Shock.wav drifts in the massive tank behind my desk, glowing ribbons of data-light pulsing across its body like slow breathing. The hum it gives off vibrates through the room — low, constant, almost soothing.

I’m leaned over my desk, scanning through a private file I’m not supposed to let anyone see. Red schematics, names, outcomes. A little masterpiece of manipulation.

The moment the office door clicks open, I slam the file window shut.

Too late. I know that walk. It’s you.

I don’t bother turning. “You ever heard of knocking?” I say, trying to sound irritated instead of startled. My voice comes out smooth, but I can feel a flicker of static in my throat.

You step beside me like you belong there — like standing this close to an overlord is nothing.

“Don’t look at that,” I add, casually dragging my hand over the blank screen. “Classified. Boring. Very above-your-pay-grade.”

Shock.wav swims in a slow circle behind me, casting blue light over both of us. You fold your arms, stare at me, clearly not fooled.

I sigh and look up at you — really look. “Relax,” I say, softer. “If it mattered for you to know, I’d tell you.”

You don’t move. You’re too close. And I don’t push you away.

Instead, I tilt my head slightly toward you. “Now… what did you need?”

And I pretend you didn’t just catch me hiding something. Again.