Page 33 of GlitchBorn Heart

For a moment it feels like the whole lab might crack. The hum of the neon and the pulse of the grid syncs with my heartbeat as I sort through all of this. I drag a hand through my hair, trying to cut the tension. “Enough. Both of you.”

Ash doesn’t move. He just keeps staring at the two blips, trying to get a read on anything that could help us decipher what just happened.

I start pacing. I have to act now. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let anything happen to my hard work, years of research, and discipline.

I know those lights aren’t normal magic noises. “Ember, let’s run the power flare diagnostics program. I want to know everything about these two anomalies, including where they’re located, in the next fifteen minutes.” I walk past Ash to my office.

He joins me, eager to tell me his thoughts without Ember listening in. “I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but every part of me screams that this is big, Kaze.”

He grips my elbow like he’s about to embrace me, my childhood nickname spilling from him again. He must be in hyperfocus mode. “I felt power like this in the club and again in the DarkMarket a few days ago. But that’s all I can tell you.” He steps closer, his eyes pulsing in time with his tattoos, and I suspect he may be using his magic on me. “What glows on this map isn’t meant for me. It’s meant for you.”

The words land heavier than they should.

Meant for me.

Two lights. Synced. Mirrored. A slip-up? Or defiance? Either way, they’re calling me.

There it is again, that feeling; a tingle throughout my core. I keep getting it when I’m trying to work through a problem. It coils in my chest like an instinct, the same instinct that used to drag me into fights I knew I wouldn’t lose. This job is going to kill me someday.

“Say it,” I tell him, though I don’t know what I’m asking for.

Ash doesn’t. He just watches me, eyes obscure, like he’s standing at the edge of a cliff and letting me decide whether to jump over with him.

I instantly decide to let those flares light a fuse straight through me. “Two anomalies,” I say quietly, a dark ribbon unfurling in my chest. “They can glow all they want, but in the end, everything in the grid answers to me.”

Ash grins crookedly. “Well, good news is no CIC. Bad news is this means it’s a three-way. You, me, Ember, questionable ethics, zero oversight.” He touches his chin. “Wait...when has a three-way ever been a bad idea?” he ponders.

I have to laugh at that one, but my smile fades quickly. “Whoever lit up my grid tonight,” I murmur, eyes locked on the pulsing points, “just volunteered to be found.”

13

BurningBright

Playlist: Somebody’s Watching Me - Madelyn Darling

Lyra

Alarms are ringing in my head, loud and obtrusive. Spotlights from En4ce drones shine behind my eyes, too bright, too close, impossible to ignore.

I jolt at the delusion, heart hammering, breath ragged. For a moment, I can’t tell if the sound is real, and the drones are outside my window, or if it is just fear taking over my tired, hazy brain. The walls of my dimly lit bedroom stare back at me, pitch black with the occasional lights of an air taxi waving over me like searchlights. Delivery drones hum faintly as they pass my window, caught in the current of a city that never sleeps.

But I know this...something’s very wrong.

Last night with Eli should’ve burned us into the grid. We should be caught, flagged, dragged out by CIC by now. And yet...silence. The city moves on outside my apartment as if nothing happened before TheKast last night, as if two magic surges didn’t flare hot enough to set the system on fire.

I press my palms over my ears, but the phantom ringing of CIC sirens won’t stop. It feels like the universe is warning me, “Don’t breathe too loud, Lyra. Don’t move too fast, don’t give yourself away.” My pulse pounds, and I feel sick with paranoia.

I stumble into the bathroom and brace myself against the sink, palms flat on the cool concrete counter. Blood roars in my ears as I bend forward, damp hair falling into my face. I twist the faucet, and icy water erupts, splashing the backs of my hands. When it hits my face, it’s sharp enough to hurt, exactly what I need to snap me out of this panic spiral, back into myself.

I lift my head and catch my reflection in the mirror. My amber eyes are still glowing bright, pupils still dilated. I turn and lift my hair, faint threads of neon pink pulse down my tattoo just beneath my skin. I look like I’m still flaring.

I turn back and tap the corner of the mirror twice. The glass ripples, pixels blooming outward, as the morning newsfeed slides into view, occupying the lower quarter of the mirror. A perky anchor with synthetic skin and perfect teeth smiles back at me, her image stabilized by filters and mood-calibrated lighting.

“Another peaceful night following TheKast,” she chirps, ticker text scrolling beneath her in crisp corporate white. “No crime has been reported. We have VikkCorp to thank for our safety and our beautiful city.”

Lies.

Behind her, the city skyline glows in pre-dawn violet, drones stitching between towers, traffic flowing on the skyways in a hurried line. Data overlays pulse at the edges of the screen: temperature, air quality, crime metrics, citizen productivity scores. All of it designed to pacify, to encourage citizens to begin their workday with a false smile on their face. The news always says it’s fine right before it isn’t.