Eidolon

Warning (PG16)

This episode contains adult themes. Reader discretion recommended.

The Night of the Favor

The penthouse was a vault of quiet luxury, the only sound the phantom hum of the city far below and the almost imperceptible vibration of the Bicoca jewelry against Rei’s skin. When the door chimed and slid open, Cillian stepped through with the same economical grace he used in every boardroom and garage. The door sealed behind him with a sigh of hydraulics, after which the silence swelled, thick and new.

He stood just inside, a silhouette against the muted amber lighting, his eyes finding her immediately. She was standing by the vast window, a splash of violent red against the cityscape. The satin of the lingerie was a liquid shimmer, clinging and slipping with every slight shift of her breath. It was a garment designed for a spectator, not a participant.

For a heartbeat, they simply looked at each other. The professional mask was still on his face, but in the private stillness, she saw the cracks at the edges; the slight tightening around his eyes, the way his hands, usually loose at his sides, curled into loose fists before relaxing deliberately.

“Rei,” he said, his voice carefully neutral, a pilot reporting stable conditions. “Cillian”, her own voice was softer than she intended. He took a few steps further in, his gaze performing a swift, tactical sweep of the room; exits, sightlines, potential threats. His training was ingrained, a second skin. Finally, his eyes returned to her, deliberately lifting to meet hers. The effort it took him to keep his focus there, above the neckline of the devastating outfit, was a quiet testament in itself. The awkwardness was a charged space between them. This wasn’t the car, wasn’t the Den Rei trained in, where roles were clear, this was a novel cage, and they were both canaries, wired for the experiment.

“Would you like a drink?” she asked, moving toward the bar to have something to do out of hospitality. The satin whispered with her movement, a sound that seemed deafening in the quiet. “Please. Whiskey”, he remained standing, like a soldier unsure if he was permitted to stand down.

She poured three fingers of a smoky single malt into a heavy crystal glass, the clink of ice her only answer. Rei poured herself a smaller measure, needing the anchor of the glass in her hand. When she turned, he had finally migrated to the large sectional sofa, sinking into the plush, bone-white wool. He sat forward, elbows on his knees, the picture of contained readiness. As she walked over and handed him his drink, their fingers touched and a static shock, tiny and sharp, jumped between them. Neither of them flinched, but his green eyes flicked down to the point of contact for a millisecond before locking back onto hers.

“Thank you,” he murmured. She settled beside him, not close enough to touch, but near enough that she could feel the heat of him, smell the clean scent of his cologne beneath the subtle aroma of wool and whiskey. The red satin strained around her on the pale couch, a wound of color. “You look…”, he began, then stopped, clearing his throat. He took a slow sip of his drink, “Aren’t you cold in that?” A laugh escaped her, brief and brittle, “Takumi’s choice. Not mine.”

“I know”, the two words were heavy with understanding. He knew the mechanisms of Takumi’s control better than most. His eyes traced the delicate line of the choker at her throat, the sleek bracelet, the earrings that caught the light, the sensors. His jaw tightened minutely, “The jewelry… are they uncomfortable?”

“Physically? Not really…”, she touched the choker, “At first it tickled strangely, but not anymore. Now it’s warm – like it’s alive…” Cillian’s gaze hardened, not at her, but at the implication, at the violation that was being framed as science, as a favor. He took another, deeper swig. The silence stretched, until it shifted from initial, frozen awkwardness and thawed into something more fraught, more intimate; a shared awareness of the performance they were about to stage, and the real, dangerous currents running beneath it.

Cillian was trying hard to be proper, to keep his eyes on her face, to be the professional in an utterly unprofessional situation. That careful, painful respect was more disarming than any hungry look could have been. It made Rei want to trust him, confide in him. It made her want to confess this was all a terrible idea. 

Thoughtfully she swirled the amber liquid in her glass. “He agreed no one would be punished,” she said quietly, almost to herself. Cillian looked into his own glass, his expression unreadable. “He defines the terms of the punishment,” he said, his voice low, “Always does.”

Their eyes met again, and in that look was an entire conversation; an acknowledgment of the trap, a recognition of their respective roles within it, and a silent, furious pact that they would navigate it together, even if they couldn’t say it aloud. After a long moment Cillian finally leaned back, the stiff line of his shoulders softening a fraction as he let the sofa hold his weight. He was here, however complicated, however watched.

