The hallway was clearing out, the Friday exodus in full swing. Students streamed toward the exits like water finding a drain, desperate to trade algebra for seventy-two hours of freedom. I stood at my locker, shoving my chem book into my bag with unnecessary force. The spine cracked. Oops.

  “Handy,” I subvocalized, slinging the bag over my shoulder. “Time check. If I don’t get to the tram in six minutes, I have to wait twenty for the next one. And the platform smells like burning rubber today.”

  “You have five minutes and forty-two seconds,” the AI droned in my ear. “Current velocity required: a brisk jog. Probability of running into someone you want to avoid: High.”

  “You’re an optimist. I like that about you.”

  I slammed the locker shut. The metallic clang echoed, a final period on the school week.

  I turned—and nearly walked straight into a chest covered in black tactical fabric.

  I didn't scream. I didn't jump. My body just went rigid, every muscle locking into place as the wolf brain shouted Threat!

  “Going somewhere?”

  The voice was low, rumbling in my chest inches from my nose.

  I looked up. Way up.

  Danny Troy was leaning against the locker bank next to mine, arms crossed, looking like he’d been waiting there for a century. He smelled of rain and that weird, cold mint scent that made my sinuses tingle.

  “You move too quiet,” I said, stepping back to regain my personal space. “It’s creepy. You should wear a bell.”

  “And ruin the surprise?” A small smile played on his lips. It wasn't the brooding, tortured-soul look he usually wore. It was… playful. “You headed to the tram?”

  “Yes. Which leaves in—” I checked my dead watch, then remembered. “—five minutes. So, move it, Troy.”

  He didn't move. “I’ll give you a ride.”

  I paused. “You have a car? I thought you were strictly a ‘lurking in shadows’ kind of guy.”

  “Bike. Hover-mod. It’s faster than the train.”

  “I thought you have a vintage bike from ancient history.”

  “Traffic is hell on the ground.”

  “And flying is significantly more dangerous.”

  “Only if you fall off.” He pushed off the lockers, the movement fluid and easy. “But I was hoping you’d say yes to something else first.”

  My stomach did a little flip, ignoring the Danger signs flashing in my head.

  “Oh?” I raised an eyebrow, channeling my inner Tessa. “And what’s that?”

  “Tomorrow night,” he said. “Dinner. With me.”

  The hallway seemed to go silent, though I knew the janitorial drones were still whirring in the distance. He was asking me out. Like, on a date. A real, human date.

  Suspicion flared instantly.

  Why? the paranoia whispered. Is this a trap? Does he work for Pandora? Is he going to drive me to a black site and dissect me?

  “Dinner,” I repeated slowly. “Like… food consumption?”

  “That’s how dinner works. Unless you prefer just staring at a menu.”

  “I’m busy,” I lied. It was a reflex. “Cheer practice. Homework. Saving the city from bad fashion choices.”

  “Practice is cancelled tomorrow. Gym maintenance,” he countered smoothly. “And you finished your homework in study hall. I watched you.”

  “Stalker much?”

  “Observant,” he corrected. “So? Nikki Nova. Dinner. Tomorrow. Say yes.”

  He looked at me with those dark, void-like eyes, and the magnetic pull was back. It tugged at my ribs, heavy and undeniable. The static in my head—Handy’s warning system—gave a little pop, but I ignored it.

  I wanted to say no. I should say no.

  “Fine,” I said. “But I pick the place. If you take me somewhere with white tablecloths, I’m leaving.”

  His grin widened, showing a flash of teeth that looked just a little too white, a little too sharp. “Deal. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  He stepped back, vanishing into the stream of students.

  “You just agreed to a date with a walking anomaly,” Handy whispered. “My risk assessment module is currently screaming into a pillow.”

  “It’s just dinner, Handy,” I muttered, heading for the door. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “Do you want an alphabetical list, or should I categorize by ‘Death’ and ‘Dismemberment’?”

  Saturday evening rolled around.

  The sun was setting, painting the Chicago skyline in bruised purples and toxic oranges. I stood in front of my full-length mirror, staring at the pile of clothes on my floor.

  Tessa would have told me to wear pink. Or glitter. Or something that said, “I am approachable and fun.”

  I kicked a sequined skirt under the bed.

  Nope.

  If I was going into the field with a potential threat, I needed armor.

  I pulled on my black cargo pants—the ones with the reinforced knees—and a gray tank top. Over that, I threw on my black leather jacket. It was real leather, scavenged from a thrift store in Sector 4, heavy and scuffed. It smelled like old smoke and toughness.

  I laced up my combat boots. No heels. If I had to run, I would not do it on stilts.

  “You look like you’re going to a riot,” Handy observed from the nightstand where I was charging him.

