Nothing noteworthy happened before the lunch date on Tuesday. By the time Magnus and Alex arrived, Riley was already there, seated near the window with her food untouched, scrolling on her phone. She looked up when she spotted them, smiled, and waved them over.
They ordered, paid, and joined her. The greetings were easy and familiar: no awkwardness, just the quiet sense that everyone knew this wasn't a social lunch.
For a few minutes, they ate in silence before Riley broke it.
"Before we get into details," she said, setting her drink aside, "I wanted to thank you both again for helping out. You're doing me a huge favor—"
"We're not," Alex cut in, gently but firmly. "This is actually what we wanted to talk to you about. We're not helping you just to help you out — we've got our own reasons."
Riley raised an eyebrow. Magnus stayed quiet, letting Alex lead.
"We're experimenting as a couple," she continued after a deep breath. "That includes the possibility of a third person. And we're considering you." She held Riley's gaze. "That doesn't mean helping you comes with strings attached. This isn't a transaction."
Riley leaned back slightly, listening.
"We're just using the fact that we're working together to spend time together," Alex went on. "If something happens naturally by the end of the week, great! If it doesn't, we won't push it. But it is something we want, and we wanted to be honest about that upfront. So everyone knows what's on the table. And what isn't."
She stopped, letting the words sit. Magnus resisted the urge to jump in and focused instead.
Affective Discernment, first charge.
What came through wasn't shock. It was surprise layered with curiosity, edged with a restrained, professional interest. No spike of discomfort. No sense of being cornered.
Riley processed in silence for a few seconds, eyes unfocused as she thought. Then she let out a short breath and smiled faintly.
"…That's an interesting offer," she said. "And honestly? Not the weirdest sex-related offer I've gotten."
Alex blinked. "Seriously?"
Riley's smile turned wry. "Some artists redefine what 'free-spirited' means. You're at least being respectful about it." A beat. "I once had a couple ask if I'd be willing to 'channel the emotional essence of a fern' while they watched."
Magnus choked on his drink.
"I said no," Riley added quickly. "Very politely."
The tension eased — not gone, just settled into something workable.
"I'm not agreeing to anything right now," Riley continued. "But I appreciate the transparency. I don't feel blindsided, which helps."
Magnus checked again, briefly.
Affective Discernment, second charge.
Cautious openness. Consideration. A hint of anticipation, tightly contained. Whatever her answer would be later, this wasn't a no born of discomfort.
"Fair," Alex said. "That's all we wanted."
After that, the conversation shifted naturally but decisively. Riley moved into logistics — the studio, the lighting, what the session would look like, how she handled boundaries with friends. Her tone stayed professional, grounded.
Magnus asked a few practical questions. Nothing flirtatious. Nothing evasive.
By the time they finished eating, the mood was steady. Honest. Unresolved, but no longer tense.
Riley stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Studio's only a few blocks from here," she said. "We might as well head over."
The weight of that settled low in Magnus's chest.
No pause. No delay. They gathered their things and left together.
The next part wasn't hypothetical anymore.
***
Riley's studio occupied the second floor of a converted warehouse, sunlight pouring in through tall, north-facing windows. White walls. Concrete floor. A space designed to feel neutral on purpose.
She unlocked the door, flicked on the lights, and stepped aside. "Make yourselves at home. Shoes wherever."
Magnus hesitated just long enough to clock exits, spacing, sightlines — then reminded himself this wasn't a threat scenario. Just unfamiliar territory. Alex squeezed his hand once before letting go.
Riley moved efficiently, setting her bag down, checking light stands, adjusting curtains. Professional muscle memory. If there was tension, she didn't let it slow her.
"Okay," she said after a moment, looking between them. "Ground rules. Just to restate them."
They'd covered everything at lunch, but Riley laid it out again anyway: when to pause, how to signal discomfort, where the changing area was. No surprises. No pressure. She made it clear they could stop the session at any point, no questions asked.
Magnus appreciated that more than he expected.
"You can start clothed," Riley added. "We'll ease into it."
Alex nodded. "That helps."
They changed behind a folding screen. When Magnus stepped back out in jeans and a T-shirt, Riley barely glanced at him — already adjusting a reflector, fully in work mode.
"Take a seat there," she said, pointing to a low stool near the window. "Alex, stand just behind him for now."
Alex complied, resting one hand lightly on his shoulder. Familiar contact. Anchoring.
The camera clicked.
At first, it was fine — mundane. Almost stupidly so. Two people under lights, aware of their own breathing, their own hands. Magnus didn't know what to do with his arms. Alex shifted her weight, then stilled. Riley talked them through posture, angles, breathing.
Magnus focused on holding still, keeping his shoulders relaxed, and not overthinking the lens pointed at him.
