2- Are you a keyboard? Because you might just be my type.

LUKAS

Clare Mead swept out of my office over half an hour ago, and I’m still sitting here, motionless. My fingers absentmindedly try to smooth down the mess she made of my hair, but it’s no use. I can still feel the echo of her hands in it, the warmth of her touch when we shook hands… Right up until the moment she yanked hers away like I’d burned her. I sigh and lean back in my chair. Another person to add to the ever-growing list of those who’ll never touch me again. Not that it’s surprising. Even my own family keeps their distance, afraid I’ll accidentally brush against their skin and pull some private thought from their minds. They’re quick to brag about how impressive my magic is, but it’s all hollow praise. They avoid me as much as strangers do, probably more. Honestly, this magic is more of a curse than anything else.

I stare at the door Clare slammed on her way out, replaying her parting words in my head. She was furious, and rightfully so. It wasn’t until after she lectured me about her clothes that I realized just how dense I’d been. She’s absolutely right. Her outfit doesn’t affect her ability to do her job. And clearly, she’s very good at it. I should have just kept my mouth shut. I sigh again, running a hand through my already ruined hair. I know I can be... Rigid when it comes to rules. But Clare Mead doesn’t seem to have that problem. I almost envy her ability to do whatever she likes. The confidence, the defiance, it’s so foreign to me. I feel like I spend most of my life following strict rules. I should’ve apologized. Damn it. I should have said something right then and there. For insulting her, for reading her mind without permission. It’s just so difficult not to. I wanted so badly to know what was behind that fake smile, to understand the real thoughts running through that pretty head of hers. I know that plenty of people think that, but when it’s actually a possibility? Sometimes it’s hard to resist. I glance at the clock. It’s not that late. She could still be here.

Suddenly, I’m on my feet, shoving my chair back and grabbing my things. I barely remember to lock my office door as I rush out. I realize halfway down the hall that I have no idea where tech support is actually located. Is it on a different floor? A whole department? I pause at one of the signs to check. The basement? I ride the elevator down, frowning as it dings open to reveal a single door. Wait. Is tech support literally just one person? For a company this size, I’d imagined at least a small team, half a dozen people or so. No wonder Clare was pissed off. She is the entire department and I implied she was incompetent. I knock on her office door. No answer. After a moment, I test the handle, expecting it to be locked. To my surprise, the door swings open. I stop dead in my tracks. Clare’s office is… A lot. The walls are strung with fairy lights, though they’re currently turned off. Trinkets and knick knacks are scattered everywhere, and a fluffy purple blanket is draped over the back of her chair. It’s cozy, colorful, and completely against office regulations. My first instinct is to report this to HR. My second is to roll my eyes at myself. None of this affects her ability to do her job, she’s clearly damn good at what she does. So why should I care? Still, I can’t stop myself from noticing imperfections. One of the strings of lights on the wall is slightly uneven, and it’s practically screaming at me. Without thinking, I step inside. I’m just tall enough to reach it, so I adjust the lights until they’re perfectly straight. As I step back, I smirk, imagining Clare clambering onto her desk to put these up. It’s an oddly endearing picture. Shaking off the thought, I force myself to leave her office before I mess with anything else. Clearly, she’s gone for the day. I missed my chance to apologise. Guess I’ll have to try again tomorrow. I want nothing more than to go home and crawl into bed. But I can’t. Because I promised my mother I would stop by for dinner. I groan. I had better get going. I’m already going to be late.

As I pull up to my parents house, the urge to throw the car in reverse and drive away is almost overwhelming. I know my family loves me, at least, I think they do. But they have an odd way of showing it. They rarely ask anything of me, almost like I’m sidelined until they need me for something specific. When I was studying to become a lawyer, they barely noticed. Sure, they came to my graduation, but it felt more like they were there to take photos to put up on their walls and impress their guests than actual genuine pride. I sigh, letting myself into the house. The dining room should be full, my parents, aunt, uncle, cousins should all gathered for family dinner. But the room is empty. Huh? Did I get the day wrong? I wander through the house, calling for my mother.

“Mum?” No answer. The kitchen is empty. So is the living room. I check the bathroom, nothing. With each empty room I become more and more concerned. Finally, I find myself standing outside my father’s study. He doesn’t like people going in there, but I’m not planning to stay. I’ll just peek inside to check. The moment I open the door, I know something is wrong. The study is dark, something feels totally off. My eyes scan the room, trying to pinpoint it. Then I see gaps on the shelves where precious items used to be. Not just any items, but valuable family heirlooms, old talismans and magical artifacts, passed down for generations. The kind of things that never, ever leave this house. Why would they be missing? Alarmed, I hurry through the house, calling louder now.

“Mum? Dad?” My voice echoes through the hall.

The basement door creaks open, and my mother steps out, nearly crashing into me. I grab her arms to steady her, and in that instant, I catch her thoughts. The short glimpse stops me in my tracks. She pulls away quickly, her face tightening into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Mum... Why did you give away the talismans?” I ask, my voice sharp.

“I did no such thing,” she replies with a forced laugh.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She’s lying. Badly. Has she forgotten I read minds?

“Mum, I saw it. In your mind. You gave them away, and you were talking to someone. A necromancer.” The presence of a necromancer alone is cause for concern. Her face hardens. “It’s for the best. Don’t ask questions!” She snaps. But I can’t just drop it.

“A necromancer? Mum, that’s dangerous. You know that! What’s dead should stay dead.” She folds her arms across her chest, her silence speaking volumes.

“You’re trying to bring someone back,” I say, horrified. She tries not to react, but her eye twitches, just slightly. She turns to walk away from me. I grab her wrist before she can retreat, holding tightly, not ready to end the conversation.

“You can’t! It’s beyond illegal, you’ll be risking everything! And not just for yourself. We could all be implicated!” Her expression doesn’t waver, but she yanks free of my grip.

“I told you not to ask questions.” she says coldly. I don’t get a chance to respond before I’m yanked back by a strong hand. I turn to see my uncle, his grip painfully tight on my shoulder.

“He’s going to turn us in.” My uncle says, his voice like ice.

“We can’t let him leave.” For a moment, I’m frozen. Then his thoughts hit and I feel like I can’t breathe. He’s considering killing me. My own uncle. It’s like he’s a stranger all of a sudden. I fight against him, panic fueling my strength. I almost break free, but then my cousins burst into the room. Shit. I don’t stand a chance against all of them. Then again, I don’t need to win. I just need to get away.

I don’t know how I manage it, but I escape the house, stumbling into my car, blood pounding in my ears. My cheek throbs from a punch, my ribs ache probably bruised, maybe even broken, and my head feels like it’s been put through a blender. I probably have a concussion. I don’t go home. My family knows where I live. It’s not safe. Instead, I find myself driving toward work. I shouldn’t even be behind the wheel in this state, but it’s better than staying where I was. I pull into the underground parking lot. Park, then slowly, painfully, I get out of the car. I don’t make it more than three steps before the world starts to spin and everything goes black.