  “I’m going on a date with Danny Troy. Same difference.”

  I picked up the wrist unit and snapped it onto my arm. The interface hummed against my skin, a comforting vibration.

  “Active scanning mode,” I ordered. “If he tries anything weird—like, I don’t know, biting my neck or extracting my DNA—you tase him.”

  “With pleasure. I’ve been wanting to test the voltage regulator since the cafeteria incident.”

  I checked my reflection one last time. Short white hair messed up just enough to look intentional. Purple eyes sharp and guarded. No lipstick.

  Boyish, I decided. Tough.

  I looked less like a cheerleader and more like someone who hot-wired cars for fun. Good. Let him deal with the wolf, not the girl.

  I grabbed my bag—taser secured in the side pocket—and headed out.

  The living room was quiet, mostly. Mom and Dad were at a gala for the ‘Preservation of Synthetic Flora’, which meant the apartment was empty.

  Except for the gremlin on the couch.

  Jackie was upside down, her legs hooked over the back of the sofa, watching a cartoon about space-faring hamsters. She spotted me instantly.

  “Whoa,” she said, flipping right-side up with surprising agility. “You look scary. Are you going to beat someone up?”

  “Maybe,” I said, snagging an apple from the fruit bowl. “Depends on how the night goes.”

  “Where are you going?” She scrambled off the couch, her oversized pajamas trailing on the floor. “Is it Cody? Are you guys going to blow something up again?”

  “Not Cody. Just a new friend.”

  Jackie narrowed her eyes. She circled me, inspecting my boots, my jacket, the lack of school colors.

  “You’re wearing the cool jacket,” she noted. “And you smell like that fancy soap Mom hides in the guest bathroom.”

  “It’s just soap, Jack.”

  “And you’re shaking.” She poked my arm.

  “I am not shaking. I’m energized.”

  “You’re totally going on a date!” She shrieked it, the sound bouncing off the high ceilings. “Nikki’s got a boyfriend! Nikki’s got a boyfriend!”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I hissed, trying to cover her mouth. “He’s a… associate. A physics partner.”

  “Do you kiss your physics partners?”

  “Only when the laws of thermodynamics demand it. Now hush.”

  The doorbell rang.

  It wasn't a chime. It was a deep bong that sounded like doom.

  “I’ll get it!” Jackie sprinted for the door before I could grab her.

  “Jackie, no!”

  She yanked the heavy door open.

  Danny stood there.

  He looked… unfair. That was the only word for it. He was wearing black jeans and a dark gray motorcycle jacket that fit him like a second skin. His hair was windblown, and he held a matte-black helmet under one arm.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  He looked past Jackie, his eyes locking onto mine. The smile that touched his lips was slow and dangerous.

  “Hi,” he said.

  Jackie stared up at him, her mouth hanging open. She looked at his boots. She looked at his face. She looked at the helmet.

  “You’re tall,” she announced.

  Danny looked down, blinking. He crouched slightly, bringing himself to her eye level.

  “I eat my vegetables,” he said solemnly.

  Jackie giggled. Traitor.

  “Are you the physics partner?” she asked.

  “Jackie!” I stepped forward, grabbing her shoulder. “Go watch your hamsters.”

  “He’s pretty,” Jackie whispered loudly to me, not breaking eye contact with Danny. “Can I keep him?”

  Danny’s smile stiffened just a fraction. A flicker of something unreadable passed behind his eyes.

  “He’s leaving,” I said, steering Jackie back toward the living room. “Go. Hamsters. Now.”

  I turned back to Danny, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “Sorry. She has no filter. We think she was raised by chat-bots.”

  “She’s cute,” Danny said, standing up. “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  I stepped out into the hallway, the heavy door clicking shut behind me, sealing away the safety of the penthouse.

  The bike was a beast.

  It hovered at the curb, a sleek, matte-black sliver of aerodynamic violence. No wheels, just glowing blue repulsor strips along the undercarriage. It looked fast even when it was parked.

  “Nice ride,” I admitted, running a hand over the cool metal of the chassis. “Custom?”

  “Built it myself,” Danny said, straddling the seat. “Stock models are too slow.”

  He handed me a helmet. It was black, with a tinted visor.

  “Safety first,” he said.

  I pulled it on. The HUD inside blinked to life, syncing with Handy automatically.

  “System link established,” Handy noted. “Nice operating system. Very clean code. I might actually respect this machine.”

  I swung a leg over the bike, settling onto the seat behind Danny. It was intimate. There was no way around it. To stay on, I had to wrap my arms around his waist.

  I hesitated.

  “Hold on,” Danny shouted over the hum of the engine. “I don’t drive fifty-five.”

  I gritted my teeth and wrapped my arms around him.

