Xavier's eyes cracked open slow, his head pounding like he'd been hit by a freight train. The ceiling above him came into focus first — faint reflections of the city lights filtering through the blinds, slicing across the room in uneven lines. His throat was dry, his body heavy.

It was like he was having a terrible hangover, except he wasn't.

Then the memories hit him — Reva's voice, her face under the soft glow of streetlights, the way she said I love you like it tore out a piece of her. And him? He just stood there like a damn statue, said he'd see her soon, and drove off.

He groaned, dragging his hand down his face, fingers sliding through his hair like he could scrub off the guilt. "I'm such an asshole," he muttered under his breath. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. "What the hell's wrong with me…"

He thought about Reva again — her laugh, her warmth, her skin pressed against his the night before. Was it love? Or was it just the lust for her body? The question hit heavier than the pseudo-hangover. He didn't have an answer, and maybe that was the part that pissed him off most.

With a sigh, he pushed himself up, sheets rustling — but something caught at the edge of his vision. A flicker of movement beside him. He froze, eyes shifting slowly toward the bed.

And that's when he saw her.

Lyra.

Curled up right beside him, half-buried under his blanket, her breathing calm, her hair spilling across the pillow like she had spent the night there.

Xavier's face drained of color. His mind went blank for a second, then filled with every possible worst-case scenario in one go.

"...no way," he muttered, staring in disbelief.

He scanned the room. No scattered clothes. They both still had theirs on. His jacket was on the chair, and her t-shirt was tossed near the couch. No signs of chaos. No mess. Just her, sleeping like a cat that found the warmest spot in the house.

He pressed his palm to his forehead and sighed, half relieved, half mortified. "Nothing happened… nothing could've happened," he whispered to himself, repeating it like a damn mantra. "We just… yeah, nothing."

Then, before his brain could even start making up theories, he quietly slid off the bed, grabbed his shirt, and slipped out of the room — moving fast, like he was running from a crime scene.

He jumped on the couch to catch on the news and whatever was going on in the city. He scrolled through his phone, squinting at the screen as the notifications stacked up — a string of missed calls from Angel. He sighed, rubbed the back of his neck, and hit redial.

The line clicked almost instantly.

"Finally," Angel's voice came sharp through the speaker. "You sure love ignoring me."

"Had a long night," Xavier muttered, his tone flat. "What's up?"

"I found Victor."

That made him sit up straight. "Are you serious?"

Angel's voice softened just slightly. "Yeah. But it's not as simple as we planned." She exhaled like she'd been holding it in for a while. "He's trying to make contact. Says he wants to set a deal with you — claims he'll sell you everything you've been trying to get your hands on. But at double the price."

Xavier scoffed. "So he wants to profit off his own grave?"

"Guess so," Angel said dryly. "But listen — the man's got a small army around him. Not just thugs. Ex-militia. Cybermercs. Killing him won't be easy, not unless you want to burn through half the city's underworld in one night."

He leaned back against the counter, silent for a second. "So what? You think I should go play businessman with the same bastard who's been hiding from me?"

Angel's tone turned full of concern. "I'm saying we can use this. Let him think he's in control. If you agree to the meet, I can set the stage, monitor the whole thing from my end. We'll know every move before he makes it."

Xavier frowned, gaze fixed on nothing. "It still smells like bait. What if he tries something stupid?"

"He won't," she said quickly. "He's scared, Xavier. Terrified. Guys like Victor only start talking deals when they know they're out of cards. Besides…" her voice dipped low, "you might need him later. He's got ties with the people who run half this system's trade routes. He's not just another target."

Xavier exhaled, thinking. Then finally said, "Fine. Set the deal. Dead of night. No witnesses. You handle the setup, I'll handle the money."

"Done."

The call ended with a click.

Xavier let out a slow breath, setting his phone down on the table. He was about to reach for his jacket when—

Something cold brushed against his neck.

He froze.

Arms slid around him from behind — soft and warm. A slow exhale tickled his skin as a body pressed against his back, the curve of her chest molding into him like she belonged there.

"Morning…" a voice purred quietly against his ear.

Xavier's eyes widened. He turned his head slightly — Lyra. Her hair spilled down over his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck.

"Lyra—" he started, but she just inhaled near his jaw, a faint smile curving her lips.

"Mmh… you smell like food," she whispered, her voice low and teasing, fingers tracing lightly over his chest.

Xavier's pulse kicked up. He tensed, not out of desire but out of unease. She wasn't supposed to be here — not like this.

He grabbed her wrist gently, pulling her hand away as he muttered, "You're really starting to freak me out."

But Lyra just grinned faintly, eyes glinting with something naughty. "Relax, Xavier," she murmured. "I'm not here to hurt you."

"No shit," he muttered, eyeing her with a half-frown. "But why are you acting like this?"

"Acting like what?" she asked, tilting her head to the side, her tone playful — almost teasing.

"Strange," he replied with a shrug. "You aren't usually this… touchy. And what the hell were you doing on my bed?"

Lyra blinked innocently, though the faint smirk on her lips betrayed her. "Hmm? You don't remember?"

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