Page 62 of Technically Abducted
"We should get dressed," Tev'ra says finally, but he doesn't release his hold on me.
"Yeah," I agree, making no move to leave his arms.
Eventually, practical necessity forces us apart. We dress in silence, every mundane action weighted with finality. Tev'ra's movements are precise and controlled, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, feel his emotional turmoil through our bond even as he tries to suppress it.
When we're both fully clothed, he moves to a storage compartment and retrieves a small crystalline container filledwith what looks like gems—dozens of them in various sizes and colors, all pulsing with their own internal light.
"Standard compensation for assessment participants," he explains, his voice carefully formal. "These stones are valuable on your world. They should provide significant financial security."
I stare at the container, something bitter rising in my throat. The gems are beautiful—deep blues and greens and purples that seem to hold light within them, though they don't glow like Tev'ra's skin. Alien minerals worth probably more than I've ever seen in my life. "Compensation?"
"The Council ensures all assessment subjects receive appropriate remuneration for their time and cooperation."
The clinical way he describes it—like I was a research participant in a study, not someone who shared his bed and learned his family's recipes and fell in love with him—makes something crack inside my chest.
"I don't want them," I say quietly.
Tev'ra's bioluminescence flickers with surprise. "Finn, these stones represent considerable monetary value. They will ensure your financial stability—"
"I don't want your money," I interrupt, my voice sharper than intended. "I don't want compensation for... for this."
"I know," Tev'ra says softly, and for a moment his professional mask slips. "But we cannot have what we want."
The simple statement cuts deeper than any elaborate explanation could. He's right, of course. We can't have what we want. This was always temporary, always going to end exactly like this. I was stupid to think it could be anything else.
"I have to take them, don't I?" I ask, noting how carefully he's holding the container. "This is part of the protocol."
"Yes," Tev'ra confirms, though he looks as unhappy about it as I feel. "It is required."
I nod and accept the container, surprised by its weight. The gems catch the light as they shift against each other, beautiful and alien and completely meaningless compared to what I'm losing.
"Time to go," Tev'ra says.
The walk to the transport chamber feels endless and far too short simultaneously. With each step, the empathic connection between us seems to grow more fragile, as if the approaching separation is already beginning to fray the bond we've built.
The transport chamber is all white walls, a circular platform, that sense of sterile efficiency that now feels cold rather than impressive. Tev'ra moves to the control panel while I step onto the platform, the container of gems heavy in my hands.
"The molecular stabilization process will begin in sixty seconds," Tev'ra announces, his voice once again carefully professional. "Please remain motionless during transport."
I want to say something profound, something that captures what these three days have meant to me. Instead, I find myself saying the most important thing: "Thank you for showing me your sky."
Tev'ra's bioluminescence flares bright enough to light the entire chamber. "Thank you for wanting to see it."
The blue light begins to build around me, and I can feel the first tingling sensation of molecular displacement. But more than that, I can feel something else—a stretching sensation in my chest, like a rubber band being pulled to its breaking point.
The empathic bond. As the transport field builds, the connection between us grows thinner, more strained. I can feel Tev'ra's anguish mixing with my own, his desperate wish that this could be different, his professional obligation warring with personal desire.
"Finn," he says suddenly, stepping closer to the platform edge. "I need you to know—"
But the transport field peaks before he can finish, and the chamber dissolves around me in waves of blue light. The last thing I see is Tev'ra's face, his golden eyes wide with everything he didn't get to say.
Then there's darkness, weightlessness, and the horrible sensation of something vital being torn away from inside my chest.
When consciousness returns, I'm standing in my apartment.
Everything is exactly as I left it. The pizza box on my desk, the tangled cables, the monitors in sleep mode casting their familiar dim glow. Even the air smells the same—coffee, electronics, and the faint staleness of a space where someone lives alone.
But everything feels wrong. Empty. Like I'm looking at my life through glass instead of living it.
