The following is an excerpt from The Loop: Where Desire Becomes Data.

PROLOGUE

Derek stood in the kitchen, listening to the house settle. The tumbler Brandon used still sat on the counter, untouched. Derek hadn’t moved it. He told himself it was practical—that he would pick it up when Brandon came back. The silence didn’t feel final.

“Artemis,” he said quietly. “Play back Brandon’s last message.”

I just need a little space. I’m not disappearing.

Derek let it finish. Then played it again.

The words didn’t change. The tone didn’t change. That same softness at the end, careful, intentional—meant to reassure.

It didn’t.

Three months had passed since they last saw each other. Their final night had been controlled. Measured. Everything said indirectly. Everything held back.

At the door, Brandon had kissed him softly, unhurried and not hesitant. Familiar in a way that made it worse. He lingered just long enough to leave something behind.

Something that didn’t leave.

The penthouse still held his scent, citrus, clean linen, the quiet weight of presence that hadn’t faded. His hoodie was draped over the chair in the bedroom. Derek hadn’t touched it.

He stepped toward it, then stopped.

Don’t push.

He knew that rule. Pressure didn’t bring Brandon closer. It made him disappear.

Space wasn’t leaving. That’s what Brandon had said.

Derek wanted to believe it.

The toothbrush was still there. The shampoo. Small, ordinary proof of continuity.

And still, something in his chest tightened, like he had missed a step and only now felt the drop.

He checked the time.

Too early to message. Too late to pretend he didn’t want to.

He sat at the counter, hands folded, jaw set. He wasn’t helpless. Just… holding. Waiting.

Whatever Brandon was doing, wherever he was, Derek stayed exactly where he was, balanced between patience and need, between trust and the quiet fear that nothing would change.

CHAPTER ONE

The Party

  He sensed it before he saw it, the house seeming to take a breath as he arrived.

The gate scanned his license. Soft light glowed beneath the car as the system read the ID, and an uneasy awareness settled in his chest, as if the house had already judged him.

Artemis parked among electric cars that looked more like sculptures than vehicles. Brandon stayed in his seat for a moment, gripping his camera bag. Breathe. Observe. Keep your distance. Don’t get involved. Nerves pricked anyway.

Ahead, the Klein mansion shimmered, glass panels changing in tone and brightness, responding to something deeper than light. Tonight wasn’t about the party. It was about proving he could stand in the same room as Derek without unraveling. Brandon had rules. Not moral. Not philosophical.

Functional.

  Don’t let the Loop open in public.

Don’t drink anything you didn’t watch get poured.

Because when his judgment slipped, the Loop didn’t seek permission.

A memory surfaced: a bar, a stranger, a drink he hadn’t watched being made, the Loop opening too quickly, a guy clutching his chest.

Brandon exhaled slowly, grounding himself.

Don’t mistake familiarity for safety.

For a moment, the Loop shifted—not opening, just testing the edges.

The Loop sat under his sternum, low and constant. It amplified everything, joy, fear, desire, and once it opened, it didn’t stop.

It intensified, so he kept it closed—always.

Derek had been the exception. Not because it was safe. Because it wasn’t.

What he shared with Derek wasn’t romance. It was data.

The camera strap across Brandon’s chest settled into place. Familiar. Reliable.

He stepped out of the car into air thick with citrus, ocean, and wealth. A Synthetic Human greeted him at the entrance, its name glowing faintly.

“Welcome, Mr. Adams. Would you like a cocktail? Elexa. Citrus ginger. Gentle onset.”

“Sure.”

A drink gave him something to hold. Something physical.

The Synth hesitated. Its pupils contracted, recalibrating. A fraction too long. Long enough to notice.

Something in his chest tightened, subtle and instinctive, then it eased.

“Enjoy your evening.”

Brandon took the glass without looking back. Still, hesitation lingered with him.

Inside, the house was alive. The walls displayed shifting art, tidal patterns, molten shapes, and heat maps that responded to music. The space belonged to Thomas Klein, which meant the party was never just a party.

When Klein hosted, something was being tested.

Glass shifted from clear to tinted. Conversations sounded meaningful but rehearsed. Laughter landed perfectly. Everyone watched. While pretending not to.

Synths moved through the crowd with dancer-like precision, catching spills before they happened, refilling glasses before they emptied. Everything gleamed. And beneath it all, a faint chill.

Brandon hadn’t wanted to come. Seeing Derek made it worse. As he moved through the room, anxiety grew, not suddenly, but gradually increasing with each step.

Continue reading The Loop…