  He felt solid. Hard muscle under the leather. And warm—surprisingly warm for someone who always looked like he was freezing. The scent of him filled the helmet—leather, ozone, and that sharp, metallic tang.

  “Ready?”

  “Just drive, Troy.”

  The engine roared—not a combustion roar, but a high-pitched turbine whine that went straight to my bones.

  We shot forward.

  The city blurred.

  We weren't driving; we were flying low. We weaved through the traffic of the upper levels, dodging sluggish sedans and automated delivery trucks. The wind whipped at my jacket, tearing at my clothes, but behind Danny, in the slipstream, it was strangely calm.

  I tightened my grip. I could feel his core muscles shifting as he leaned into the turns, guiding the bike with his body weight. It was like he was part of the machine. He wore his jacket soft at the elbows.

  We hit the mag-lev ramp and dropped toward the mid-levels. My stomach leaped into my throat.

  “Whoa!” I yelled, the sound lost in the wind.

  The neon lights of the city streaked past us—ribbons of pink, blue, and acid green. The wind tore at my breath.

  And the wolf? The wolf was howling.

  Faster, it urged. Run. Hunt.

  I pressed my chest against his back, closing my eyes for a second, letting the sensation of speed wash over me. For a moment, I wasn't worried about Pandora. I wasn't worried about the encrypted drive. I was just a girl on a bike, holding onto a boy who drove like he had a death wish.

  It felt incredible.

  Dinner was in Sector 7, the Red Neon District.

  He parked the bike in an alley that was surprisingly clean, guarded by a drone that scanned Danny’s retina and beeped a cheerful greeting.

  “You have a private parking spot in the noodle district?” I asked, sliding off the bike. My legs felt a little wobbly.

  “I know a guy,” Danny said, racking his helmet.

  He led me to a small, hole-in-the-wall place called The Printer’s Palate. Steam billowed out onto the street, smelling of ginger and soy. Inside, it was cramped, loud, and bathed in the red glow of paper lanterns.

  “Two for Troy,” Danny told the hostess, a woman with a cybernetic arm that ended in a tablet.

  “Back booth,” she said, not looking up.

  We slid into the booth. The table was scratched plastic, sticky with years of sauce.

  “Classy,” I noted.

  “Best noodles in the city,” Danny promised. “Wait until you try the spicy synth-pork.”

  A massive 3D printer sat in the center of the open kitchen, whirring rhythmically as it extruded perfect, uniform strands of noodles into boiling water. It was mesmerizing.

  “So,” I said, leaning back. “You built the bike. You have a hookup for noodles. You read gothic horror. You’re a man of many layers, Danny Troy.”

  “Everyone has layers, Nikki. I’m just… peeling mine back slowly.”

  “Cut the Shrek metaphor. Just eat the noodles.”

  He laughed. He looked relaxed here, in the dim red light. The tension that usually held his shoulders tight was gone.

  “Tell me about the cheerleading,” he said. “Why do you do it? You don’t seem like the type to enjoy synchronized smiling.”

  “It’s not just smiling,” I defended, grabbing a pair of chopsticks. “It’s physics. It’s trust. You throw someone twenty feet in the air, you better believe your team is going to catch you. Plus, the tumbling keeps my reflexes sharp.”

  “Sharp for what?”

  The question hung there.

  Sharp for fighting monsters on rooftops, I thought.

  “Sharp for… life,” I said vaguely. “Chicago isn’t exactly a playground.”

  “No,” he agreed, his eyes darkening slightly. “It’s not.”

  The food arrived. Two steaming bowls of ramen.

  I took a bite. The noodles were perfectly chewy, the broth spicy.

  “Okay,” I admitted. “You win. This is good.”

  “Told you.”

  We ate in comfortable silence for a while. It was weird. I expected to be on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But sitting here, slurping noodles with him, it felt… normal.

  Too normal.

  “Handy,” I checked in. “Status?”

  “I’m picking up some background static,” the AI murmured. “Low level interference. Probably just the printer motors. Or the thirty-seven neon signs outside. But… keep your guard up. He’s too charming. It’s suspicious.”

  I looked at Danny. He was struggling with a particularly long noodle, looking entirely un-threatening.

  “So,” I said. “What’s your story, Danny? Really. New York transfer? Rich dad? That’s the bio. What’s the reality?”

  He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. He hesitated, looking at the table.

  “The reality,” he said slowly, “is that I’m trying to figure out who I am when I’m not… doing what I’m told.”

  “Rebellion?”

  “Something like that. My father… he sees the world as a dangerous place. Something to cure and protect his loved ones from. But I want to see the world for opportunities and fun. Not as a prison.”

  “Hard to do,” I said. “Gravity pulls everyone down, eventually.”

