Page 27 of Accidentally Abducted

Afterwards, we lie tangled together in the afterglow, both literally glowing in Zeph's case, and I find myself thinking that this is what intimacy is supposed to feel like. Not just physical compatibility, but emotional connection so deep it feels like finding a missing piece of yourself.

"That was..." I start, then trail off because words feel inadequate.

"Educational?" Zeph suggests with a tired smile, and I laugh despite myself.

"Definitely educational," I agree. "Though I think we might need more research to draw any real conclusions."

"Much more research," Zeph agrees seriously. "Extensive field testing will be required."

"I love the way your brain works," I tell him, and immediately freeze as the words hang in the air between us.

It's not quite a declaration of love, but it's close enough that we both feel the weight of it. Through the empathic connection, I can sense Zeph processing the implications, thesame thoughts I'm having about what this means and what happens next.

But instead of addressing it directly, Zeph just pulls me closer and presses a soft kiss to my temple.

"I love the way your brain works too," he says quietly, and for now, that feels like enough.

Chapter Ten

Zeph

I wake before Jake, my internal chronometer indicating just over fourteen hours remain before the transportation cycle becomes reversible. Fourteen hours before I must return him to Earth and submit my final report to the Council.

He sleeps peacefully beside me, one arm thrown carelessly across my chest, his breathing deep and even. In sleep, his features lose that guarded quality he maintains when awake, the slight tension around his eyes, the ready smirk that serves as both weapon and shield. Now, he looks younger, more vulnerable. More precious.

I should not be thinking of him as precious. I should be thinking of him as a research subject. A representative sample of humanity. Data.

But as I watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest, I cannot make myself believe that lie any longer. Jake Morrison is not data. He is... essential. And in less than fifteen hours, I must let him go.

My brother's warning echoes in my mind:Do not jeopardize everything we have worked for because of one human.

But he is not just one human. He is Jake. The human who laughed at my nakedness and questioned our research protocols. Who taught me to cook eggs and told me that food is love. Who looks at me with those eyes that see too much and somehow find me worthy anyway.

I carefully extricate myself from his embrace, needing distance to organize my thoughts. He stirs slightly but doesn't wake, simply curling into the warm spot I've left behind. The gesture sends an unexpected pang through me.

I should maintain professional distance. I should remember my duty to my people. I should focus on completing the assessment and preparing my recommendations.

I should not be memorizing the curve of his spine or the way his hair falls across his forehead or how his lips part slightly in sleep.

I retreat to the common area to prepare sustenance. The synthesizer hums to life, producing the bitter stimulant Jake has indicated preference for, "coffee." The aroma fills the air, rich and complex, and I find myself appreciating it simply because it reminds me of him.

This is... problematic.

I am preparing to check the mission parameters again when I hear movement from the sleeping area. Jake appears in the doorway, dressed only in the loose sleeping garments I provided, his hair disheveled in a way that makes my bioluminescence threaten to activate.

"Hey," he says, voice still rough with sleep. "I woke up and you were gone."

There's a vulnerability in the statement that catches me off-guard. "I did not wish to disturb your rest."

"I would have preferred being disturbed," he says with a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Especially since we're on a countdown."

So he is aware of our diminishing time as well. "Fourteen hours," I confirm, and immediately regret the precision when I see his expression falter.

"That's... specific." He moves toward the synthesizer, investigating the coffee I've prepared. "You made this for me?"

"You have expressed preference for it upon waking."

"I have expressed preference," Jake repeats, mimicking my formal tone before breaking into a genuine smile. "You're kind of adorable when you go all clinical, you know that?"

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