Not opening my eyes, I say, “He’s dead. Died ten years ago, in Mana’s Hearth. Maybe she meant another Adam. Or she was babbling nonsense hopped up on Zeal or Verve. Fuck, I don’t know. I don’t know. I can’t think about this any more.” I take my hands away and reach for the bottle of SynthGin. It only has enough for half a glass.

“Any more?”

He brings out the bottle of SynthTequila. Holds it out to me like an offering.

“That’ll do.”

*   *   *

Our empty SynthTequila glasses sit on the table by the window, glowing silver in the moonlight. Nazarin and I are on the bed. The detective is splayed against the wall, his arms crossed behind his head. His eyes are half-lidded, his lips parted. I’m lying on my side, my head resting on my arm. He makes a pretty picture. In this soft light, he does not look so fierce. I can’t see his scars.

Nazarin stretches, his shirt lifting just enough to show the muscled planes of his stomach.

“Do you want another drink?” he asks, his voice quiet.

“No,” I say. I sit up, move a little closer. We pause, six inches apart, sizing each other up. We both know what the other wants. What we don’t know is if we should cross that line.

The old Taema wouldn’t have. The old me would have decided it was too improper, unprofessional. The new me, though? The one who has given up everything, who just nearly killed my foster mother in a dream world? She’s a different creature entirely.

Nazarin opens his mouth to say something.

I close the distance between us.

His mouth is warm. His lips part further, his tongue darting against mine, soft and tasting of tequila. His stubble scratches my chin. I pull him against me, and his body is the opposite of his mouth—hard, angular, strong. I roll on top of him, and his lips move from my lips to my neck. I close my eyes, a small smile curling my lips.

I sit up and Nazarin pulls my shirt off of me. His fingers trace their way down my scar before reaching behind me, unclasping my bra. I slide it down my arms, tossing it to the floor before helping him out of his clothes.

We are not slow. We are not gentle. We are not tender. We each take what we want, what we need, yet we do give the other what they desire. It’s been almost a year since I broke up with David. It’s a long time to be alone. I concentrate entirely on Nazarin and the sensations he gives me, determined to quiet my racing mind.