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Jax was officially reaching his limit.
Between the adrenaline crash of the Badlands, the 800,000 euro payday, and the literal weight of a world-class Netrunner sitting on his chest, his brain was starting to glitch. He could handle a high-speed chase with Raffen Shiv. He could handle a duel with two Sandevistan-using gang leaders. But this? This was a different kind of high-pressure environment.
"Jax," Sasha's voice was barely a whisper, yet it sounded like thunder in the quiet room. She leaned down, her face inches from his, her emerald eyes searching his for a sign of hesitation. "Stop thinking about the cats. Look at me."
Jax looked. It was impossible not to.
Sasha was a study in contrasts—cold, lethal chrome hidden beneath soft, pink-hued humanity. Usually, she was the "Little Cat," using cuteness as a layer of armor, a polite distance that kept the world at bay. But here, in the dim light of his apartment, the armor was gone. The politeness had been burned away by a fever that had nothing to do with a virus.
"I didn't go home, Jax. I came straight here," she said, her hands trembling slightly as they rested on his chest. "So tell me... is she really just a teammate?"
"She's a specialist, Sasha. Kiwi's lead," Jax managed to say, his throat dry. "I didn't seek her out. It was business."
"Really?"
"Really. I have no reason to lie to you."
Sasha let out a long, shaky breath. The cooling vents on her jaw hissed, releasing a plume of white steam that smelled faintly of ozone and expensive perfume. She wasn't connected to the Net, but she was overheating. Her brain—the sophisticated, high-speed processor that made her a T1 Netrunner—was running a million simulations a second.
She thought of her sister's cynical advice: It's Night City, Sasha. Enjoy it while you're still breathing. Morality is for people with corporate insurance.
She thought of the "suspension bridge effect." Did she love Jax, or was it just the shared trauma of the Heavens KOS heist? Did it matter? In a city where you could be zeroed for a pair of sneakers, waiting for "the right time" was a fool's errand.
And then there was the "Original Body" factor. In a world where everyone was more metal than meat, a man like Jax—natural, strong, and now famous—was a priceless commodity. He was a legend in the making, and the streets of Night City were already starting to hunger for him.
I won't let them have him, Sasha thought, her resolve hardening. If someone's going to claim him, it's going to be the girl who stood by him when he was still a nobody.
"Jax," she said, her voice suddenly steady, though her face was flushed crimson. "You grew up at Lizzie's. Surrounded by the Moxes. You... you must have a lot of experience, right?"
Jax coughed, a flush of his own creeping up his neck. "No. Not really. Susie Q was... protective. She said it would 'stunt my development' if I started too early."
"So you don't know what you're doing?"
"Should I?" Jax asked softly, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Sasha's shoulders trembled. She reached back, deftly sliding her pink jacket off her shoulders and letting it pool on the sofa. Then, her fingers moved to the seal of her skintight netrunning suit. With a soft hiss of pressurized fabric, she began to unzip the front, revealing a glimpse of pale, warm skin.
"Since you don't know..." she whispered, her eyes locked onto his, a wild, beautiful defiance in her gaze. "Then I guess I'll have to teach you."
She leaned closer, the heat radiating from her body like a furnace.
"Tell me, Jax. Do you want to learn?"
Jax's mouth was bone-dry. The world outside the window—the neon, the violence, the corporate towers—faded into nothingness. There was only the girl, the heat, and the quiet thrum of his own heartbeat.
"Yes," he whispered.
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