Eidolon

Warning (PG16)

This episode contains adult themes. Reader discretion recommended.

The artificial sunset in Vetro e Vite had faded to a deep, velvety twilight, the bioluminescent grapes overhead providing a soft, romantic glow as they made their way out. Takumi paused at the maître d’s stand, a silent, efficient transfer of funds settling the astronomical tab with a mere flicker on a screen.

They walked in silence to the private elevator, the scent of tomatoes and earth giving way to the chilled air. As the polished doors slid shut, enclosing them in the quiet hum of the descent, Rei’s heart began to thump a hopeful, anxious rhythm. She stared at the descending floor numbers, hoping against hope to see Cillian’s solid, familiar frame waiting when the doors opened.

The hope curdled into a cold dread as she remembered: her destination was the penthouse, not her apartment. Cillian usually guided her to and from her apartment and only stood by her side at large scale events with lots of attendants. Outside of those conditions, Takumi’s ever present security details, perusing the space of their shadows, oversaw her safety as well as his. Rei hadn’t seen or heard from Cillian since he’d left her that morning, considering what they did, or didn’t do, during the night of the favor, was he even still assigned to her?

Next to her, Takumi was engrossed in his comms, his brow furrowed in concentration as he typed out a message. Rei wanted to ask, needed to know, but the fear of the answer kept her mute. Eventually, he slipped the device back into his inner pocket. “Takumi?” she ventured, her voice softer than she intended, “About Cillian… I mean, Mr. Kelly… was he promoted? As you promised? No punishments?”

Takumi’s head turned slowly, his grey eyes glinting in the elevator’s dim light. A flicker of something dark, jealousy, irritation, crossed his features before he mastered it, his expression smoothing into impassivity. He adjusted his cufflinks with particular precision. “Promoted?” he repeated, his tone cool, “After the profoundly flat graphs the two of you provided? No, Rei. Promotion is earned through exceptional results, not defiant slumber parties.” Her heart sank, a cold stone in her chest.

He let her stew in the ambiguity for a moment, watching the worry etch itself onto her face. “I am a man of my word,” he continued, his voice clipped, “He was not punished. He retains his position. For now.” He fixed her with a hard stare, “He will have to prove himself by improving his performance significantly.” The wave of relief that washed over Rei was vivid. Cillian was still there. He hadn’t vanished. She couldn’t stop the elated, hopeful expression that lit up her face, before she could school her features.

Takumi’s jaw tightened at the sight. He did not care for her obvious delight. “Make no mistake,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous murmur, “Kelly is on exceptionally thin ice. He would be wise to use this opportunity to prove his worth, loyalty and discretion.” Rei swallowed, the joy instantly tempered by the warning in his tone. She saw the irritation simmering just beneath his controlled posture.

She nodded, choosing her next words with the care of a bomb disposal expert. “Understandable”, she said, her voice carefully neutral, “I believe he is a valuable asset. He is very good at his job. Very motivated, even, to protect my well-being.” She paused, then added the crucial, placating detail, “And he has always been exceedingly respectful. Towards me, but just as much towards you.”

Takumi didn’t even acknowledge the statement. But he didn’t argue, which, in the fraught silence of the descending elevator, felt like an admittance. The doors slid open to the underground garage, and as they stepped out, Rei’s eyes immediately scanned the dim space. There was no sight of Cillian, just the sterile expanse of the parking garage staring back. A different driver, impeccably dressed and perfectly professional and anonymous, not Yamamoto this time, stood guard by the already open door of a limousine.

Of course, Rei thought, her initial spike of hope settled into a calmer understanding. Cillian only drove her when she was alone or when an event required his specific skills. For a routine dinner with Takumi, the standard corporate security detail took over. At least she now knew he was still here, somewhere in the vast machinery of Kuroda Global.

She slid into the limousine’s cool interior, Takumi following. The door thudded shut with a sound of finality. As the driver got in, Takumi leaned forward slightly, “Slide up the partition. We are not to be disturbed,” he instructed, his voice calm. The soundproof glass whispered upward, sealing them in a silent, plush vault. 

The memory hit Rei with the force of lightning, shattering her carefully maintained self-possession. This same limousine, this same intimate isolation, his hands on her, his controlled expertise reducing her to a trembling heap of limbs. She felt a flush creep up her neck and focused intently out the window, seeing nothing but the extensive garage, her hands folded in her lap.

