The hum of server fans was white noise to most people. To Lena Virel, it was almost comforting—constant, mechanical, impersonal. She liked it that way.
Most days, the IT floor of Argonix Tech felt like the only part of the company not soaked in artificial charm. No soft marketing voices, no fake small talk near the espresso machine. Just the occasional panic when someone forgot their password for the eighth time or spilled coffee into a workstation.
She crouched under the desk of Conference Room B, coaxing a thick blue ethernet cable into the switchboard. Her fingers worked fast, precise, but her mind drifted. Or rather—it followed.
Because he was close.
She didn't need to hear his footsteps.
She could feel him.
That scent again—clean soap, paper, and a hint of cedarwood—drifted in like a whisper. The kind of scent that lingered in her head long after he'd passed her in the hallway. She'd never once seen Eliot Chase wear cologne, but she could pick him out of a crowd of a hundred, blindfolded, from three floors away.
Her breath hitched, just slightly.
God, what is it about him?
It wasn't just that he was different from the others—though he was. Quiet, observant, awkward in a way that felt… unguarded. Honest. He didn't preen like the product designers. Didn't bluster like the sales guys. When he walked, it was like he was trying not to disturb the air.
And yet he disturbed everything in her.
She swallowed it down. Focus.
But then:
"Um… excuse me?"
Her head jerked up. Bang.
She hit the underside of the desk and cursed softly, rubbing her scalp as she slid out. And there he was—Eliot, standing just outside the open door, holding a very dead-looking laptop against his chest like a broken-winged bird.
"I think I killed it," he said, eyes wide behind his glasses.
Lena blinked, then smirked. "Murder by coffee, or…?"
"No, not this time," he said, holding it out sheepishly. "It just blue-screened."
She took it from his hands, their fingers almost brushing. Almost. She felt the static charge anyway, like a spark catching on dry leaves.
"I'll take a look. Want to stay while I run the diagnostics?"
Eliot hesitated. Then, after a breath, he nodded and stepped inside the server room. It was cramped—two chairs, a mess of cables, one aging desk stacked with old processors and unplugged monitors. Not exactly a cozy spot for casual conversation.
He sat across from her, arms tucked in like he was afraid of taking up too much space.
Lena booted up the laptop and pretended not to watch him out of the corner of her eye.
He was chewing his lip.
She wondered if he knew he did that when he was nervous.
"I like your necklace," he said suddenly.
Lena blinked. Her hand went reflexively to the pendant at her throat—a dark metal circle, etched with a design that meant nothing to most people.
"Thanks," she said. "Old family heirloom."
She saw his gaze linger on it, thoughtful.
Then, quietly, he added, "You always smell like rosemary."
She froze.
Slowly, she looked up.
He flinched. "Sorry. That was—creepy. I mean, I didn't mean it like that. Just that… sometimes when you walk past, I notice. It's kind of nice."
Lena said nothing for a beat.
Then, very softly: "It's in my shampoo."
Half-true.
"It's working," Eliot said, then immediately turned pink.
She leaned forward just slightly. "You say that like you've tested it."
His throat bobbed. "I—no, I mean—not on purpose. I just… notice things."
"I bet you do," she murmured.
The laptop beeped, pulling her attention. She looked at the screen. "Bad RAM stick," she said. "I'll swap it out. Might take twenty minutes."
Eliot stood, awkwardly. "Thanks. I, uh… owe you."
"You do."
He blinked.
"Maybe coffee," she added, eyes locking with his.
He looked startled. "Like… with you?"
Lena raised an eyebrow. "Unless you were planning to owe me caffeine from across the room."
He laughed—a quick, breathy sound that lit something hot in her stomach.
"No, no, with you's good," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
When he left, she waited until the door clicked shut and let herself exhale.
Then she took a deep breath, dragging the memory of his scent deep into her lungs.
God, you're such a freak.
Her apartment was on the edge of the city—far enough from the office to avoid colleagues, close enough to blend in. Second floor. Reinforced windows. Three locks on the door. The scent of wild herbs and steel lingered in the air. Her security system beeped as she entered, but it wasn't the machine she trusted.
The laptop bag dropped to the floor. Lights stayed off.
She didn't need them.
Lena stepped out of her boots and padded barefoot through the apartment, finally collapsing onto the couch. The walls were bare—except one.
A single corkboard above her small desk was cluttered with post-it notes, USB sticks, and rows of neatly labeled drive backups. But tucked between them, at the corner, was something she always meant to take down and never did:
A photo.
Grainy. Taken from a distance. A man in a brown cardigan stepping out of a bookstore.
Eliot.
She'd told herself it was harmless. Curiosity. A fluke. She'd happened to see him, and she'd happened to snap a picture.
But that was months ago.
She ran a finger over the edge of the photo. His mouth was parted in mid-word, as if he'd been saying something to the clerk just out of frame.
There was something about his voice that lived in her bones. Soft-spoken. Gentle. Unthreatening.
Most men triggered her instincts.
But not him.
No. With him, it was something else. Not fear. Not caution.
Hunger.
And not just the physical kind.
He made her want… something she couldn't name.
Something dangerous.
Lena stood and went to the bathroom. Stripped off her shirt. Ran a hand across her ribs, where old scars crossed in thick lines. Her skin burned beneath them. She turned on the shower, not for the water—but the noise.
The world always got too loud in her head at night.
She shut the door and let the steam rise around her.
Tomorrow, she'd see him again.
And she didn't know how much longer she could pretend.