's

groaned, leaning my forehead against the cool, vibration-free glass of the elev

He was dressed in charcoal gym gear that probably cost more than my first car, looking disturbingly awake. "If we are to survive the Board's 'Chemistry Audit' tomo

a place for sweat and more like a NASA training facility. There were machi

id, gesturing to a stainless steel tub

r. His hand caught my arm, his grip firm and steady. Through the thin fabri

onto mine with that intense, focused stare that always made me forget my next insult. "If you can han

o ignore the way my pulse ju

ter hit his waist. He sat down, chest-deep in the freeze, and looked at me,a silent, chilling chal

ched, my lungs suddenly feeling two sizes too small. My h

l clinical edge. "Look at me. Ignore the temperature. Focus on the data,it's jus

he first time, he wasn't looking at me with calculation or strategy; he was watching me with genuine concern. For three minutes, the

g a mile a minute. Julian wrapped me in a towel so thick it felt like a hug, the

asked, my vo

e replied, already ha

. This is what food eats before it becomes delicious. I'm going to

ne, baffled confusion. "It's a low-yield fuel source

out of the gym and into his state-of-the-art kitchen,a place so pris

e "training" shifted from ice baths to me making fun of his "productivity meditation" while he stood there, genuinely perplexed by t

ffice lights, he looked younger. Vulnerable. He looked like a man who hadn'

se," I said, reaching up in

kening into something unreadable and heavy. The air in the kitchen suddenly felt a

p, his hand coming up to cover mi

y heart doing that fr

140 BPM heart rate from both of us

your algorithm is broken, Julian. It's probably just the caffei

y lips a second too long for it to be a mistake. "Caffeine. Low-yield fuel. Let's get to

the one being trained,we both were and the lesson we were learning was a