So we dial it back. Work on smaller targets, closer range."
"Agreed."
I studied him, noticing how his eyes tracked the movement of my hands. Even with our connection—hell, maybe because of it—there was still something intensely physical between us. Every glance, every casual touch, carried a current of awareness that had nothing to do with our training and everything to do with last night's intimacy.
"Hungry?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject. Through our link, I sensed his discomfort with the direction of his own thoughts.
"Starving, actually."
He moved to the kitchen with that same efficient grace, pulling ingredients from his refrigerator. I followed, perching on a barstool to watch him work. There was something oddly domestic about it—this deadly, controlled man preparing breakfast as if we weren't preparing for psychic warfare.
"Tell me more about Marcus," I said, breaking the comfortable silence. "You've been avoiding the subject."
His hands stilled momentarily over the cutting board where he was dicing peppers for omelets. Through our connection, I felt his resistance, followed by resignation.
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything. He's your half-brother. He was in ECHO-7 with Lilith. He has abilities that complement hers. And he fucking hates you enough to potentially risk a dangerous feedback loop just to get to you." I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the counter. "That's a lot of history you're skimming over."
Darian resumed chopping, each slice perfectly even. "Marcus was a combat medic in Afghanistan. After his unit was hit by an IED, he suffered a traumatic brain injury. During recovery, he demonstrated unusual empathic awareness—could sense patients' pain before they reported it, knew when their conditions were deteriorating before monitors showed any change."
"And the military, being the military, saw an opportunity."
"Yes." He scraped the peppers into a bowl, then started on mushrooms. "He was recruited into ECHO-7 alongside four others with similar abilities, Lilith among them. I was brought in later as a specialist in psychological countermeasures."
"To keep them in line?"
A flash of something—regret?—pulsed through our connection. "To help develop protocols for managing their emerging abilities. The goal was to create assets who could detect emotional states in high-stress situations—interrogations, hostage scenarios, counterintelligence operations."
"But it went beyond that."
He cracked eggs into a bowl, whisking them with the same precision he applied to everything. "Yes. Some subjects began developing projection capabilities—not just reading emotions, but influencing them. Lilith was particularly adept."
"And Marcus?"
"Marcus could amplify. Take a subtle emotional frequency and turn it up until it was overwhelming. Fear became terror. Discomfort became agony. Trust became absolute devotion." Darian's hands never faltered as he poured the egg mixture into a heated pan. "Combined with Lilith's projection abilities, they could effectively emotionally reprogram a person within minutes."
"Jesus." I tried to imagine that kind of power and what it would mean if weaponized on a mass scale. "And they formed a connection?"
"An anchor, yes. Like ours, but different." He flipped the omelet with a practiced motion. "Their abilities were inherently destructive when combined. They created feedback loops that intensified until..."
"Until what?" I prompted when he fell silent.
His eyes met mine, dark with memory. "Until the subject was essentially emotionally shattered. The first time it happened was during a controlled test. The subject—a volunteer who'd been thoroughly briefed—experienced such intense emotional overload that he suffered a stroke. Died three days later."
"Fuck."
"Indeed." He slid the perfect omelet onto a plate and handed it to me. "After that, protocols were put in place to ensure Lilith and Marcus never worked in proximity again. But they maintained their connection, communicating remotely."
I took a bite of the omelet—perfectly seasoned, because of course it was. "So what happened? How did it all fall apart?"
Darian began preparing his own breakfast, his movements methodical. "Helsinki. The program had expanded to include international cooperation with certain allies. A joint operation was planned using Marcus and Lilith's abilities in separate locations to influence a high-value target—a terrorist financier we'd been tracking for years."
"Let me guess. Something went wrong."
"Everything went wrong." His voice remained calm, but through our connection, I felt the sharp edges of the memory cutting into him. "The target was more resilient than anticipated. Lilith pushed harder than protocol allowed. Marcus amplified beyond safe limits. Their connection created a cascade effect that not only killed the target but affected everyone in a fifty-foot radius. Three agents died. Seven civilians."
"Jesus Christ." I set down my fork, appetite suddenly diminished.
"The program was officially terminated after that. All subjects were to be 'decommissioned'—a euphemism for a neural recalibration procedure that would effectively erase their enhanced abilities."
"But Lilith and Marcus escaped."
