Part II – Proximity Error
Lyra's POV
I told myself I wasn't going to review the footage again.
And yet, five minutes later, I was scrubbing through the thermal scan like some deranged heat map stalker.
The emotional response data was already off the charts. His body temperature fluctuated just slightly during the puppy segment — adorable — and sharply during the audio portion, which was… interesting. And completely irrelevant.
What was relevant was the unexpected spike when the third romantic scene came up — the one where the male character tucked a strand of hair behind the woman's ear. Simple. Innocent. But the vampire's pulse had reacted like he'd just been kissed.
Was it the act? The intimacy?
Or… was it projection?
I shook my head. "Nope. Not doing this. Not turning into the scientist who psychoanalyzes a vampire's feelings through rom-com clips."
Except I was already deep in the behavioral notes section, typing like my PhD depended on it.
---
Vincent's POV
Lyra was in denial. Again.
She thought she was subtle when she bit the inside of her cheek every time I got too close. She wasn't. She thought I didn't notice the way her breath caught when I leaned forward during tests. I did.
And she absolutely believed I couldn't smell the way her scent shifted during certain... stimuli. That part was almost cruel — like asking a starving man to catalog desserts.
But I played along. Because I was patient. And I liked watching her try not to crack.
Today's test had been a goldmine. Emotional stimuli? Please. I'd spent a century manipulating humans through emotional responses — body language, pheromones, inflection. But Lyra didn't respond like others. She resisted. Measured herself like she was also under observation.
She didn't know that made me want to unravel her more.
---
Lyra's POV
I was cleaning the testing area when I heard the familiar soft swoosh of the door sliding open.
"You left this." Vincent's voice was low and unhurried.
I turned to see him holding out the tablet I'd forgotten on the chair's side panel. Of course.
"Thanks," I said, stepping forward to take it — and misjudged the distance. My hand brushed his as I grabbed it.
He didn't move. Didn't break eye contact.
And I didn't either, because I'm a scientist and blinking is optional when your entire nervous system short-circuits.
"Interesting," he murmured, gaze dropping briefly to my mouth before flicking back up. "Heart rate spiked. Again."
I took a full step back. "Residual caffeine."
"Mm." His lips curved. "Must be some potent coffee."
I hated how much I liked that smile. "We're done here."
"Are we?" he asked, stepping forward. Not touching. Just… close.
His presence was suffocating in the best and worst way. Magnetic. My brain screamed at me to reroute this conversation toward anything less dangerous.
"I'm increasing the dataset," I blurted. "Running a second session tomorrow with more controlled variables."
"Like what?"
"No romantic imagery."
"Coward."
I narrowed my eyes. "Control group."
He grinned. "Then let me make you a deal."
"What kind of deal?"
"You get your data. All the emotional responses you want. But you add one last test."
I folded my arms. "Which is?"
"Real stimuli. Me."
I blinked. "You want me to run an experiment where I… what? Observe how I emotionally respond to you?"
"That is what this test is about, isn't it?"
"You're the subject."
"And yet you're the one with the racing pulse."
Touché.
He stepped around me, pausing by the console. "Tomorrow, you run it my way. One test. No screen. Just interaction. Verbal. Proximity. Whatever your little heart — or clipboard — requires."
"That's not exactly scientific."
"Neither is attraction," he said, already walking toward the door. "But it's definitely real."
---
Later That Night
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the interaction in my head like a broken loop.
Maybe it was a good idea. A real-time, live social-emotional interaction test could generate more accurate neurochemical and physiological data.
Or maybe I was just looking for an excuse.
I groaned and rolled over, pulling the blanket over my head.
---
The Next Morning
I set up the observation room differently this time.
No screens. Just a table. Two chairs. Two cups of coffee. I even brought croissants, hoping to humanize the environment.
He walked in wearing a black shirt this time. Tight. Fitted. Rude.
"You look tense," he noted, sitting across from me.
"I always look like this," I muttered, sliding a monitor across the table toward him.
He raised a brow. "You plan to take my blood pressure mid-conversation?"
"Wouldn't be the weirdest thing I've done."
The test was simple: a twenty-minute structured conversation — the "Emotion Elicitation Protocol" — where I would guide the subject through memories and personal reflections to trigger emotional responses.
I cleared my throat. "Let's begin. Question one: What's your earliest memory of loss?"
Vincent paused. "Getting caught in daylight. First time. Burned through my shirt. Nearly cost me my skin."
I blinked. "How old were you?"
"Sixteen." He smiled faintly. "Human years."
We went through the list — joy, fear, anger. His answers were calm, deliberate. Until I got to the final question.
"Describe someone who made you feel safe."
There was a long pause.
Then he looked straight at me. "You."
I stared at him. "That's not how the test works."
"It is if it's true."
I fumbled with the monitor. "Pulse still normal. So… no reaction."
"Inside doesn't match the outside," he said softly. "You of all people know that."
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