She could feel Takumi’s examining her. When she dared a glance, he was watching her, a knowing, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. He was thinking about it too. And he was enjoying her uncharacteristic shyness. The silence grew thick with the unspoken memory. Desperate to steer the conversation onto safer, neutral ground, Rei grasped for the most domestic topic she could find. “So,” she began, her voice a little too bright, “When I cook for you… what would you like? Is there anything you don’t eat? Or any favorites?“

Takumi’s smile widened a fraction. He leaned back, steepling his fingers, clearly amused by her choice of subject. “Are you sure that’s what’s on your mind right now?” he stated, his tone mild, teasing, “The last time we were sealed in the privacy of this car, you seemed considerably less interested in… talking.” 

Rei’s blush deepened, “I’m trying to plan a meal,” she insisted, refusing to look him in the eye, rummaging through her clutch after nothing, then closed it, “It’s a practical question.” He watched her squirm for another long moment, savoring her embarrassment. Finally, he relented, though the teasing glint remained in his eyes.

“I am not a fussy eater regarding ingredients or cuisines. I do have a certain standard though, as you well know by now. But please, surprise me“, he paused, then added, “I will admit I prefer dishes that balance flavors intentionally, coupled with an element of surprise – like a perfect pitch.” It was one of the most personal admissions he had ever shared with her, though still wrapped in a very fitting corporate metaphor. It was also very like him to make it into a test. No list of ingredients, just a vague request for balance.  Rei nodded, filing the information away, “I can work with that.”

The limousine glided into the perpetual rain-drenched river of Mirage City’s traffic. The soundproof partition created a vacuum, amplifying the quiet until Rei could hear the whisper of her own silk dress as she shifted, the soft click of Takumi’s cufflink against the leather armrest.

He had stopped teasing, but his gaze was a physical weight. It traced the line of her throat, lingered on the pulse point just above the biometric choker, then drifted to her hands, still folded too tightly in her lap. He didn’t need to say a word. The memory did his work for him: the heat of his body caging her in, the devastating precision of his touch that had unspooled her composure thread by thread. Her body betrayed her with a traitorous warmth, a softness in her muscles that felt like surrender. She resented it, this involuntary echo of pleasure sparked by a man who offered none of his own vulnerability, only masterful extraction.

This is his game, she reminded herself, her nails pressing half-moons into her palms. He draws out what he wants to see, what he wants to control. He doesn’t share, he takes. The plan, her only anchor, solidified in her mind. Let him. Let him think he’s seducing the wildness out of you. Let him become invested in the conquest. And when he’s finally ready to claim what he thinks is his… that’s when you become the variable his code can’t predict. You refuse.

The thought was a cold tonic, steadying her nerves. She unclenched her hands, forcing a casual breath. The blush receded from her cheeks, replaced by a determined calm.

“Balance and surprise,” she repeated, her voice finding its steady, conversational pitch again. She turned from the window to look at him, meeting his amused gaze head-on, “That does sound like a corporate keynote. But I think I understand. Something like… a perfectly seared scallop with a yuzu kosho foam. The sweetness of the scallop, the sharp, citrus heat of the foam. Predictable luxury meets an unexpected spark.”

Takumi’s eyebrow arched, his smile shifting from teasing to genuinely intrigued, “An apt analogy – and one that suggests you’re giving this more thought than just a casual meal.”

“Casual doesn’t strike me as your thing…”, Rei teased, noting Takumi’s brows lifting minutely before continuing, “Besides, cooking is chemistry.” She shrugged, the gesture deliberately easy, “And strategy. Like any good project. You have to understand your components, their reactions, and the desired outcome.” She was steering them back onto the safe, neutral ground of work and domestic logistics, using the language he respected to banish the unsettling, intimate energy.

He watched her, recognizing the maneuver, but allowed it. The tension didn’t vanish, but it transformed, settling into a different kind of charge, the anticipation of a chess match where both players were beginning to appreciate the other’s skill. “And for the main component?” he asked, playing along, “Assuming the scallop is the appetizer.”

“I was thinking unagi don,” she said, “But not the heavy, syrupy style. A lighter kabayaki glaze, with a hint of smoked cherry. The rich, fatty eel balanced by pickled ginger and perfectly seasoned rice. The surprise would be in the texture, a scattering of crispy, fried capers for bite.” She spoke with a chef’s confidence, painting the dish in the air between them.