Darian nodded, plating his own omelet and joining me at the counter. "Marcus was always protective of Lilith. When he learned what was planned, he created a diversion—an emotional amplification that affected an entire wing of the facility. In the chaos, they escaped together."
"And you tried to stop them?"
A muscle twitched in his jaw. "I tried to reason with them—with him. We'd been close once, before ECHO-7. I thought I could convince him to undergo the procedure voluntarily, for his own safety."
Through our connection, I felt the truth he wasn't saying aloud: the betrayal, the physical confrontation, the moment his half-brother chose Lilith over him.
"He nearly killed you," I said quietly.
"He could have." Darian's eyes met mine. "He chose not to. That's the only reason I'm still alive."
The admission hung between us, weighted with implications. If Marcus had shown mercy once, would he do so again? Or had years of separation and whatever he and Lilith were planning eliminated any lingering familial bond?
"And now they're after Chen's neural interface technology," I said, piecing it together. "With that stability algorithm, they could overcome the feedback loop problem. No more geographic separation."
"Precisely." Darian took a bite of his omelet, chewing thoughtfully before continuing. "The technology was originally developed to help patients with certain neurological conditions stabilize their brainwave patterns. But it could be modified to modulate the frequency interactions between empathic abilities."
"Allowing them to work in tandem without the destructive cascade effect."
"Yes."
I pushed my plate away, stomach churning with the implications. "So they get the algorithm, modify it for their needs, and then what? What's the endgame?"
Darian set down his fork, his expression grim. "Based on the components they've been collecting and the research they've accessed, they're building a broadcast system. Something that could project and amplify emotional frequencies over a wide area."
"How wide?"
"Potentially? A city. Maybe more with the right infrastructure."
The enormity of it hit me like a physical blow. "They could create mass panic. Hysteria. Trigger riots or...fuck, make an entire population compliant."
"Which is why we need to stop them before they acquire the final piece." Darian's eyes held mine, the connection between us thrumming with shared understanding. "And why our training today matters more than a nosebleed."
I nodded, pushing away from the counter. "Then let's get back to it. But this time, let's try something different." I extended my hand to him. "Instead of projecting outward simultaneously, let's try projecting to each other first. Create a closed circuit."
He studied my hand for a moment, then took it, his grip firm and warm. "A controlled feedback loop."
"Exactly. If we can manage that, maybe we can use it against them. Turn their own tactics back on them."
A small smile touched his lips—a rare sight that sent a flutter through our connection. "Clever."
We moved back to the living area, standing face to face, hands clasped between us. The frequencies around us shifted, responding to our intentions even before we actively directed them.
"Start with something simple," Darian suggested. "A single, clear emotional state."
I nodded, focusing on our connection. What emotion would be easiest to project, to contain within our circuit? Fear was too volatile. Anger too unpredictable. I settled on something I knew we both understood—determination. The cold, focused resolve that had carried me through years of manipulating frequencies at my club.
I shaped it carefully, pushing it through our link toward Darian. Immediately, I felt him receive it, recognize it, and then—remarkably—refine it. He took my raw determination and honed it, giving it shape and direction before sending it back to me.
The sensation was extraordinary—like having a thought completed for you, but more intimate, more visceral. As the emotion cycled between us, it evolved, becoming something greater than what either of us could have created alone.
"This is..." I breathed, struggling to find words.
"Unprecedented," he finished, his eyes never leaving mine.
We stood there, locked in our emotional circuit, for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes. The frequencies visible around us began to synchronize, forming intricate, beautiful patterns that pulsed in time with our shared emotional state.
When we finally broke contact, I felt simultaneously exhausted and exhilarated.
"That worked," I said unnecessarily.
"Yes." Darian's voice was slightly hoarse. "And with no nosebleeds."
"A definite improvement." I sank onto the couch, processing what we'd just accomplished. "Could Lilith and Marcus do this?"
"Not like this. Their connection was always combative—his amplification fighting her projection for dominance. They never achieved synchronization."
"Because they weren't complementary," I realized. "They were competing."
"Exactly." He sat beside me, close enough that our shoulders almost touched. "This gives us an advantage they won't expect."
I turned to face him, struck by a new thought. "The emotional circuit we just created—could we expand it? Include another person?"
His brow furrowed. "Theoretically. But it would require someone with whom we both have some level of connection."
