Chapter 3: Breathless Encounters
Lexi was not flustered.
She was never flustered.
Even now, standing in the dim glow of the Breath Tracking Console™, holding a jar that pulsed with a beige, deeply inappropriate rhythm, Lexi was the picture of composure.
Her bun was tight. Her glasses were spotless. Her sleeveless turtleneck did not itch.
And then R’thax walked in.
“Why is it humming Marvin Gaye?” he asked, his voice a throaty rumble like someone clearing their throat in a gravel pit.
Lexi didn’t look up.
She would not look up.
“Because some fool left it uncatalogued,” she said coolly, slipping the jar into a containment cuff and typing SNOOPY_BREATH.TXT into the archive log.
“Mmm,” R’thax said. “Classic containment strategy. Very… professional.”
That mmm lingered. Lexi hated when R’thax lingered.
Not because she disliked him.
No, not at all.
She disliked his timing.
And his shoulders. And the way he always smelled faintly of ozone and regret. And that time he’d offered to help clean the jar room shirtless “for ventilation.”
“If you’re done loitering,” Lexi said, standing abruptly, “perhaps you could help me neutralize the haunting signature.”
“Oh, I’d love to help,” R’thax purred, stepping closer. “But unfortunately, I’ve just been reassigned to… Breath Sector 6G.”
“The mouth-breather vault?” Lexi narrowed her eyes. “You volunteered.”
“I like a challenge.”
He winked. Lexi blinked. The jar in her hand vibrated slightly.
Suddenly, the lights flickered.
Then the fire suppression system activated—misting them both in a fine spray of peppermint and ghost repellent.
“Wonderful,” Lexi deadpanned, drenched. “Now I smell like festive trauma.”
R’thax licked his lower lip. A spark of something unreadable flickered in his third eye.
“It suits you.”
There was a long pause.
Too long.
Lexi exhaled. Carefully.
And only because the mist was clogging her nasal ducts.
“Fine,” she said. “Come with me. If this thing is dimensional, we’ll need to re-seal the Singularity Closet.”
“Ooo,” said R’thax, “our first official date?”
“If it is,” she said, “you’re paying for emotional fallout.”