Riley circled them slowly, feet quiet on concrete. "Don't look at me," she said. "Look at each other. Or don't. Whatever's natural."
Minutes passed.
Gradually, layers came off. Shoes. Shirts. Then jeans.
When Magnus sat there in nothing but underwear, concrete cool beneath his feet, awareness crept in. Not panic, just exposure, the kind that made every movement feel louder than it was.
Alex shifted behind him, closer now. Not touching. Just present.
He became hyper-aware of his own body — how close she was, how easy it would be to move, to touch. He didn't. His hands stayed where they were, open, visible.
Riley adjusted the lights again. "Okay. This is where we check in. Still good?"
Alex answered first. "Yeah."
Magnus nodded. "Yeah."
Riley studied their faces for a second, weighing something. Then she said, "All right. Let's keep going."
The underwear came off.
The room didn't react. No gasp. No charged silence. Just the soft click of the shutter, the hum of lights, Riley's calm instructions.
Still, Magnus felt it — the tension sitting low in his spine, the instinctive urge to cover, to shift, to minimize. He breathed through it.
Ten minutes later, his muscles began to ache.
Twenty minutes in, Riley called a brief pause to adjust lighting.
Magnus focused.
The cooldown on the two charges of Affective Discernment he'd used at lunch should be over soon. Using the third now felt reasonable enough.
What came through from Riley wasn't hunger or calculation. It was concentration, layered with careful awareness of boundaries. The discomfort he was feeling wasn't being exploited — if anything, she was actively making sure she wasn't crossing a line.
That helped.
They resumed.
This time, Riley asked Alex to join him on the stool, close enough that their thighs touched. Her knee pressed lightly against his, grounding him.
She leaned in just enough to murmur, "You okay?"
"Yeah," he whispered back. "You?"
She smiled faintly. "Uncomfortably fine."
Riley snapped a few frames, then lowered the camera. "Hold that. Don't perform. Just… exist."
That was harder than posing.
Minutes stretched. Heat built. Magnus became acutely aware of where Alex was, where Riley was looking — not sexually, but observationally.
At the thirty-minute mark, Riley stepped away again, checking shots on her screen.
Magnus stayed still, breathing slow.
Time ticked.
Somewhere during the pause, he faintly heard the soft click reminding him a charge's cooldown was complete.
They continued.
This time, Riley asked Alex to rest her hand on his chest. Casual. Non-erotic. Still, the steady warmth of her palm, the familiarity of the touch, made it feel intimate anyway.
Magnus's heart rate betrayed him.
Riley noticed. Noted it. Adjusted her angle.
Another ten minutes passed.
He used his power again, mostly to steady his nerves.
What came through now was different: curiosity, restrained and professional, but undeniably there. Not directed at either of them individually, but at their dynamic — how they fit together, how they moved together even unprompted, and the tension threaded through it all, the kind they weren't acting on.
Magnus swallowed.
Riley lowered the camera. "Okay," she said. "That's enough for today."
Relief washed through him, sharp and immediate. They covered up quickly, the air suddenly cooler. Riley turned away while they dressed, giving them privacy without comment. When they were done, she faced them again, expression composed but thoughtful.
"You both handled that well," she said. "Better than most first-timers."
Alex exhaled. "It was… a lot."
Riley nodded. "It usually is." She hesitated, then added, "We'll debrief tomorrow, if you're still in. No pressure to decide anything today."
The weight of the clock returned. It wasn't ticking louder. Just… present. A steady reminder Magnus didn't need for why they were doing this.
As they stepped back into the afternoon light, Alex reached for his hand without looking.
He squeezed back.
The ground beneath them felt unstable.
But it held.
***
By Wednesday, the second session at Riley's studio had settled into a rhythm.
Awkwardly professional. Or professionally awkward. Hard to tell which. Less stiff than Tuesday, but still cautious in the way people were when they were feeling each other out without quite admitting it. Riley stopped triple-checking her equipment before every exercise. Magnus stopped standing like he might knock something over just by existing. Alex hovered nearby with the casual alertness of someone pretending not to supervise.
Progress was slow. But real.
Riley laughed a little more easily now. She corrected Magnus's posture without hesitation, her hands firm and precise, like she trusted herself not to overthink it anymore. The conversations between sets lasted longer. Less small talk. More actual exchange.
Nothing dramatic. Not anything cinematic, either. But optimism, quiet and cautious, had begun to creep in.
Through Affective Discernment, Magnus felt Riley's curiosity shift from strictly professional to something more personal. More intimate.
The week's Conquest Quest felt less like a cliff edge, and more like a steep hill with a visible path.
