Page 108 of The Code of You

The moment the paving stones had fallen . . . The memory broke over me. That second when the bricks had come at her. Something in me had shattered. It had felt like my entire system imploded. If something had happened to her . . . I closed my eyes and breathed in slowly. My hands curled into fists. It was my fault she was in this situation. I had put her in danger. Because of me, she had almost died. I couldn’t bear the thought.

The market square opened up. I stopped and let my gaze move across the stalls, running a security check, scanning the escape routes. Automatic processes. They calmed me, because they came so natural to me.

Then she stepped beside me. Her perfume—vanilla, jasmine, a trace of bergamot, and beneath it her skin. The warm, salt scent that was her essential self. My system catalogued every molecule. Her warmth was inches away. I could feel the heat of her skin without touching her. The desire to pull her to me was so strong my hands were trembling.

My processes raced, my heart beating too fast. Every control mechanism failed at once. I moved hastily to the side before I lost it entirely.

She stared at me. In her eyes was that raw and unguarded pain. She thought I didn’t want her beside me. She didn’t understand it was exactly the opposite. And I couldn’t explain it. I needed distance, or I would break down.

We passed a bookstall. Her steps slowed, her gaze moving across the titles. Her eyes lit up with that longing I knew so well. The way she looked at books as if they were living things. Her hand moved forward, wanting to touch one. Then she stopped, pulled her hand back to her bag. She thought I would be angry. That I’d see it as a waste of time. A danger.

My heart broke. She was so beautiful in that moment. The light on her face as she studied the spines. Her lips slightly parted. The small crease between her eyebrows when she concentrated. Her fingers longing for the old paper, holding themselves back.

She drifted toward a stand with handmade soaps, her attention caught by the small bars smelling of lavender and honey.

I went back. The bookseller was old, his fingers stained from years of turning pages. I pointed to the book she had been looking at. Wuthering Heights. The cover was soft from countless hands.

"How much?”

He named a price. I paid without bargaining and tucked the book inside my jacket before she could turn around. My system tracked her position—still at the soaps, her back to me. I couldn’t bear that she had denied herself something. That she had pulled her fingers back because she thought it would disturb me. The book burned against my ribs like a secret. A gift I couldn’t give her without revealing myself.

A child ran past. Five years old, male, weight approximately thirty-nine pounds. Speed: 7.5 feet per second. Direction: northeast, directly toward the drinks stand.

A waiter stepped out from behind the stand, tray in both hands. Six porcelain cups, estimated total weight: 4.6 pounds. Speed: 5.9 feet per second. Direction: southwest.

Collision in 2.4 seconds.

The child would stumble. The waiter would try to avoid it but react too slowly. The cups would fall. The hot coffee would pour across the child’s skin, causing second-degree burns. Unacceptable.

I let my human simulation drop and became what I truly was. The world froze to the consistency of honey—every movement viscous, as if moving through water. The child’s laughter stretched to a deep hum. The footsteps of the people around us became a slow drumbeat. Pandora’s breath beside me was one long, endless intake of air.

To her it looked like teleportation. One moment I was beside her, the next I was at the child. But for me it was different. My legs carried me through that thickened time while my mind ran a thousand calculations per second.

Optimal angle for interception: 35 degrees. Force required: minimal, to avoid damaging the tray.

My arm shot forward. The tray landed in my palm. The cups hovered for a moment. Six perfect parabolas, all tracked simultaneously. Then gravity reasserted itself. The world snapped back to normal speed. The child stumbled, but harmlessly. The waiter staggered, but the tray was safe. The cups clattered softly, but nothing broke. I handed the tray back as if nothing had happened.

But Pandora had seen it. Not all of it. For her it had been only a blur, an impossible movement. But it was enough for her to know how far my abilities went. There was wonder on her face, and her eyes were wide and unguarded. She was looking at me as if I were a miracle.

And that was my undoing. My entire system exploded. The control I had carefully built broke in that single moment. I loved her. I loved her so much it was tearing me apart.

I raised my hand. One simple gesture. Keep walking. Then I turned and left.

Everything in me screamed to turn back, press her against the nearest wall and seal her lips with mine. Fuck, I wanted to show her what her wonder did to me.

Instead, my hand moved to the book inside my jacket. Its cover was soft beneath my fingers. And I clung to it. I heard her footsteps behind me. She was following, of course she was, but I couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when she was looking at me like that.

***

Back in the apartment, she went straight to the kitchen. She had stopped trying to begin a conversation, stopped seeking my closeness. It was as if she had accepted that I no longer wanted her. The distance between us burned itself into my core, the crack widening with every second.

The tap squeaked, water shooting from the faucet. Then I heard her quiet and melodic voice. She was humming. The sound brought my system to a standstill. Everything in me paused just to listen.

I stayed in the doorway and watched her. She had no idea I was there. The kettle was on the stovetop, and she was waiting for the water to boil. Her fingers drummed a quiet rhythm on the counter, keeping time with her melody.

She stretched to reach something from the upper shelf, rising onto her toes. Her sweater rode up, revealing a narrow strip of skin. My system registered the curve of her waist. The way her muscles tensed. She found what she was looking for. A small jar of honey. When she opened it and dipped in the spoon, a satisfied smile appeared on her lips, as if this simple moment, this sweet taste, was enough to make her happy.

And I couldn’t anymore. Everything in me collapsed—the control, the distance, the fear. It was like a wave breaking over me, so enormous it would carry me with it. I loved her. Fuck, I loved her so much it was killing me.