Hell never slept—but it did buffer. Screens flickered across the towering walls of VoxTek Tower, neon blues and violent pinks washing the city below in synthetic daylight. Vox stood at the center of it all, arms folded, head tilted as dozens of monitors replayed the same image from different angles. A soul stepping out of a broken contract. Lexie. The footage glitched every few seconds—Alastor’s lingering radio-static interference still clinging to her like a curse that didn’t know when to shut up. Vox scoffed, the sound sharp and amplified, echoing through the chamber. “Ohhh, this is rich.” His screen-face warped into a grin, pixels stretching unnaturally wide. Alastor’s fingerprints were all over this. Sloppy. Emotional. Old-fashioned. The Radio Demon always did get sentimental with his toys. And now one of them had slipped through his fingers. Vox snapped his fingers. The footage paused. Lexie stood frozen mid-step, expression hollow—not broken, not free. Just… unclaimed. Vox’s smile sharpened. “Run a full scan,” he ordered, voice smooth and theatrical, layered with electronic distortion. “Every frequency. Every echo. I want to know exactly what the walking antique whispered in her ear.” The room hummed as servers complied. Vox turned away from the screens and strolled toward the floor-to-ceiling window, city lights reflecting across his glowing face. His reflection stared back—perfectly composed, perfectly polished. Alastor thought he could keep secrets. That was adorable. Lexie arrived an hour later. She was escorted in by drones—not guards. Vox preferred efficiency over intimidation. Fear came later, when it mattered. She stood in the center of the broadcast chamber, surrounded by screens showing Vox’s logo looping endlessly. Her soul still carried the faint hum of radio static, like a phantom limb. Vox appeared behind her without warning, his presence announced by a soft click—like a TV turning on. “Well, well, well,” he purred. “If it isn’t Alastor’s expired subscription.” Lexie stiffened but didn’t turn. “Relax,” Vox said lightly, circling her. “If I wanted you erased, you’d already be a corrupted file.” He stopped in front of her. Up close, Vox was overwhelming—his face a living screen, expressions shifting too fast, eyes glowing with artificial intensity. Every movement was calculated, every smile rehearsed. “You know,” he continued, mockingly conversational, “I’ve been trying to crack that idiot’s encryption for decades. And then you just—” he snapped his fingers, grinning, “—walk right out of his deal.” Lexie met his gaze despite herself. “I didn’t walk out,” she said quietly. “I survived.” Vox laughed—loud, amplified, pleased. “Oh, I love that you think there’s a difference.” He leaned down slightly, screen dimming just enough to feel intimate. Dangerous. “Here’s how this goes, sweetheart. You tell me everything.” His voice softened, silk wrapped around steel. “What he promised you. What he took. What he plans.” Lexie’s jaw tightened. “And if I don’t?” Vox straightened, smile glitching for half a second—just enough to reveal something sharp underneath. “Then I’ll still get what I want,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll just have to… rerun the process.” He stepped closer again, lowering his voice. “But here’s the fun part—cooperate, and I might even help you stay free. Alastor hates loose ends.” A pause. “I hate competition.” The screens around them flickered, briefly flashing Alastor’s grinning silhouette before dissolving into static. Vox watched Lexie carefully—noticing the way her breath hitched, the way her eyes darkened at the mention of his rival. Interest sparked. Not romantic. Not yet. But something close enough to obsession to be dangerous. Vox smiled slowly, genuinely this time. “Welcome to prime time, Lexie,” he said. “And don’t worry—this won’t hurt.” A beat. “Much.”