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Chapter 13 - Can I Trust You?

The silence stretched, taut as wire.

Lance stayed hunched in the corner, a human coil of breath and nerves, his hands buried in Dario's fur as if afraid they might betray him the moment he let go. His body had gone still in the way prey sometimes does when the shadow of the predator moves past—hoping stillness might be mistaken for survival.

Dani watched him.

Not out of kindness.

Out of necessity.

She didn't move immediately. The briefcase sat at her feet, the lunchbox sealed again at her side. Her weapons were at the ready, her stance loose—but her eyes didn't stray from Lance.

He didn't notice at first.

That she'd dropped into a crouch, halfway across the room, as silently as a shadow.

That she'd pulled something small from her jacket pocket—a worn metallic disk no larger than a watch face.

She rolled it between her fingers as she watched him breathe.

His pupils were clouded again. Not milky. Veiled.

Not full infection, she thought. Not yet.

But it was leaking through.

She activated the disk.

A soft vibration hummed in the air—low, almost imperceptible.

Lance flinched.

Dani narrowed her eyes.

Not from the sound. From something deeper. A reflex. A symbiote reaction.

Her jaw tightened. She pocketed the disk and stood.

"Hey," she said, voice casual, like they were still sitting in a diner booth deciding on pancakes.

Lance looked up slowly, his gaze lagging behind the movement of his head by a beat too long.

His eyes refocused. Sluggish.

He didn't respond.

Dani approached—measured steps, not too slow, not too sudden. She crouched next to Dario first, scratched under his chin like this was any other quiet evening after any other world-ending situation.

The dog didn't move. He just pressed harder into Lance's chest.

"Your pupils aren't responding," Dani said, not unkindly. "That's usually a fun one."

Lance blinked hard. "What?"

She leaned in a fraction, her gaze meeting his. "They've been cloudy since you came back. Thought it was blood loss. It's not."

He shifted uneasily. "So what is it?"

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she reached into her coat and pulled out a small, flat disk and offered it to him with one hand. "Here."

"What is it?"

"Filter glyph," she said. "For your eye. One eye. If you see anything weird, don't scream. It won't help."

"I'm not putting cursed origami into my eyeball."

"It's not cursed. It's experimental. Completely different branch of paranoia."

Lance hesitated... then took it.

He pressed it gently to his left eye.

The moment it made contact, he gasped.

Not because of pain.

Because something tugged.

Not physical.

Like a window opening somewhere behind his own retina.

He saw the room—concrete, dim, unchanged.

And then he saw something else.

A strand.

Thin as hair.

Trailing off the back of his skull into a corner of the room—vanishing into a seam in the wall that hadn't been there a second ago.

His hands began to shake.

The glyph fell from his face.

"What—what was that?" he whispered.

Dani's expression barely shifted. "A tether."

"Tether to what?"

She exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of her neck. "If I knew, we'd be somewhere brighter and less haunted."

He stared at her. "You're monitoring me," he said. "That's why you brought me here. Not to protect me. Not to save me. You're studying me."

Dani leaned against the wall, her arms crossing like a shrug drawn in posture. "You make it sound so personal."

"You said they swapped the milk. At the store. While I was distracted. But you were there, Dani. You distracted me."

Her jaw tensed—but she didn't deny it.

"You think I did this to you?"

"I don't know what to think," Lance muttered. "And I think that's the point."

She tilted her head. "If I wanted to do this to you, you'd have been drinking demon yogurt in a padded room three days ago."

That silenced him.

For a moment.

"I'm scared," he admitted.

She didn't scoff. She didn't soften.

She just nodded once. "Good. It means the right you's still steering."

"Then why do I feel like I'm watching someone else wear my face?"

"That," she said, crouching again and scratching Dario behind the ears, "is usually the part where people run into traffic or join a cult. You're ahead of the curve."

She reached into her coat and pulled out a small, cracked audio recorder. Held it out.

"Play this when I say. Not before."

"What's on it?"

"I don't know anymore," she replied. "But I recorded it for someone who was starting to feel like you do."

"Did it help?"

Dani smiled without humor. "He screamed so hard his tongue snapped."

Lance took the recorder with both hands, holding it like a bomb with a heartbeat.

She stood.

"I'll set perimeter glyphs. Don't press the button unless you're ready to ruin your night."

Then she turned, leaving him there with the weight of her words, the humming red light on the recorder, and Dario's soft breath steady in his lap.

He sat in silence.

Still himself.

But slipping.

And maybe she knew exactly how far he could fall.

Lance didn't repeat the question. He just stared.

"Subject," he said again, quieter this time. Not accusing. Just empty.

Dani slid the flat remote back into her coat without looking at him. "It's a classification term. Chill."

"Right," Lance muttered, rubbing his temples. "Like 'printer jam' or 'overdue password reset.' Completely normal."

She didn't crack a smile.

Instead, she paced the room with slow, deliberate steps—checking the walls, tapping lightly at corners. One hand hovered near her lunchbox, fingers always aware of where her weapons were.

Dario lay curled up next to Lance, eyes alert but calm. Lance's hand rested on the dog's back, drawing in a little stability from that simple connection.

"Dani," Lance said, voice raw. "I'm not dumb. I know something's changing. You knew the glyph would show it."

"I don't know," she said flatly, not meeting his eyes. "I prepare for the worst and hope for the best."

He shifted uncomfortably. "That's not everything, though."

She stopped pacing and finally looked at him. Her expression was unreadable—no softness, no sympathy, just the cold calculation of someone sizing up a problem.

"I've seen this before," she said.

"The cow? The reality-eating thing?"

She shrugged. "No. You. The way you're slipping."

Lance swallowed hard. "Slipping. Perfect."

She nodded once. "You're still human enough to recognize the world. Mostly. But there's a leak. A tether—something from outside this place grabbing at you."

"Claimed me," Lance whispered.

"That's the hopeful guess."

"And the alternative?"

She didn't blink. "You're a ghost with a borrowed body."

The words landed like a stone. Dario growled low, warning sharp.

Dani didn't back down.

"But I don't think that's true. You're scared, angry, even making jokes. All signs of a live brain."

Lance exhaled, exhausted. "So I'm not dead yet. Great."

She crouched by Dario, scratching behind his ear. "He's slowing it down. Whatever that thing is, the dog's a tether too. Keeps you from unraveling faster."

Lance looked at her, disbelief tangled with relief.

"Why me?" he asked.

Dani's eyes flickered, then she gave no answer.

Instead, she pulled a small audio recorder from her coat and handed it to him. "Play this when I say. Not before."

"Why not?"

"Because some truths are best heard cold. When you're ready."

Lance gripped the device like it was a lifeline.

"I'm trying to help you," Dani said, voice even but carrying an edge. "Even if it doesn't feel that way."

He stared, searching for something—trust, maybe—but found only the faintest flicker behind her guarded eyes.

She turned away. "I'll set perimeter glyphs. Don't push that button unless you want your world to tilt."

Lance sat back, Dario warm at his side, and the quiet hum of uncertainty closing in around him.

Still himself.

But just barely.

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