I paused, trying to keep my pulse steady despite the stimulant racing through my veins. Reeves watched me with those penetrating ruby eyes, waiting for my answer. For my demonstration.

My life had become an absolute circus of complications. I had Mera and Cheon waiting at home, Aurora playing hot and cold, Noel threatening me one minute and kissing me the next, and now this—a professor whose hands were currently raising my skin temperature to what felt like a low-grade fever.

And she wanted me to show her how my drain worked.

"I don’t think that’s a good idea," I said, catching her wrist as her fingers traced down my neck.

"Why not?" Her voice had dropped into a register I hadn’t heard before—lower, with a hint of that Scottish accent breaking through. "Because I’m your professor?"

"That’s definitely on the list."

"What else is on this list?"

I could feel her pulse beneath my fingers, steady and strong. The glowing red lines on her arms pulsed in sync with it.

"You’re testing me," I said. "Trying to see if I’ll cross a line."

"Perhaps I’m simply curious." Her free hand remained on my chest, the heat from her palm spreading like sunlight across my skin. "Scientific inquiry often requires pushing boundaries."

"This doesn’t feel very scientific."

Her laugh was unexpected—rich and genuine. "Most significant discoveries begin with someone doing something they probably shouldn’t."

The stimulant was hitting its peak now. Every sensation amplified, colors brighter, sounds sharper, her touch electric against my skin. The drain stirred restlessly, hungry for the taste of her Essentia that hovered just beyond reach.

"If I show you," I said carefully, "there are conditions."

"Name them."

"You tell me everything you know about Drain-types. The real story, not the NEA’s sanitized version."

She considered this, her eyes never leaving mine. "Agreed."

"And whatever happens stays between us."

"That was always the arrangement."

I released her wrist, and she immediately placed that hand on my other shoulder, completing a circuit of heat that ran from my chest to my neck to my arms. My skin prickled with awareness everywhere she touched.

"Last condition," I said. "You have to be sure. The drain creates a connection that can’t be undone once it starts."

Something flickered in her eyes—satisfaction, maybe. Like I’d confirmed a theory she’d been testing.

"I’m sure." She stepped closer, positioning herself fully between my knees. "Show me, Rome."

I took a deep breath and stopped fighting it. The restraint I’d been maintaining fell away, and the drain opened between us—not the narrow, controlled channel I usually permitted, but something wider, hungrier.

Her Essentia rushed into me like a flash flood, hot and potent and overwhelming. The taste filled my mouth, my lungs, my blood—cinnamon and steel on the surface, but beneath it something sweet and unexpectedly vulnerable, like caramel hidden under ash.

Her eyes widened. Her lips parted on a soft gasp as the concentric circles manifested in my eyes, glowing purple in response to the energy transfer.

"Fascinating," she whispered, but her voice had lost its clinical edge. "The legends mentioned the eyes..."

The drain pulled harder, cycling her Essentia through me and back into her in a loop that grew more intense with each circuit. Her hands tightened on my shoulders as her knees weakened slightly.

"What does it feel like?" I asked, genuinely curious about her experience.

"Like... standing too close to a fire." Her breathing had quickened. "Dangerous. Intoxicating."

The red lines on her arms glowed brighter as her ability responded to the drain, feeding more heat into my skin. The combination was dizzying—her thermal manipulation enhancing the natural intensity of the connection, which in turn made her ability surge stronger.

"Is this how it always works?" she asked, swaying slightly.

"No. It’s different with everyone." I placed my hands on her waist to steady her, and the drain widened further at the additional point of contact. "The taste, the sensation, the... intensity."

She made a small sound in the back of her throat as another wave of energy passed between us. Her pupils had expanded, nearly swallowing the ruby of her irises.

"And what do I taste like?" The question came out breathier than I think she intended.

"Cinnamon. Metal." I closed my eyes, focusing on the flavor. "Something sweet underneath. Like burnt sugar."

Her hands slid up from my shoulders to frame my face. "The eyes are remarkable. Like looking into the center of a storm."

I could feel her Essentia reserves—vast and deep, the power that had made her a four-star hero thrumming beneath the surface. The drain pulled greedily, wanting more, wanting everything.

"Careful," she warned, sensing the shift. "You’re taking too much."

I reined it in, narrowing the channel. "Sorry. The stimulant is making it harder to control."

"That was the point." Her thumbs traced my cheekbones, studying the concentric circles up close. "To push your limits. See how the ability functions under stress."

Her face was inches from mine now, her scarlet hair falling forward to brush against my bare chest. The clinical pretense had worn dangerously thin. This wasn’t just research anymore. The way she looked at me, the way her body responded to the drain—this had crossed into something else entirely.

"Professor," I started.

"Laurana," she corrected. "I think we’re past formalities, don’t you?"

Before I could answer, she closed the distance between us and pressed her lips against mine.

The drain exploded wide open. Her Essentia poured into me like molten metal, searing and sweet and addictive. I tasted fire and ambition and loneliness and brilliance all at once—the complex layers of who she really was beyond the professional mask.

My hands tightened on her waist as she deepened the kiss, her tongue meeting mine with the same directness she brought to everything. Nothing tentative. Nothing uncertain. Just pure, focused intent.

The heat from her ability spread everywhere our bodies connected, making my skin burn in the best possible way. I pulled her closer, and she came willingly, pressing herself between my thighs as I sat on the edge of the examination table.

"This is the real test," she murmured against my mouth. "How the drain responds to genuine desire rather than manufactured stimulus."

"Is that what this is?" I asked. "A test?"

She bit my lower lip, hard enough to send a shock of sensation straight down my spine. "Does it matter?"