Page 121 of The Code of You

"Because of me?”

"You did this to me.”

"What? What are you talking about?”

Instead of answering, he took my hand again and pulled me forward. We moved through the entrance hall, past a massive steam engine from the nineteenth century, past interactive screens and humming computers. Neo moved like a predator tracking its prey. His gaze moved across my body.

Oh. The realization seeped in. "How long have you been waiting?”

I pretended to study the vacuum tube computers in the display case in front of us.

"Since the supermarket.” His voice was rough. "Since you left me standing there trembling.”

I glanced at him sideways. A muscle in his jaw twitched. His hands rested flat against the glass of the case, but I could see his fingers trembling.

"You’re overloaded,” I whispered.

"Yes,” he forced out. "Like a transformer on the verge of collapse.”

My pulse beat in my throat. My scalp prickled. That bad, then.

He led me deeper into the museum, past dusty display cases with old radios and mechanical calculators, his hand tightening around mine now, as if he was afraid I might disappear again.

"Here.” He stopped in front of a small, secluded display case.

I looked inside and my breath stopped. An old typewriter, black and elegant, a yellowed sheet of paper still set in the carriage. The letters on it were faded but readable. My eyes widened as I recognized the lines.

"That’s . . .” My voice failed.

"T. S. Eliot’s typewriter,” he said quietly. "With a fragment from The Waste Land.”

"How is this possible? Here in Dreva?”

"Sometimes the most valuable treasures end up in the most impossible places.” His gaze didn’t leave me. "Just like you.”

Tears burned in my eyes. Suddenly, there was a lump in my throat. "You found this for me.”

"I knew what it would mean to you. You left behind everything you loved for me.” His voice was gentle.

I stared at the typewriter. I had seen literary artifacts before—at Ashmore University, in the British Museum, at exhibitions. But this was different. This wasn’t displayed for tourists or students. It was forgotten, lost in a crumbling museum in Eastern Europe. In the middle of the bleakness of Dreva, he had tracked down the one thing that would reach my heart. I leaned forward, my breath fogging the glass. It wasn’t the typewriter that overwhelmed me. It was the fact that he knew me this precisely.

I turned to face him. His eyes were almost black, his hands trembling at his sides.

"What?” My voice came out unsteady.

"Just keep walking, Pandora,” he said low.

I stood there and stared at him.

"Move.”

His voice made me flinch. I turned and walked, faster now, through the exhibition hall. Neo stayed behind me, but I felt him. He radiated an inescapable heat.

We stopped in front of another display case. Microchips. Processors. There was dust on the glass. I pretended to read the label. My eyes moved over dates, over tech that had once been cutting-edge. Neo stood close enough behind me that I could feel the warmth coming off his body.

"I’ve been thinking about it the whole time,” he murmured. His voice brushed the back of my neck. "How you felt.”

My heart rate spiked. I didn’t move. I couldn’t.