The jewelry hummed faintly with data collection against Rei’s skin, a constant reminder of the invisible audience. For this suspended moment, in the quiet of the penthouse, with the weight of Cillian’s careful, guarded presence beside her, the performance hadn’t yet begun. They were just two people, sharing a drink in a beautiful, terrible penthouse, waiting for the curtain to rise.

They sat quietly on the edge of the sofa until Rei placed her hand gently over Cillian’s. “You said we don’t have to do anything,” she whispered softly, steady but firm, “Not tonight, not if I don’t want to?” For a heartbeat he froze, then he exhaled, something flashing behind his green eyes, “Of course not. I would never… even if Takumi… you know what he expects…”, he murmured. 

“I know,” Rei replied, “But I don’t like his games. Tonight I want to rebel, Cillian, and remind him I’m not a toy. He thinks he controls me, but he can’t make me do this his way. Let’s just chill and get to know each other tonight okay? – like a date?”

Cillian swallowed, letting out a strained chuckle, searching her face, “I’d love to have a date with you Rei… still, what will you do if he becomes furious?” She crossed her arms. “I’ll let him be furious,” she proclaimed, her voice edged in determination, “I’ve seen his fury. It doesn’t make me freeze up in fear like before. What scares me now, is giving in so much that I forget who I am.”

Something shifted in his shoulders; they eased, not in surrender but in recognition, respect. Cillian nodded once, firmly. “Alright, it’s a date then. We don’t go a step further than you want. Still, when you’re dressed like that… would you mind maybe wrapping a blanket around you or something? Don’t get me wrong Rei, I would never force you in any way, it’s just – you’re too beautiful like that…”, he mumbled, rubbing his neck and looking away, heat beginning to rise in his ears.

Cillian’s request was so earnest, so flustered, that it broke through her own tension. A sincere smile lit up her face. “A blanket?” she repeated, her voice softening, “I have a better idea.” She stood, walked into the bedroom behind the rice paper screens and over to a sleek, floor-to-ceiling wardrobe, rummaging through the impersonal male clothes until she found what she was looking for: one of the simple, crisp white men’s dress shirts, starched and pristine. 

Rei slipped into it, the red satin hidden, reduced to a blur beneath the white cotton. The shirt was large on her, the sleeves falling past her hands, the tails hitting her mid-thigh. She looked nothing like the siren Takumi had intended to record, albeit frustratingly cute.

Cillian let out half a breath, half a laugh; a look of relief and something warmer, more appreciative, sparked in his eyes. “Better,” he said, his voice rough. “Now,” Rei declared, her eyes scanning the room, “We need an activity for this, the weirdest date ever.” She spotted a lacquered box on a shelf and opened it. “Aha! Cards”, she held up the deck, “Do you know how to play poker?” A genuine laugh escaped him, the sound rich and unguarded in the quiet room, “I might know a thing or two.”

They settled on the floor, using the plush rug as their table. With no chips, Rei raided the bowls on the bar counter, returning with an assortment of foil-wrapped mints in silver, gold, and blue. “Silver is one, gold is five, blue is ten,” she announced, dividing the colorful piles between them. The absurdity of it, sitting on the floor of a multi-million Fund Unit penthouse, betting mints while covered in biometric sensors, eased the last of the tension. They fell into their familiar rhythm from the car, teasing and joking as they played.

“I still can’t believe you called us forward for kisses,” Cillian said, shaking his head as he discarded two cards, “Us candidates, and then actually kissed us all… thoroughly.” She acted mocked-entitled, “Market research – how was I supposed to know otherwise?” Rei said airily, arranging her mints, “I had to show Takumi I was making a sensible business decision.” She bed one gold mint. 

“I nearly had a heart attack when you got to Shoma,” he admitted, a frown creasing his brow, “That guy’s… reputation precedes him.” Rei laughed, a spontaneous sound, “I believe it, he kissed like a seasoned Casanova, but I’m not into cheap thrills.” The moment the words left her mouth, the air shifted. The joking ceased. Her statement hung between them, a silent acknowledgment that what was happening with him, was something else entirely.

Cillian looked at her, his gaze intense, dropping to her lips for a heartbeat before meeting her eyes again. He folded his hand, the mints forgotten. “Our kiss, though,” he said, his voice dropping, “Did that feel… cheap?” She shook her head. “No Cillian”, Rei whispered, her heart beginning to hammer, “It didn’t.” He edged closer on the rug, the space between them shrinking. The air grew thick, charged with a want they were both desperately curbing.

