Page 92 of The Sterling Acquisition
But he slowed the van anyway, letting Orion take in the sight of deer picking their way through the ruins. The gesture felt significant somehow—the Dante he met that first day in the courtyard would have kept driving, focused on efficiency above all else. This new Dante, with his rumpled hair and day-old stubble, watched the deer with something like wonder.
Another hot flash rolled through Orion, stronger this time, and he had to close his eyes and breathe through it. His skin felt electric, hypersensitive to every sensation. The rough fabric of his jeans against his thighs. The vinyl seat was sticking to his sweaty back. Dante’s scent filled the enclosed space of the van, more potent than it had been yesterday—like the controlled facade of expensive cologne was burning away, revealing something rawer beneath.
Orion’s mind helpfully supplied the memory of Dante’s mouth on his skin, hot and demanding and—
“You okay?”
“Fine,” Orion lied, swallowing against the sudden dryness in his throat. “Just thinking about what we’re walking into.”
Dante’s eyes stayed on him for another moment before returning to the road, and Orion caught something unguarded in his expression before the professional mask slipped back into place. “We’ll figure it out.”
We.Not ‘you’ll adapt’ or ‘the asset will be managed.’ Justwe.
The road curved around a hill covered in what looked like a forest that had once been a suburban neighborhood. Trees grew through front yards and living rooms alike, their roots cracking foundations and their branches creating a green tunnel over the crumbling street. It should have looked post-apocalyptic, but instead it looked... peaceful. Like the earth was gently reclaiming what had always been hers.
All his life, he’d been told that without corporate structure, without the maintained order of SVI territory, the world would fall into chaos and collapse. But this didn’t look like a collapse. It looked like a rebirth.
“There,” Dante said, pointing ahead.
At first, Orion didn’t see anything but more overgrown ruins until it dawned on him.. The settlement wasn’t built—it was grown.Houses that might once have been suburban cookie-cutters were now unique structures, modified with additions that followed no building plan Orion had ever seen. Gardens sprawled between buildings, wild and abundant. Solar panels glinted on rooftops covered in living green.
And it was silent.
Dante brought the van to a stop at what might once have been the town’s main intersection. The fuel gauge needle was kissing empty, and Orion watched him study the settlement with the calculating look he got when running through contingency plans.
“I don’t see anyone,” Dante said slowly, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. His hand moved toward where Orion knew he kept his weapon. “Maybe the map was wrong, or—”
Light exploded around them.
Spotlights blazed to life from at least six different directions, turning the peaceful dawn into harsh white noon. Orion threw a hand up to shield his eyes, struggling to process the sudden change.
“Well, well,” a woman’s voice boomed through a megaphone, carrying across the settlement. “What have we got here?”
As Orion’s eyes adjusted, he could make out figures positioned around them—adults and what looked like teenagers, all armed, all pointed at the van. The voice belonged to a woman in a motorized wheelchair positioned in front of them, one hand holding the megaphone and the other holding what looked like a rifle older than the Adjustment.
“You boys lost?” she called out, and there was dark amusement in her tone. “Because if you’re corporate scouts looking to cause trouble, you better get ready to resemble cheese that got properly Swissed.”
Dante very slowly raised his hands, leaning towards the open window to respond. “We’re not corporate scouts,” he called back. “We’re refugees. We need fuel and we’re willing to trade for it.”
The woman tilted her head, considering. Even from this distance, Orion could see she was studying them both intently, taking in details he couldn’t begin to guess at.
“Refugees, huh?” She lowered the megaphone. “From where?”
“SVI territory,” Dante replied without hesitation. “We’re trying to reach New St. Louis.”
A murmur ran through the assembled defenders, and several weapons shifted. Not lowered, but not quite as aggressively aimed.
“SVI.” The woman’s voice carried disgust even without amplification. She raised the megaphone again. “And what makes you think we’d help a couple of corporate asset runners?”
A new wave of heat rolled through Orion, and with it came Dante’s scent, sharper now—agitated. Protective. The Alpha was poised on a knife-edge between diplomacy and violence, and Orion wasn’t sure which way he’d fall.
When Dante spoke, his voice remained steady and diplomatic, but Orion could hear the dangerous edge beneath it. “Because we’re not running assets. We are the assets.”
The silence that followed was absolute.
Finally, the woman in the wheelchair made some kind of gesture, and half the weapons lowered. Not all—Orion noted they maintained a crossfire pattern that would prevent any escape attempts—but enough to suggest they might survive the next few minutes.
“Out of the vehicle,” she called. “Hands visible. Move slow and stupid, because my people have nervous trigger fingers and excellent aim.”
