Page 14 of Technically Abducted
I am not merely studying human innovation.
I am being changed by it.
Chapter Five
Finn
The sound of movement pulls me from sleep—a subtle shift, barely audible, but enough to trigger the survival instincts you develop when you've spent your life in other people's homes. My eyes snap open, body instantly alert.
There's someone in my apartment.
For a second, pure panic floods my system before memory catches up. Right. The alien. The abduction. The temporary reprieve to fix my clients' systems.
I blink at my phone. I've slept maybe two hours.
From my bedroom, I can see Tev'ra moving carefully around my living room, his blue skin casting faint light on the walls. He's examining my bookshelf, long fingers hovering over technical manuals without touching them. His posture is exactly as formal as it was hours ago—spine straight, movements precise, like someone executing a program rather than just existing in a space.
He hasn't slept. Hasn't even sat down again as far as I can tell.
"Do you ever rest?" I ask, my voice rough with sleep.
Tev'ra turns, not startled but smoothly redirecting his attention. "Not as often as humans."
I groan, dragging myself out of bed.
I'm wearing only boxers, my usual sleep attire, and I notice immediately when Tev'ra's skin brightens and he quickly turns away. The blue glow intensifies to almost white along his neck and face. Interesting.
I deliberately stretch, arms over my head, making no move to cover up. This is my apartment, my space. If Mr. Perfect Posture is uncomfortable, that's his problem.
"Is there a designated storage location for appropriate coverings?" Tev'ra asks, his voice slightly strained, gaze fixed firmly on my bookshelf.
"You mean clothes?" I laugh, heading for the kitchen. "This is how I live when I'm alone. Which I was supposed to be."
His skin pulses with what I'm starting to recognize as discomfort. "Nereidan protocols maintain appropriate clothing regardless of social context."
"Yeah, well, we're not on Nereida," I say, filling the coffee maker with water. "My apartment, my rules. Don't like it, there's the door. Oh wait, you need me to go back with you, don't you?"
"The planet is Nereidan," Tev'ra corrects automatically.
I roll my eyes. "Thanks for the astronomy lesson. The point stands—my planet, my rules."
The small flare of satisfaction I feel is petty, but after being abducted and having my life turned upside down, I'll take what I can get.
My coffee setup is probably the most organized thing in my apartment—a high-end machine, carefully selected beans, a grinder that cost more than my couch. When everything else in life is chaos, good coffee is non-negotiable.
Tev'ra watches this process with evident fascination, his scientific curiosity apparently overriding his modesty concerns. His glow has subsided to a more manageable level, though it still pulses whenever he accidentally looks at my bare chest.
"This appears to be a complex ritual for simple nutrient delivery," he observes.
"Questions come after coffee," I respond, watching the dark liquid begin to drip. "That's the rule."
I lean against the counter, deliberately casual, and check my phone while waiting. Several more client messages have come in overnight. Nothing critical yet, but the day is young.
The coffee finishes brewing. I pour a cup, take the first sip, and feel the familiar sense of order beginning to restore itself to my brain. Some problems can be solved, even if alien abduction isn't one of them.
"Okay," I say, cup in hand. "Now you can ask your questions."
"You invest significant resources in this particular consumable," Tev'ra says, clearly having cataloged every component of my coffee setup. "The preparation equipment exceeds the quality standards of your other possessions."
