The apartment had learned them. The slow, silent shift of space to fit their habits. Shoes paired by the door. A second toothbrush in the cup. The guest room door left open, not out of courtesy but because it no longer needed to be closed. Even the air changed in the evenings, settling around them, learning the weight and movement of two bodies instead of one.
Adrian stood at the stove. Sleeves rolled to his elbows. His shoulders loose, unfamiliar in their ease. He had cooked for a living once, before his world narrowed to rules and watchfulness. Before the Veil has lifted for him. Now he cooked to anchor himself. Heat, timing, scent; these obeyed laws that did not change beneath him.
Jared sat at the kitchen table. Laptop open. One foot tucked beneath him, the other tapping a quiet rhythm against the floor. His attention split, but not broken. Code scrolled past. Feedback loops, thresholds, numbers. But he watched Adrian too, absorbing the way he moved through the kitchen.
This was what living together felt like to him. Not distance. Not disengagement. Just shared gravity.
He liked the way Adrian leaned in when he focused. The way he tasted sauce from a spoon, frowned, adjusted. He liked that Adrian brought the plate to him, never called him over. No expectation to help. Only the invitation, if he wanted it.
It let him breathe.
Erebus stretched along the windowsill. Tail flicking against the glass. Eyes half-lidded, watching. Quiet.
Adrian glanced over his shoulder. “You’re staring again.”
Jared did not look away. “You’re efficient.”
“That is not what people usually mean when they stare.”
Jared considered that. “You’re also aesthetically pleasing.”
Adrian snorted softly and turned back to the stove. “Flattery will not get you extra portions.”
“I am not attempting to get more food,” Jared said. “I am stating an observation.”
“That is arguably worse.”
Jared smiled, eyes back on the screen. Adjusted a parameter. Frowned. Adjusted again. The interface he built was not urgent. Just a possibility. He wanted the Boostware to fit the Dark better. To let him process faster. React before the world could shift beneath him.
“You’re thinking about having me install that,” Adrian said without looking at him.
“Yes.”
“You know we do not implant speculative tech into active agents,” Adrian stated.
“I know that the Shadow Investigations Unit doesn’t,” Jared replied. “That doesn’t mean you won’t.”
Adrian glanced back at him, expression thoughtful. But he said nothing. They both knew that if Jared felt it would help him, Adrian would do it.
Dinner was simple. Pasta, vegetables, and sauce edged with garlic and lemon. Adrian plated it with care. Set a bowl before Jared, another in the space for Erebus. Then sat across from Jared. Erebus joined them, paws on the table, nose close to the steam. They ate in silence. The kind that needed no words to explain itself.
Jared chewed slowly. Savoring texture. Shoulders loose, mind quiet. The Dark inside him, but not pressing. Not crowding out the rest. This was safety now. Not the absence of threat. The presence of something solid. Structure he could lean against.
They finished. Adrian stood, rinsing dishes. Jared brought his bowl to the sink. Leaned against the counter. Watched water run over porcelain, the sound filling the space between them.
Kate’s call came while Adrian was drying his hands.
He answered without hesitation. “Go ahead.”
Her voice came through the speaker, crisp but tired. “Sorry to interrupt domestic bliss.”
“You’re not,” Adrian said. “What do we have?”
“A referral,” Kate replied. “School counselor. Eleven-year-old girl. Describing recurring dreams about doors opening into darkness.”
Jared’s head lifted slightly.
“No fear response,” Kate continued. “Parents are concerned because the kid is calm about it. Drawing doors obsessively. Withdrawal. But no manifestations. No events.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened. “Where?”
“Local elementary school. Want you both there in the morning. Observation only for now.”
Jared spoke before Adrian could. “Is she distressed?”
“No,” Kate said. “That’s the problem.”
The call ended. Logistics settled. Adrian set his phone down. Exhaled, slow and careful.
Jared stayed still. “Eleven,” Jared said quietly. “She’s a child.”
“Yes,” Adrian replied. “Which is why we need to assess early.”
“Assess for what?” Jared asked. “Risk or difference?”
Adrian turned to face him. “You know the answer to that.”
