Chapter 97: Control Advice Before a Steamy Session

Chapter 97: Chapter 97: Control Advice Before a Steamy Session

The line clicked soft and clean.

I sat in the quiet apartment with the phone resting against my knee and the system’s last notes fading from the edge of my vision.

The weight of Gianna’s voice, your place is by my side, still sat in my chest like a bruise that had decided to heal instead of spread.

I stood, intending to drink water and do nothing else for a few minutes.

The phone buzzed again.

Rei’s name lit the screen.

The hell?

I almost let it ring out. Instead, I answered.

"You’re quick," I said.

"You sound less like a funeral than you did this morning."

Rei’s voice carried its usual dry edge, plus something that might have been genuine curiosity.

"Did someone finally give you permission to exist, or did the bracelet just stop choking you for five minutes?"

"Neither. What do you want?"

"To confirm night training still stands. And to ask whether you’re planning to show up looking like a kicked dog or like someone who can actually push back."

"I can push back. Remember the simulation where I almost defeated you?"

"Okay. Someone’s annoying."

I leaned against the counter, surprising myself with the shape of my own mouth.

"I’ll show up. Try not to look too disappointed if I don’t bleed on schedule."

"No promises. Your blood tastes expensive."

A short pause.

"Did you eat?"

"Not yet."

"Eat. The empty-calorie self-hatred routine is boring, and it makes your footwork sloppy. Also, tell Jenna the threshold bump is useful. I felt the difference in output even through the logs. Don’t waste it by being polite."

"You finished?"

"Almost. One more thing."

Her tone shifted a fraction, less performative.

"Whatever conversation you just had, keep the version of your voice that came out of it. The flat, half-present one is useless in a real dungeon. The one that sounds like it still wants something, that one can fight."

"No."

"The fuck do you mean no?"

"Is that all?"

"Idiot. Do you know how many people would die to get my number?"

I huffed a quiet breath that was almost a laugh.

"Was that encouragement?"

"It was quality control. Same time tomorrow. Don’t be late."

She hung up.

I stood there holding the phone, the corner of my mouth still tilted despite everything, and let the strange sequence of the last hour settle.

It’s weird how fast I’m getting used to her.

Gianna refusing to let me call myself placeless, Rei treating my improved tone like a performance metric worth protecting. Different kinds of claim.

Both of them, in their own way, keeping me in the room.

I drank the water. Showered. Changed into something that wasn’t training gear.

The apartment stayed quiet until the front door opened a little after nine.

Jenna stepped inside carrying a slim case I recognized as the secondary blocker kit.

She looked tired in the way she always did after a full day of containing other people’s emergencies, but her eyes found me immediately and assessed my posture, tension, the fact that I was upright and not spiraling on the sofa.

"You called her," she said. Not an accusation.

An observation.

"I did. Boundaries intact. No compression of the week."

"Good."

She set the case on the counter.

"Have you eaten?"

"Not yet."

Jenna moved toward the kitchen with the automatic efficiency of someone who had already decided the next practical step.

I watched her for a second, coat still on, hair slightly loosened from the day’s work, the same woman who had bought my custody and then spent days trying to keep me from becoming a cautionary report.

I crossed the space before she could open a cabinet.

She turned at the shift in air. I lifted both hands to her face and kissed her.

A clear, deliberate first move.

Jenna went still against me for half a second, surprise flickering through the usual control.

When I drew back just enough to speak, her eyes were sharper, searching.

"You never kiss first," she said.

"I’m in a good mood."

Something complicated moved across her face: assessment, caution, and a heat she didn’t bother to hide once she decided it was useful.

I kissed her again, slower, and this time her mouth opened under mine.

My fingers found the front of her blouse and worked the first button free, then the second.

She made a low sound that wasn’t protest and shrugged out of her coat without breaking the contact, letting it fall somewhere near the counter.

"Mira doesn’t get these logs," I murmured against her jaw.

"Private residential protocols only," she agreed, voice already rougher.

"Blockers on the nightstand. You stop when I say stop."

"I stop when you say stop."

"You haven’t had dinner yet."

"I’m going to."

We moved through the apartment in stages, hallway, doorway, the edge of the bed, shedding the day with less patience than grace.

Jenna’s hands mapped my shoulders, the line of my spine, the place where the bracelet still sat against my pulse. I unbuttoned the rest of her blouse, pushed fabric aside, and let myself look at her without the clinical distance of a training session or the bitter edge of a breakdown offer.

"Still want this?" she asked, once, when we were both down to less than strategy required.

"Yes."

"Then look at me while you do it. If your eyes change, I want to see it before the pathway does."

I nodded.

I kissed her again and took us the rest of the way down onto the bed.

The sheets were cool. Her skin was not.

For a moment I only breathed, forehead against hers, the muted weight of Gianna’s anchor quiet and unreachable in my core, the system silent at the edge of thought as if it had decided not to comment on a decision it had already rewarded in advance.

"Revien," Jenna said softly.

"I’m here."

"Stay here. That’s the whole exercise."

Jenna lay back against the pillows, blouse open, skirt already discarded somewhere near the foot of the bed.