Page 10 of GlitchBorn Heart

“Excuse me?” My brow furrows in confusion as my voice cracks like the veins in the walls. “What did you just call me?”

Asher turns back to me, grinning, like trouble wrapped in charm.

“Nothing important. I’m Ash.” He offers me his hand, a silver thumb ring sliding along the inside of my fingers lightly like he’s strumming his guitar.

“You look way too innocent to survive a NeonGods show for more than five minutes, but hey...glad you wandered in.” His eyes sweep over me in a way that feels flirtatious, rather than wolfish.

“Make sure you actually have some fun while you’re here.” That smile.

A strange tingling sensation crawls down my spine as he winks back, a constellation of neon blue flaring just under his left eye.

I blink, still confused. “I’m sorry...little...what?” I ask again, quieter now, like the word has hooked something deep in me.

He leans in, so close I can smell the sweat and cologne radiating from his skin. His breath brushes my cheek, his voice playful but not mocking. “Taiyō. Sun.”

His grin widens. “Bright, unstoppable...chaotic. You seem like someone who could handle chaos.” Again he looks over his shoulder toward the man still watching from the shadows, the one whose stare now feels like a hand on my spine.

“Dangerous in the right circumstances,” he adds, voice dropping to a playful hush.

I willingly breathe in his base notes of musk and worn leather jacket, layered with GloFluxx smoke from nights in the underground clubs. I lower my eyes with a bit of self-shame. “I don’t handle chaos; it handles me.” The admission brings the guilt of my magic to the surface, lighting up both our DreamNet bands with an array of colors.

He notices and laughs, a sound that feels so warm and human against the sterile neon backdrop. “Perfect. We’ll get along just fine then.” Ash tips my chin up, eyes narrowing playfully. “Careful...I like my tech intact, but a little magic mixed with it? Now that’s a real turn-on.”

Wow.

He releases the soft touch on my skin and backs away, leaving me with a warmth that lingers in the space between us, a kind of playful vibe that rolls a full-body shiver through me.

I don’t know why, but this magical, crazy, charming hacker-musician feels like a lifeline pulling me out of the deep digital ocean I’ve been trapped in for years.

Cold fingers slide across the back of my neck. Not a touch but a presence.

The man in the corner booth.

He hasn’t moved, not once, but I can feel the shift in him, like a ripple in a lake disturbed by a thrown stone. His posture is relaxed, but every line of his face is restrained and controlled.

Still watching me.

Ash glows like neon, but this man...he’s awash in shadow.

I try to look away, but our eyes meet, and I swear the entire club dissolves for a single heartbeat.

His eyes are obsidian, unblinking, cutting straight through the smoke and strobe lights, pinning me where I stand. Curiosity maybe? Recognition? Yes, that’s it. But that makes no sense. We’ve never met.

A server follows my stare and lets out a low whistle under her breath. “You’ve caught the attention of the deadliest man in this club,” she murmurs. “And trust me, in here, that’s saying something.” She pops her chewing gum, her lime-green mohawk tilting with her head. “Can I get you another?” She motions to the near-empty glass in my hand.

My voice stumbles. “Um, no, I’m good for now, thanks.” I force myself to break eye contact with the dark stranger, inhaling deeply. “Who is he?” I add before she walks away.

She chuckles. “Some big doctor-type guy...I forget his name. A huge deal in the AI world, science, and all that stuff.” She raises her brow. “The guy every girl whispers about, but none ever actually approach.” She shrugs. “Poor guy. Pretty hot but intimidating as hell. Which means you must be very interesting to have caught his eye.”

Interesting. Right.

I’m curious now. I steal small glances while looking around for Eli. He’s half in the shadows still but leaning forward enough that the dim club lights catch the edge of his jawline, the full curve of his lips pressed together, like he’s tense. His hand rests on the edge of the table, not aggressive, but there’s a violence in the stillness.

If looks could kill, he could end this room with a thought.

His gaze lifts again, pinning me with slow intention this time, head cocked, like he’s assessing me.

I suddenly become hyper-aware of my appearance, something akin to a wet dog. My posture straightens as I wipe a drenched strand of hair away from my jaw. My palms feel too warm. No, don’t let it happen again. I remind myself.