"Like Chen," I suggested. "He trusts you, and I've read his frequencies multiple times now. If we could create a protective circuit during the negotiation..."
"We could shield him from Lilith's influence." Darian nodded slowly, considering the possibility. "It's worth attempting."
I glanced at the clock on his wall—barely noon, and already we'd made a breakthrough. "What else should we try before tomorrow's meeting?"
"Distance projection," he said without hesitation. "If we can maintain our connection while physically separated, it gives us tactical flexibility."
"How far apart?"
"Start small. Different rooms, then different floors. Eventually, different buildings."
The prospect was both exciting and unnerving. Our connection had become a constant presence, a comfort I hadn't realized I'd grown to rely on in such a short time. The thought of stretching it thin made something twist anxiously in my chest.
Darian caught the emotion immediately through our link. "We don't have to push too far today."
"No, you're right. We need to know our limits." I stood, squaring my shoulders. "Where should I go first?"
"The isolation chamber. Its shielding will create a natural barrier, a good first test."
I nodded and headed for the hidden door, feeling our connection stretch like an elastic band as the distance between us increased. Inside the chamber, I closed the heavy door, sealing myself in the soundproofed room.
Immediately, the visual frequency patterns I'd grown accustomed to seeing faded to dim outlines. Our connection remained, but thinner, like a strand of silk rather than the robust cord I'd become used to.
"Can you still hear me?" I asked aloud, even though I knew he couldn't physically hear through the reinforced walls.
_Yes. Not with my ears, but through our link._ His response came directly into my mind, clear but distant.
_This is weird as fuck,_ I projected back, experimenting with deliberate communication rather than the natural emotional flow we'd established.
A ripple of amusement flowed through our tenuous connection. _Try sending me an image. Something specific._
I closed my eyes, focusing on a mental picture—the scarification pattern on my left shoulder, the intricate design I'd created years ago to help tune my emotional frequencies.
After a moment, his response came: _I see it. The pattern on your shoulder—it looks like a frequency waveform._
_It is. I designed it to help me filter emotional input._ I ran my fingers over the raised lines beneath my shirt, feeling the familiar texture. _Your turn. Send me something._
There was a pause, then an image formed in my mind: a small object, metallic and cylindrical, with an intricate internal mechanism visible through a cutaway section.
_What is that?_ I asked.
_A frequency modulator, more advanced than the disc I gave you. It's what Lilith and Marcus are likely building with the components they've acquired._
The implications were clear—if they succeeded in getting Chen's algorithm, they could complete their device and unleash whatever hell they had planned.
_Let's try something more complex,_ I suggested. _A memory, not just an image._
Agreement flowed through our link. I closed my eyes, focusing on a specific memory—the first time I realized I could hear emotional frequencies, at age seven after the accident that rewired my brain. The confusion, the overwhelming sensory input, the fear and then the gradual understanding as I learned to filter and interpret what I was experiencing.
I pushed the memory through our connection, complete with the emotions that accompanied it. When I finished, I felt Darian's response—not words, but a profound understanding mingled with something that felt almost like awe.
Then his memory flowed into me: a young man in military fatigues, features similar enough to Darian's to mark them as brothers, laughing as they sparred in what looked like a training room. The easy camaraderie, the competitive edge tempered by genuine affection. Marcus, before ECHO-7, before everything went wrong.
The intimacy of sharing such personal memories left me breathless. When I finally emerged from the isolation chamber, Darian was waiting, his expression unreadable but his emotional frequency pulsing with a vulnerability I'd never detected from him before.
"That was..."
"I know." He didn't need to elaborate. Through our connection, I felt his mixture of discomfort and relief at having shared something so personal.
"We should try greater distances," I said, giving him an out from the emotional moment.
He nodded, grateful for the shift in focus. "I'll go down to the garage level. You stay here."
"And if the connection breaks?"
"It won't." His certainty flowed through our link. "But if it weakens too much, I'll return immediately."
I watched him enter the elevator, our connection stretching as he descended. Unlike the isolation chamber, which had dampened our link through active shielding, this was a true test of distance. Fourteen floors between us, and still I could feel him—fainter now, but undeniably present.
_Can you still see the frequencies?_ his voice came through our connection.
I looked around the penthouse, noting the visible patterns of energy. _Yes, but they're less distinct. Like looking through foggy glass._
_Try projecting an emotional state. Something distinctive._
I considered, then focused on a very specific feeling: the savage satisfaction I'd felt the first time I'd manipulated someone's emotional state for my own benefit. It wasn't pretty, wasn't noble, but it was authentically mine—and unmistakable.