He reached out, his fingers gently brushing against hers. “Tell me Rei… are you the kind of girl… who kisses on a first date?” he asked, his tone a mixture of banter and undisguised attraction. His green eyes were darkening, revealing how he wanted a kiss just for them, one without Takumi looming over them. Rei’s breath hitched. Every fiber of her being leaned toward him, tempted by the promise of a moment that was truly theirs. Her gaze flickered to his mouth, and she felt a powerful, answering pull. But when her eyes caught the faint, elegant gleam of the bracelet on her wrist, the reality of their situation crashed back down.

“I do want to,” she breathed, the confession aching with earnestness. She instinctively leaned closer, their faces inches apart. But she stopped, pulling back with a pained sigh, “I really do. But he’s still here”, she pointed a trembling finger to the choker around her throat, “recording it all.”

The moment shattered. The promise of a private connection was stolen, replaced by the cold, ever-present eye of the man who owned the room, the scenario, and for tonight, the very data of their desire. Cillian’s shoulders slumped, but he nodded, his respect for her boundaries outweighing his own frustration. The game was still on, and the most powerful player wasn’t even in the room.

A frustrated breath hissed through Cillian’s teeth. He didn’t seem angry, but the calm, unflappable protector she knew was visibly fraying at the edges. Pushing himself up from the floor with a quiet grunt, he muttered, “I need another drink.” Striding towards the penthouse’s well-stocked bar, he added, “Do you want anything?”

“Just water, please,” Rei said softly, watching the rigid line of his back. She saw the tension in him, the way his hand clenched briefly at his side. This was getting to him, too, it wasn’t just her trap. She stood and joined him at the bar, the marble chilling under her bare feet. “How do you feel about it?”, she asked, her voice tentative, “About all of this being… recorded? Watched?”

He didn’t look at her, focusing on opening a new golden lavish looking single malt and pouring a generous measure of amber whiskey into his heavy crystal tumbler. Then he poured her water and added ice cubes, they clinked, a sharp, lonely sound. 

“If… if you didn’t care too much, we could try and have a somewhat ‘normal’ date”, she continued, leaning against the bar, doing her best to look relaxed, at ease. “For the record…”, she added, a small, wry smile touching her lips, “I’m not not a girl, who kisses on a first date. It’s just… all of this is insane, right?”

Cillian let out a short sigh before he finally turned to her, his eyes a turbulent mix of frustration and affection. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head, “I’m not trying to push you, I’m really not. It’s just…”, he ran a hand over his face, a gesture of pure exasperation. “Listen, I genuinely like you, Rei. Not just…”, he gestured vaguely at her, at the situation, “There’s… physical attraction, sure. But it’s more than that, and all this,” he waved a hand around the opulent, surveilled penthouse, “it’s unnerving.”

He took a long sip of the whiskey, his eyes closing for a second as he savored it. When he opened them, he was staring into the glass, a faint, incredulous smile on his face. “This whiskey”, he mused, “is as insanely good as this whole situation is maddening.” 

Rei chuckled, the sound genuine and bright, cutting through the pressure. “Let me try,” she said, reaching for his glass. He pulled it back, just out of her reach, a new, playful challenge in his eyes. The heat flooded back into the space between them, ten times stronger than before. “Get your own,” he said, his voice a low rumble. But he was leaning nearer, not moving to kiss her, just inviting her.

Rei looked at him, at the earnest frustration, the raw admiration, the sheer, solid goodness of him standing there in Takumi’s trap. She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart beneath her palm. Then steadily, she rose onto her toes, tipped her head back and closed the distance. 

This kiss was nothing like the one under Takumi’s gaze. That had been a performance, a spark of insurrection, but this was a surrender. It was soft and searching at first, then deeper, fueled by weeks of shared jokes, quiet understanding and a mutual need for something real. She poured all of her frustration, her fear, and her blooming affection into it, and he met her with matching intensity, his hand came up to cradle the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair.

The choker around her neck hummed, the earrings felt heavy, the bracelet a hot tightening band on her wrist. But for the first time all night, Rei didn’t care about the sensors, the recordings or the man who would eventually review them. In that moment, the only thing that was real was the taste of expensive whiskey, the solid warmth of Cillian’s chest under her hand, and the silent, defiant truth of their kiss.