Sera did not react to the word 'special'.
Not outwardly at least.
And she also refused to react to the man standing in front of her.
She studied Adam the way she had learned to study men like him long ago—by what they didn't say. By the spaces between their words. By the way his attention never quite left her, even when he pretended to look elsewhere.
"You say that like it's a gift," she said calmly.
Adam smiled, just a fraction wider. "It is. Or it will be. Once you understand it."
He moved toward the console again, fingers skimming across the interface with practiced ease. Data scrolled, reshaped itself, reorganized at his command. He didn't need to look at her to speak about her. He already knew what he wanted to say.
"You've survived exposures that should have killed you," he continued. "Not adapted—survived. There's a difference. Adaptation leaves a signature. You don't have one."
She tilted her head. "Is that bad?"
