Page 115 of Pulse Zero
Lane huffs out a laugh. “We noticed.”
“Better news,” I add, holding up my hand as if I’m presenting evidence. “I think I downloaded something on the way back.”
Harrison’s head snaps up, his attention narrowing on me. He steps closer, the scientist focused on his subject. “You’re experiencing neurological deviation already?”
“That’s one way to put it.”
I glance toward the nearest machine, and the moment my gaze lands on it, it’s like itopensto me. Not physically, not in reality. But I can see it. Under it, through it. Code flickers at the edge of my vision again, clearer this time. More organized, less overwhelming. Like my brain is adjusting.
“Fucking wicked,” I mutter under my breath.
“What are you seeing?” Lane asks, and I catch the intrigue in his tone.
“Things that should definitely not be visible.”
I reach out again, slowly this time, more careful. My fingers brush the monitor, and the connection is immediate, seamless. Like plugging into something with the perfect fit. Data floods in again, but this time, I’m ready for it. It doesn’t drown me. It just…makes sense.
I can read it. Process it. Manipulate it…
The screen flickers.
Lane startles. “Did you just…”
“I don’t know. I didn’tmeanto do—”
The heart monitor glitches, the rhythm stuttering for half a second before stabilizing again.
I yank my hand back. “Okay, yeah, I did that.”
There’s silence as the three of us stare at the screen for several seconds before a slow, delighted smile creeps onto Harrison’s face.
“Well,” he drawls, voice low with scientific curiosity and maybe even something a little darker. “Looks like you get to be insufferable after all.”
My shoulders slump with an unhappy sigh. “And you get to run even more tests.”
“That was the deal.”
I stare at my hands again, at the faint tremor in my fingers. At the electricity that I canfeeljust under my skin. And then…
It cracklesabovemy skin.
At first, it’s subtle. There’s a faint shimmer, like heat rising off pavement in the summer. Then it sharpens into tiny, erratic sparks that dance across my palms, flickering between my fingers in strands of white-blue light. Similar to static electricity, but not quite. It doesn’t jump randomly. It gathers and threads together.
The air around my hands prickles, charged, like the moment right before lightning splits the sky. Fine hairs along my arms stand on end as the current skims over my skin, not quite touching.
“Whoa,” Lane breathes.
I flex my fingers, and the sparks respond. They snap tighter, brighter, small arcs jumping from fingertip to fingertip, crawling over my palms like they’re alive.
“Yeah.” I swallow. “This is exactly what I needed.”
“Just don’t touch anything,” Harrison advises.
And as though the current takes that as a challenge, it pulses. Just once, a quick spike. The overhead lights flicker. All of them. The machines stutter in response, a brief hiccup in their steady hum before they even out again.
I freeze.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “So I can accidentally break things. Good to know. Love that for me.”