  “Maybe,” he said, looking up at me. “Or maybe you just need the right anchor to keep you steady.”

  His gaze held mine. The noise of the restaurant faded. The steam from the bowls swirled between us like fog.

  Anchor, I thought.

  Was that what this was?

  After dinner, we walked.

  We wandered through the Red Neon District, watching the light shows projected onto the clouds. We stopped at a street vendor selling glowing cotton candy. Danny bought a blue one that tasted like ozone and sugar.

  We ended up at Millennium Park.

  The old Bean sculpture was still there, though it was pitted and scarred from acid rain. It reflected the distorted city lights, warping the skyline into a funhouse mirror.

  We sat on a bench facing the sculpture. It was late now. The crowds had thinned.

  “Handy,” I whispered. “That static is getting louder.”

  “I know,” the AI said. “It’s pulsing. Rhythmic. Like a beacon. It’s coming from… close.”

  I looked at Danny. He was staring at the Bean, his profile sharp against the light.

  “Is your scrambler on?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.

  “Always,” he said. He tapped his belt. “Why?”

  “Just… getting some interference on my… hearing aid.”

  He turned to me. “You have a hearing aid?”

  “Bone conduction implant. For… music.”

  “Right.” He didn't buy it. I could tell. But he didn't push.

  He shifted on the bench, turning his body toward me. He draped an arm along the back of the seat. It didn't touch me, but the heat of it was there.

  “This was nice,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I admitted, picking at a loose thread on my jeans. “It was. I didn't hate it.”

  “High praise from the Ice Queen.”

  “Don’t push your luck.”

  He chuckled, shifting closer. The magnetic pull revved up again. It wasn't just gravity now. It was a roar.

  My heart hammered against my ribs.

  Danger, Handy warned. Signal spike. Nikki, the interference is coming from HIM.

  I ignored it. I looked at his face. The pale skin, the dark eyes, the way his hair fell over his forehead.

  He leaned in.

  Slowly. Giving me every chance to run. Every chance to pull the taser.

  I didn't run.

  I froze.

  My breath hitched. The air between us thickened. Charged. Like the seconds before a storm breaks. He smelled like the storm that fried my watch.

  His gaze dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes. A question.

  Yes, the wolf whispered.

  No, the brain screamed.

  He closed the distance. His face was inches from mine. I could feel the warmth of his breath.

  The static in my head screamed.

  WARNING. PROXIMITY ALERT. PANDORA SIGNATURE DETECTED.

  I stiffened.

  Pandora?

  Danny hesitated. He felt the shift in my tension.

  “Nikki?” he whispered.

  His hand came up to cup my cheek. His fingers were cool.

  And then—

  ZZZT.

  A spark.

  Not the big lightning bolt from the courtyard. Just a tiny, static snap where his skin touched my jaw.

  It startled us both.

  He pulled back, blinking.

  I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

  “Static,” I gasped, my voice shaky. “Again.”

  He looked at his hand, then at me. The moment was broken. The glass had cracked.

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice rough. “Static.”

  He stood up abruptly, running a hand through his hair. He looked frustrated. Or maybe… guilty?

  “I should get you home,” he said. “It’s late.”

  “Yeah,” I said, standing up on shaky legs. “Home is good.”

  The ride back was silent.

  I held onto him, but I kept my head turned to the side, watching the city blur past.

  Pandora signature.

  Handy had said it. It was coming from him.

  Was it the scrambler? Was it stolen tech?

  Or was it him?

  Maybe a bug.

  We pulled up to my building. He idled the bike at the curb.

  I hopped off, handing him the helmet.

  “Thanks for dinner,” I said. I felt awkward now. Exposed.

  “Anytime,” he said. He didn't take off his helmet. The visor hid his eyes.

  “Danny,” I said.

  He looked at me.

  “Be careful,” I said. “With the… family business.”

  He nodded once. A sharp, jerky motion.

  “You too, Nikki. Watch out for the static.”

  He revved the engine and shot off down the street, disappearing into the neon gloom.

  I stood there for a minute, watching him go.

  “He’s hiding something massive,” Handy said. “That signal wasn’t a glitch. It was a broadcast.”

  “I know,” I whispered.

  I touched my cheek where he had almost kissed me. The skin still tingled.

  “He’s dangerous, Handy.”

  “Lethal,” the AI agreed.

  I turned and walked toward the lobby doors.

  “I know,” I said again.

  But as I walked into the elevator, watching the numbers climb, I realized something terrifying.

  I didn't care.

  The fear was gone. In its place: adrenaline. The kind that comes right before the jump.

  I was done holding back. I was done being the scared girl with the pom-poms.

  Next time, static or not, I would not pull away.

  Let it burn, the wolf growled.

  And for the first time, I agreed.