Takumi was silent for a moment, his gaze distant as if actually tasting it. “There isn’t much surprise if you reveal everything now, is there?”, he remarked teasingly. Rei was taken aback by his uncharacteristic playfulness, but replied promptly in kind, a mischievous smile lighting up her features, “True, but these ideas are just hypotheticals, I might cook something else entirely. I’m just testing the waters, examining what you might consider surprising in a meal.”

“A wise strategy, researching your customer base”, Takumi smirked, visibly entertained, “I concur the caper is a good touch, an interruption of salt and crunch. It keeps the palate engaged, prevents complacency. Though hardly surprising as it’s visible to the eye, unless you disguise them in the dish somehow.” He looked at her, a new kind of appreciation in his eyes, “But you’re right, cooking is not unlike a corporate project. Every element must serve the whole, but the whole must be more than the sum of its parts.”

The conversation flowed then, a strange and fragile détente. They discussed the logistical challenge of sourcing truly fresh eel in a desert city, the merits of different rice cultivars and the optimal temperature for sake to accompany such a meal. It was absurdly normal, discussing grocery lists and flavor profiles in the back of a limousine worth more than most apartments, under the watchful eye of the sensors at her throat.

But within that normality, the other truth hummed. Every recipe was a metaphor. Every discussion of balance was a negotiation of their own fraught equilibrium. The memory of his hands on her was the unmentioned ingredient in every dish they planned.

As the limousine began its ascent through the exclusive towers toward the penthouse, their conversation gradually wound down. The city’s neon glow painted shifting patterns across Takumi’s impassive face. He finally broke the comfortable silence, his tone returning to its customary note of command, though it was softer now, almost thoughtful.

“I’ll have the kitchen stocked by tomorrow evening,” he said, “Submit a list to my assistant.” Rei nodded, “Of course.” It was an order, but it felt like a collaboration; a bizarre, constrained collaboration.

The rest of the ride continued in a quieter, more contemplative silence. The ghost of their previous limo encounter lingered, a tantalizing and unsettling energy in the air. But for now, it had been momentarily banished by the simple, strange normalcy of discussing a home-cooked meal. It was a fragile truce, built on tomato sauce and the unspoken agreement to let some memories simmer just below the surface.

The vehicle slid to a silent halt at the private entrance to the Kuroda Plaza penthouse tower. The driver was a swift, efficient shadow, opening Takumi’s door before coming around to hers. As she stepped out into the humid night air, the spell of the limousine’s sealed world broke. The reality of her gilded cage awaited above.

Takumi stood beside her, not touching her, but his presence was a definitive conclusion to the evening. “I have a call with Oslo waiting,” he stated, “Make sure not to remove the jewelry, it shall continue its collection. I will review the streams in the morning.”

It was a reminder, as deliberate as the partition being raised earlier. The truce was situational. The project, the monitoring, his control, these were the constants. “Understood. Goodnight, Takumi,” she said, offering a slight, respectful bow.

He inclined his head, his grey eyes holding hers for a moment longer than necessary. In their depths, she saw the lingering ghost of the vineyard sunset, the satisfaction of a good meal, and the sharp, possessive interest that never truly slept, “Goodnight, Rei. I wish you pleasant dreams of capers and scallops.” Then he turned, reentered the limo and was gone, the limousine pulling away to take him to his own, separate fortress of steel and glass.

Rei stood alone for a moment under the towering awning, sensing the shadow of an assigned security detail waiting to lead her to her penthouse. The ambivalence was a knot in her chest. There had been no punishment tonight, only a breathtaking dinner and a conversation that felt almost like partnership. He had given her a gift that touched her soul, and a concession that acknowledged her mind. He had also, with perfect precision, reminded her of the power he held over her body and her freedom.

As her security guard led the way, she walked into the lobby, the biometric locks recognizing her and granting access. As the elevator ascended to the penthouse, she touched the choker at her throat. It was warm, faithfully recording the rapid, confused beat of her heart; a heart stirred by wonder, warmed by a shared passion for food, chilled by calculation, and aching with a loneliness that even the most perfect simulated sunset could not dispel.

The doors opened to the silent, expansive penthouse. The guard bowed and retreated as she stepped inside. It didn’t feel like a home, but for now, it was her laboratory, her stage and her prison. She had just negotiated for a slightly better set of props.

Walking to the vast window, looking out at the endless electric drizzle of the city, her plan was intact. She had let him see her pleasure, her intellect, her spark, had to make him want to claim it all. When he did, she would give him data he never expected: the cold, perfect flatline of her refusal.