Page 78 of Technically Abducted
"Ten years ago," Alex confirms, his voice carefully controlled. "We included it to get your attention. Seems like it worked."
His eyes hold mine with an intensity that I can't fully interpret. Behind him, a screen displays what appears to befragments of the code they used to infiltrate our communication systems—impressively sophisticated for human technology.
Nor'em takes a half-step forward, clearly uncomfortable with this direct confrontation, but I raise a hand to stop him. Alex deserves answers, not intimidation.
"Finn's message did," I clarify, keeping my tone gentle but factual. "The Council is... concerned about unauthorized contact with minors. There will need to be an investigation."
Alex's expression tightens, a flash of disappointment quickly masked. "So you don't know who took me?"
The question carries the weight of a decade spent wondering, of nightmares and doubts and the struggle to reconcile memory with what seemed possible. I can hear the disappointment in his voice, the fragile hope beginning to crack.
"I'm here for Finn," I admit, wishing I had better answers. "The investigation into your case will be handled by others. But Alex," I step closer, letting my bioluminescence dim to a more soothing pattern, "the Council takes unauthorized contact very seriously. They'll want to find out what happened."
Yth'al shifts behind me, his bioluminescence patterns suggesting discomfort with my level of disclosure. Standard protocol would be minimal information until subjects are secure aboard the transport vessel. But these aren't standard subjects, and this isn't a standard retrieval.
But even as I speak to Alex, my attention keeps returning to Finn. The empathic bond is humming with his emotions—relief, joy, and something deeper that he hasn't put into words yet. There's a fragility to his hope, as if he's afraid to fully believe this is real until he knows exactly why I've returned.
"Tev'ra," Finn says quietly, his hand still gripping my shirt as if afraid I might vanish if he lets go, his fingers brushing against my skin through the fabric sending pulses of sensationthrough our bond. "Before anything else happens, I need to know something."
The seriousness in his tone causes my bioluminescence to dim slightly, responding instinctively to his emotional state. "What?"
His eyes search mine, looking for any hint of deception. "When you sent me back with those gems, was that your choice? Did you want me gone, or were you following orders?"
The question cuts deep, but I understand why he needs to ask. Three weeks of separation would create doubt about my feelings, about the reality of what we shared. Through our bond, I feel the vulnerability beneath his question—the lifelong fear of abandonment, the belief that he is ultimately disposable.
"Never," I tell him firmly, my bioluminescence flaring bright with the intensity of my conviction, my hands still framing his face, thumbs brushing away the remaining traces of tears. "I never wanted you gone. I thought I had no choice. I thought protocol required your return, and I've been miserable ever since."
As I speak, I let him feel everything through our connection—the hollowness of the past weeks, the way food lost its flavor, the way I couldn't focus on even the simplest tasks, the constant ache of separation.
"Protocol," Finn repeats, and there's something like wonder in his voice, a lightness breaking through the tension he's been carrying. His shoulders relax slightly under my touch as he processes this. "You were following protocol."
A small, disbelieving smile begins to form at the corners of his mouth—the first genuine smile I've felt through our bond since my return.
"Incorrectly," I admit, shame coloring my bioluminescence with darker blues. "I should have requestedintegration evaluation. I should have asked the Council for permission to keep you. I should have—"
"Wait." Finn's eyes widen, his grip on my shirt tightening as the implications hit him. The sudden spike of hope through our bond is almost painful in its intensity. "Keep me? That was an option?"
His voice catches on the words, and through our connection I feel his disbelief giving way to something brighter, more urgent. The idea that our separation was never necessary, that we've both been suffering needlessly, sends waves of conflicting emotions through our bond.
"Oh, Blue," he whispers, using the nickname that always makes my bioluminescence respond with involuntary brightening. The simple word carries so much intimacy, so much history—all our shared moments condensed into a single syllable.
Behind us, I hear Nor'em clear his throat diplomatically, his bioluminescence pulsing in the formal pattern used to regain attention during official proceedings. "Perhaps explanations should continue aboard the transport vessel? This location is not secure for extended discussion."
Yth'al shifts uncomfortably, eyeing the windows and the electronic devices scattered throughout the apartment. "Our presence may attract unwanted attention if prolonged," he adds, tone professional but tinged with genuine concern.
But I can't bring myself to care about security protocols when Finn is looking at me like I've just told him the impossible is actually routine, when I can feel the cascade of emotions through our bond—shock, hope, cautious joy, and beneath it all, a desperate need to understand everything he's been denied.
"Integration is standard procedure for successful assessments," I explain quickly, keeping my voice low but clear, watching realization dawn across his features. "Threeother humans from the program are currently living on our homeworld with their bonded partners. I didn't know." My voice catches. "I thought all assessment subjects were returned to Earth regardless of outcomes."
Through our connection, I can feel Finn's mind racing, connecting dots, reconstructing the past three weeks with this new information. The grief giving way to hope.
Alex steps closer, his body language shifting from cautious to confrontational, eyes narrowing. "Other humans?" His expression shifts from uncertainty to anger, hands clenching at his sides. "There are other humans living there permanently?"
"Three," I confirm, meeting his gaze directly. "All chose to remain after their assessment periods. The integration program has been highly successful." I hesitate, then add what I learned from Jake, Owen, and Derek. "They've built lives there. Formed relationships. Taken on roles within our society that utilize their unique human perspectives."
Finn starts laughing—not bitter or angry, but with genuine relief, the sound breaking free like something long trapped. It's a sound I haven't heard since our last night together under the moons, and it sends ripples of warmth through our empathic connection. "We've been miserable for nothing. Both of us, thinking this was how it had to end, and it was all just a fucking miscommunication."
His laughter is infectious, releasing tension I've been carrying since my arrival at the Council chamber. I find myself smiling in response, my bioluminescence brightening to match his mood.
