The air in the safehouse was thick enough to choke on. It wasn't just the looming threat of the "Harvester" outside; it was the explosive chemistry of the three women now occupying Ren's private sanctuary.
Clara stood by the sofa, her hand clutching the silk blanket around her shoulders like armor. Serafina was pouring herself a glass of Ren's expensive scotch as if she paid the mortgage, and Viper was methodically cleaning a serrated combat knife, her eyes never leaving Ren.
"Out," Clara said, her voice trembling but sharp. "Both of you. Ren, call the police. Call my security team. Now."
"The police are dead before they hit the curb, honey," Serafina said, taking a slow sip of the scotch. She looked at Ren, her eyes tracing the tension in his shoulders. "And your security team? They're the ones who sold the Harvester the floor plans to this building."
Ren stood in the center of the room, the silent eye of the storm. His Origin Pulse was humming at a frequency that made the lightbulbs flicker. "Serafina is right. If you leave this room, Clara, you're a ghost."
Ren turned to the kitchen island, pulling out a heavy duffel bag from a floor compartment. He zipped it open, revealing a cache of high-tech gear that made Clara's eyes widen.
"Viper, take the north perimeter. Serafina, get on those satellite feeds. I want eyes on every shadow within three blocks."
"And me?" Clara asked, her voice small. "What do I do, Ren? While my husband plays soldier with a murderer and a corporate thief?"
Ren walked over to her. He didn't care who was watching. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones. "You stay alive. That is your only job."
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, magnetic vibration. "I'm going to give you something. It's going to feel… intense. Don't fight it."
He pressed his palm against the small of her back. Suddenly, a wave of raw, golden heat flooded Clara's nervous system. Her back arched, her breath hitching in a sharp gasp. It wasn't just energy; it was a sensory overload of Ren's essence. Her vision sharpened. The ambient noise of the city faded, replaced by the rhythmic thumping of hearts in the room.
"What… what did you do?" she whispered, her skin glowing with a faint, ephemeral light.
"I shared a fraction of my Pulse," Ren said, his eyes darkening. "You'll be faster now. You'll see him coming."
"I want some too," Viper hissed from the corner, her violet eyes burning with naked envy. "You haven't fed me your energy in years, Master. I'm running on fumes."
Serafina leaned against the counter, her gaze heavy and hungry. "There's plenty of room on that sofa, Ren. If we're going to be a 'team,' we should all be operating at peak capacity, don't you think?"
Before the tension could break into something more physical, the temperature in the room plummeted. The windows frosted over instantly.
"He's here," Ren growled.
The front door didn't burst open—it simply disintegrated into fine grey dust. Standing in the hallway was a man seven feet tall, clad in armor made of interlocking bone-white plates. He carried no gun, only a chain-whip that glowed with a sickly blue light. The Harvester.
"Subject Zero," the giant rumbled, his voice sounding like grinding stones. "The Syndicate wants its property back. The women are... optional."
Ren didn't wait. He moved with a speed that finally stripped away the "husband" mask entirely. He didn't run; he blurred.
He met the Harvester in the center of the room. The shockwave of their collision shattered every mirror in the apartment. Ren's tuxedo jacket shredded as his muscles expanded to their true limit.
As Ren traded blows with the giant—strikes that sounded like thunderclaps—the women were forced into the fray.
Viper leaped over the sofa, her movements enhanced by the proximity to Ren's energy. She was a blur of crimson, her knives dancing against the Harvester's armor. Serafina, surprisingly, pulled a compact pulse-pistol from her thigh holster, firing with clinical precision.
But the Harvester's whip lashed out, catching Clara's ankle and yanking her toward the cold, blue light.
"Clara!" Ren roared.
He took a brutal hit to the ribs to reach her, his hand catching the glowing chain. The blue energy hissed against his skin, burning his palm, but he didn't let go. He pulled, dragging both the Harvester and Clara toward him.
He slammed his free hand into the floor, releasing a massive burst of the Origin Pulse. The floor buckled, and a blinding shockwave threw the Harvester back into the hallway.
Ren collapsed to one knee, breathing hard, smoke rising from his burnt hand.
Immediately, the three women were on him.
Clara grabbed his injured hand, tears blurring her vision as the golden light in her veins tried to heal him. Viper knelt behind him, pressing her body against his back to steady him, her hands sliding over his chest. Serafina stood over them, her gun still raised, but her eyes were fixed on the raw power radiating from Ren's body.
"He'll be back in minutes," Serafina said, her voice husky. "He was just testing our defenses."
Ren looked up, his amber eyes scanning the three of them. They were all touched by his energy now—bound to him by the heat of the fight and the Pulse in their blood.
"The safehouse is compromised," Ren said, his voice a predatory rasp. "We move to the Estate. All of us. Together."
Viper leaned into his ear, her lips grazing his skin. "One bed, Master? Just like the old days?"
Ren didn't answer, but his hand tightened on Clara's waist as he pulled her closer. The "Slow Burn" had just turned into a wildfire.