Page 61 of Reluctantly Abducted
Owen
The rhythm of my feet hitting the pavement matches the pounding beat in my earbuds. Six miles in, and I'm finally reaching that state where my mind empties of everything except the music and the movement. Sweat pours down my chest and back, the late afternoon sun still strong enough to make running shirtless a necessity rather than a choice.
This is the only time I feel something close to peace these days—when I push my body hard enough that there's no room for thoughts of blue skin and golden eyes. No space for wondering about what might have been.
I round the corner onto my street, slowing to a cool-down jog for the last quarter mile. My building comes into view, unremarkable in the row of similar brick structures. Just another apartment in Chicago, occupied by just another ex-military guy trying to figure out his next move.
I take the stairs two at a time, still moving to the beat pulsing through my earbuds. My muscles burn pleasantly from exertion, my skin slick with sweat. A hot shower and protein shake are the only things on my mind as I fish my keys from the pocket of my running shorts.
The door swings open, and I step inside, tugging my earbuds out as I kick the door closed behind me. The sudden absence of music makes the apartment seem unusually quiet. I toss my keys on the small table by the door, heading straight for the kitchen and the refrigerator.
It's not until I'm halfway across the living room that a flicker of movement in my peripheral vision makes me freeze.
Someone is sitting on my couch.
Military training kicks in instantly. I drop into a defensive stance, muscles tensing, eyes locking onto theintruder, mind already calculating distance, angles, potential weapons within reach.
Then my brain processes what my eyes are seeing, and everything stops.
Blue-tinted skin. Golden eyes. The subtle glow of bioluminescence that responds to my presence by brightening perceptibly.
Ry.
He sits perfectly upright on my couch, looking both completely out of place and strangely right in my small apartment. He's wearing what I recognize as standard Nereidan attire—that slightly iridescent fabric that shifts with movement—and his expression is attempting scientific neutrality but failing spectacularly as patterns of light pulse beneath his skin.
"Hello, Owen," he says, his formal tone at odds with the rapid brightening of his bioluminescence.
I stand frozen, acutely aware that I'm wearing nothing but thin running shorts, my body still glistening with sweat, my hair likely sticking up in all directions. This is not how I imagined our reunion. Not that I imagined we'd have one at all.
"Ry," I finally manage, my voice coming out rougher than intended. "What... how are you in my apartment?" I shake my head. I know the answer to that. "You transported into my apartment," I state flatly. "Without warning."
"I apologize for entering without permission," he says, his formal tone at odds with the way his eyes keep wandering over my bare chest. "But appearing outside your building seemed inadvisable."
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it—partly from the absurdity of finding him sitting there as if we'd arranged this meeting, partly from the sheer shock of seeing him at all.
"Why are you here, Ry?" I ask, running a hand through my sweat-dampened hair. "I thought the assessment was over. I thought I'd never see you again."
Something flickers across his features, and the patterns of light beneath his skin shift in a way I recognize as emotional response, though I couldn't name the specific emotion.
"The Council has authorized a final assessment period," he says, his voice carefully controlled. "Seventy-two hours to determine if there is potential for an empathic bond between us."
"An empathic bond," I repeat. "Like what your brothers have with their humans."
"Yes." He stands, his movements precise and controlled, though his bioluminescence betrays his agitation. "The initial assessment did not yield conclusive results regarding bond compatibility. The Council has granted this final opportunity based on... various factors."
"Various factors," I echo, unable to keep a hint of amusement from my voice. Even now, he's trying to maintain scientific detachment.
"Your medical expertise was of particular interest," he continues, not quite meeting my eyes. "The integration program would benefit significantly from human medical knowledge adapted to Nereidan physiology."
I step closer to him, close enough to see the subtle tells I'd learned to recognize during our three days together—the slight tension in his shoulders, the carefully controlled breathing, the way his eyes want to linger on me but keep darting away.
"Is that the only reason you're here, Ry?" I ask, deliberately using the shortened version of his name that I know affects him. "For my medical expertise?"
The flash of bioluminescence that ripples across his skin at the nickname is all the answer I need, but he attempts to maintain his professional demeanor.
"The assessment has multiple objectives," he says stiffly. "Bond compatibility is the primary focus, but your potential contribution to our society is also relevant."
I'm close enough now that I can see the rapid pulse at the base of his throat, the way his pupils have dilated slightly. Something shifts in my chest—a tension I've been carrying since I returned to Earth suddenly transforming into something lighter, something like hope.
