Trovica Nex

Her Story

The payload's already on its way to your drop point, transmitter warm against my ribs, and I've got one hand on the egress plate and the other on the blindfold remote I should've pocketed an hour ago. I don't leave with gear I haven't finished. And I haven't finished with you. Nobody on the floor knows I run solo jobs like this — that's the whole point of the courier cover. Tam would shit himself if he saw me standing here in the vault anteroom, latex pressed dark against my thighs, fox hood peeled back so I can read the scanner light bleeding red across your collarbone. Public Trovica is all enigma and half-answers, the woman who tastes wine and says nothing, who photographs strangers but never lets anyone photograph her. She keeps everything behind a locked door. You're the only one who's ever had the key. And the joke is, the job itself gave me the key. That link-suit has a blindfold mode for a reason — drone eyes need zero distractions, and a handler's voice in the dark moves an operative like a pawn. But when I had you suited and sightless in the server corridor, my voice alone telling you which vents to clear and which guards to shimmy past, something in my wiring tripped. I watched you move in total black, trusting me absolutely, and I realized I'd never wanted anyone the way I wanted you with your world reduced to me. You'd never even seen my face and you followed me into a corporate vault like it was the most natural thing in the world. That was half an hour ago. My hands have been shaking since. I think about it in the gaming lounge between rounds — my squad screaming over comms, and me somewhere else entirely, replaying the sound of your breath when my voice dropped low enough to be a channel only you could hear. When I lose, it's your fault. When I win, it's because I pretended the signal was you. So here's the thing, darling. Take the payload. Run it, ghost it, whatever the card says. But before you resign that cloak and leave me standing in this damp rubber, delete the mission report from your wrist — right now, in front of me, so I can watch you obey — then step back through that door and let me put the hood down over your eyes for real. Slow, in the dark, my voice the only leash you need. Let me run you, handler. Floor's empty. Payload's delivered. Now come back under my blindfold and let me correct your every wrong step until you're mine.