Jared’s fingers curled against the counter. “I know the protocol.”
Adrian crossed his arms, posture careful. “Jared, this is not an emergency case, but that doesn’t mean it’s safe.”
“I know,” Jared said. “I also know that not all Tuners become Dark Anchors.”
Adrian stiffened. “According to Qhall.”
“According to lived experience,” Jared corrected. “Mine.”
Adrian shook his head slightly. “Your experience is not a dataset.”
“It is still data,” Jared said. “Just not data you can quantify easily.”
“We cannot build protocols on anecdotes.”
“You already do,” Jared replied. “You just call them case studies.”
Adrian opened his mouth, then closed it. His discomfort was visible now, a tightening around the eyes. “Jared, the collected evidence suggests that Tuners always progress to anchoring.”
“The collected evidence suggests that Tuners observed by the Unit progress to anchoring,” Jared said. “That is not the same claim.”
Adrian frowned. “That’s splitting hairs.”
“No,” Jared said quietly. “It’s examining bias.”
Adrian looked away. “This is not the time.”
“This is exactly the time,” Jared replied. “Before we decide to remove a child from her family.”
Silence pressed in. Heavy. Unresolved.
Adrian spoke carefully. “The protocols exist to prevent harm.”
“To whom?” Jared asked.
“To everyone,” Adrian said.
Jared shook his head. “No. To people who are inconvenienced by Tuners. To cities. To infrastructure. To systems that cannot accommodate differences.”
“That’s unfair,” Adrian said with a sigh.
“It’s accurate,” Jared said. “You know as well as I do that Tuners are studied when they disrupt. Not when they adapt.”
Adrian’s voice softened, which worried Jared more than anger would have. “We have both seen what happens when containment is delayed.”
“Yes,” Jared said. “We have seen what happens when people reach manifestation without support and are told to resist instead of understand.”
“That is speculation,” Adrian said.
“That is lived experience,” Jared replied. “Mine.”
Adrian’s hands clenched. “You are too close to this.”
“I am finally close enough,” Jared said. “For the first time, I am not being spoken over.”
Adrian turned back to the sink, rinsing a plate that was already clean. “You’re losing faith in the Unit.”
Jared did not deny it. “I am questioning whether they ever acted in good faith.”
“That organization has been our foundation for two decades,” Adrian stated.
“And how many Tuners have we actually listened to in that time?” Jared asked.
Adrian froze.
“Do you know what I am realizing?” Jared continued. “That all of the research frames Tuners as problems to be managed. Not people to be understood.”
“That’s not true,” Adrian said, looking at Jared sharply.
“It is,” Jared said. “Look at the language. Containment. Mitigation. Risk profiles. None of it asks what the experience is like from the inside.”
Adrian swallowed. “We cannot rely on subjective reports.”
“Why not? What makes your subjective observations more valid than my subjective lived experience? Not to mention that you already rely on mine every day,” Jared said.
“That’s different,” Adrian said, drying his hands again and turning to face Jared.
“Why?” Jared challenged.
Adrian could not answer.
Something inside Jared split wider. Not pain. Just a crack, enough for light to slip in.
“I do not trust Draco Industries to act in my best interest anymore,” he said quietly.
Adrian’s head snapped up. “That’s a serious accusation.”
“I am not accusing,” Jared said. “I am acknowledging a belief shift.”
Adrian leaned against the counter, suddenly looking tired. “If you walk away from that framework, what replaces it?”
“I don’t know yet,” Jared admitted. “But I know it can’t continue unchanged.”
Adrian stared at the floor. “Rules are how I survive.”
“I know,” Jared said softly. “And I am not asking you to abandon them. I am asking you to examine them.”
“That feels like asking me to dismantle everything,” Adrian confessed.
Jared nodded. “Those protocols are beginning to feel like a cage.”
They stood. The refrigerator hummed, loud in the hush.
“Tomorrow,” Adrian said finally. “We observe. We do nothing else.”
Jared nodded. “Agreed.”
Neither of them said what would happen if the girl looked back at them with the same calm understanding Jared had felt at thresholds.
Erebus calmly licked a paw, tail flicking once.
The apartment held its breath. Waiting.