Through our connection, I felt his recognition, followed by a surprising lack of judgment. Then he projected back—not a matching emotion, but a complementary one: the controlled power he'd felt when perfecting his static barrier, the protective isolation it had provided.
Even at this distance, our emotional exchange created a resonance that strengthened our connection. The foggy quality of the frequency patterns cleared somewhat, becoming more defined.
_It's working,_ I sent. _The connection gets stronger with active use._
_Like a muscle,_ came his reply. _The more we exercise it, the more resilient it becomes._
He returned to the penthouse, and we spent the next several hours testing various aspects of our enhanced abilities—projecting different emotional states at increasing distances, refining our control over the frequency patterns we could now see, and developing a silent communication system that would allow us to coordinate during tomorrow's confrontation.
By late afternoon, exhaustion had set in. My head throbbed, not from feedback this time but from the sheer mental exertion. Darian wasn't in much better shape; through our connection, I could feel his fatigue despite his outward composure.
"We should rest," he said, acknowledging what we both knew. "Tomorrow will require everything we have."
I nodded, collapsing onto his couch. "Run me through the plan one more time."
He sat beside me, our shoulders touching. The casual contact sent a ripple through our connection—comfort and awareness intertwined.
"The meeting is at Meridian Biotechnologies at 9 AM. Chen, Victor, their respective legal teams, and us. Lilith will be there as Victor's 'strategic advisor.'" His fingers traced invisible patterns on the leather between us. "Based on previous patterns, Marcus will be nearby—close enough to maintain their connection, but not in the same building."
"And we use our enhanced perception to locate him."
"Yes. Once we've identified his position, we implement the lure—a projected emotional frequency designed specifically to draw him in. Something he can't resist."
"Your history," I said quietly. "The fact that he left you alive."
Darian nodded, his expression grim. "If there's any remnant of our former relationship, it will make him curious. If not, his desire to prove himself superior will draw him in regardless."
"And when he arrives?"
"We force them into proximity, triggering the destructive feedback loop between their abilities. But this time, we'll be prepared with our own synchronized connection. We use the emotional circuit we developed today to create a buffer around Chen, protecting him and his team while Lilith and Marcus essentially neutralize each other."
It sounded simple in theory, but we both knew the reality would be infinitely more complex. These were two enhanced individuals who had spent years learning to use their abilities. They'd be expecting some kind of countermeasure—just not the specific one we had developed.
"And if it doesn't work?" I asked the question that had been hovering between us all day.
Darian's eyes met mine, dark and resolute. "Then we use the frequency modulator as a last resort. It's not as elegant a solution, and it carries risks, but it will disrupt their abilities temporarily."
"Giving us a chance to secure the algorithm and get Chen to safety."
"Exactly."
I leaned back, closing my eyes. Through our connection, I felt Darian's confidence in the plan mingled with a realistic assessment of its dangers. Neither of us was naive enough to believe this would be easy.
"We should eat something," he said after a while. "Replenish our energy."
I opened my eyes to find him watching me, his gaze soft in a way I was still getting used to. "Are you cooking again, or should we order in?"
"I thought we might go out, actually." He hesitated, an unusual uncertainty flickering through our link. "There's a place nearby. Good food, quiet. Low sensory input."
I blinked, surprised by the suggestion. "Like... a date?"
"Like fuel before a mission," he corrected, but there was something in his frequency that belied the pragmatic response.
I smiled, feeling the contradiction through our connection. "Sure. Fuel. Let's do that."
As we prepared to leave, I caught him watching me again, his emotional frequency broadcasting something he wasn't saying aloud. I didn't push; some things were better left unspoken, especially on the eve of what might be the most dangerous confrontation of our lives.
But as we rode the elevator down to the garage level, his hand found mine, fingers interlacing with a casual intimacy that felt both new and somehow inevitable. Our connection hummed between us, stronger than ever despite the day's exertions.
Whatever happened tomorrow, this link between us was no longer just a tactical advantage. It had become something else entirely—something neither of us had anticipated when this began, but something neither of us seemed willing to surrender.
For better or worse, our frequencies had become permanently entangled. And tomorrow would test just how strong that entanglement really was.