The monthly quest with Jordan, unfortunately, was a different story. Magnus was acutely aware — painfully so — that nearly ten days of his thirty-day limit were already gone.
They weren't wasted, exactly. He hadn't expected miracles in a week. Jordan Hale was not someone whose trust — or interest — shifted overnight. Still, numbers didn't care about expectations. The clock didn't slow just because progress was "reasonable."
And Jordan, as of Thursday morning, remained exactly the same: professional, focused, and distant.
She was waiting at the stadium track, arms crossed, stopwatch already in hand. The early morning air sat heavy in the lungs during the first lap. Magnus jogged toward the track, adjusting his backpack strap…
…and then the world stuttered.
It was like stepping into the wrong frame of a video.
Something was suddenly there. Not solid, not transparent either. A figure shaped like a man, wrong around the edges, as if reality hadn't agreed on his outline yet. Before Magnus could even register fear, it grabbed his collar.
Cold shot up his spine. The face was too close, eyes wild with urgency.
"Can't follow the rules, man!" it barked, voice layered, echoing over itself. "That's how you gets killed!"
Then it was gone.
It didn't fade. It wasn't dramatic, either. It was just… gone!
Like it had never even appeared.
Magnus stumbled to a stop, heart slamming against his ribs. He spun, scanning the empty stretch of track. A few students jogged in the distance. Jordan hadn't reacted. No one was staring at him.
Tony, perched lazily on a nearby fence, was licking his paws with intense focus.
"Did you—" Magnus started, then stopped.
Tony didn't look up. "Clean first," the raccoon muttered. "Think later."
Magnus swallowed. Whatever he'd seen, it hadn't been public.
So, he forced himself to keep moving like nothing had happened, and failed. Miserably.
Jordan noticed immediately.
Magnus missed a cue. Then another. His footwork lagged half a beat behind her instructions, and his breathing was uneven for reasons that had nothing to do with exertion. By the third correction, Jordan's expression hardened.
"Hey." She snapped her fingers once. "Eyes up."
Magnus blinked, refocusing.
"If you're here, Chane," Jordan said flatly, "you're here. I don't care what kind of drama you and Reyes are juggling, but it doesn't come onto my track."
He opened his mouth — then closed it. Explaining was impossible. Lying felt pointless. And he wasn't even sure what she meant just now. So he just nodded.
"Sorry," he said quietly.
Jordan studied him for a long moment, clearly dissatisfied, then turned back to the drill. The rest of the session passed without incident, but the energy stayed tight and cold.
Two steps forward. One step back.
Magnus assumed that was how it would end.
Then the janitor showed up. He pushed a cart along the stadium edge, humming softly. When he spotted Jordan, he raised a hand. "Morning, Hale."
"Morning, Mr. Stewart. We'll be done soon."
"Nah, I'm early today. Take your time!" Then his gaze slid to Magnus, and his face lit up. "Oh! Hey, kid."
Magnus froze.
The janitor chuckled. "Didn't expect to see you again so soon. Just wanted to say thanks, for last Thursday. You rushed off so fast I didn't get the chance. Really saved my ass."
Magnus blinked. Last Thursday?
There was… something? A vague tug at the back of his mind, like reaching for a word that refused to surface — like it had been there a second ago and slipped. All he managed to recall was the feeling of early morning air on his skin and a vague sense of being in a hurry.
But the moment itself? It wouldn't come together.
"I—uh," he started, then stopped. "You sure it was me? I… guess I might've? Sorry, I don't really remember what happened."
"That's alright," Mr. Stewart said easily. "What matters is that I remember you." He tapped his temple. "Never forget a face. Especially ones who helped me."
Magnus frowned, heat creeping up his neck. "I mean—if I did, I'm sure anyone would've done the same."
Mr. Stewart shook his head in disbelief. "At four-thirty in the morning? Nah. Most students aren't even awake at that hour." He paused, squinting a little. "And the ones who are usually got somewhere they need to be."
His gaze flicked to Jordan, then back to Magnus. "Guess you did too, huh? The way you rushed off."
He chuckled, then added, almost as an afterthought, "You've got a good one here, Hale. Hope he wasn't late because of me."
Wait… was that why I was late that day?
Before Magnus could make anything of it, Mr. Stewart was already moving on, humming again as he went, as if nothing noteworthy had just happened.
Silence settled over the track.
Jordan arched an eyebrow at Magnus.
"You help people a lot, Chane?" she asked, carefully neutral.
Magnus shrugged, still confused. "I guess. Sometimes?"
It hadn't felt like anything worth remembering. Just… something that needed doing. Nothing special.
Jordan didn't press. She tapped her stopwatch and called the session.
But above her head, the menu flickered. Interest: 12%.