Love on the Brain by Ali Hazelwood

            “No time to explain. But like I said, it’s a gamble. Pretend you already know when we’re in there.”

            I frown. “Know what?”

            Boris yells at us to come in.

            “Just follow my lead,” Levi says, gesturing me inside.

            “We’re supposed to be co-leads,” I mutter.

            The corner of his lip twitches up. “Follow my co-lead, then.”

            “Please, tell me this mess doesn’t end in a murder-suicide.”

            He opens the door and shrugs, ushering me in with a hand between my shoulder blades. “Guess we’ll see.”

            Boris had no idea we’d show up. His eyes roll and narrow, a mix of I’m tired and Not you two and I don’t have time for this, and he stands from behind his desk with his hands on his hips.

            I take a step back. What is this car crash of a meeting? What did I get myself into? And why, oh why did I ever think that trusting Levi Ward would be a good idea?

            “No,” Boris says, “Levi, I’m not going to go over this again, and not in front of an NIH employee. I have a meeting that I need to prep for, so . . .” The annoyance in his voice fades as Levi, unruffled, sets his phone on the desk. There’s a picture on the screen, but I can’t make out what it is. I push up on my toes and lean forward to see, but Levi pulls on the back of my flannel and lifts one eyebrow—which I believe means You’re supposed to follow my lead. I frown in my best Sure would be nice to know what’s going on, but whatever.

            When I glance at Boris, there’s a deep horizontal line in the middle of his forehead. “Did you make some changes to the helmet prototype? I don’t remember authorizing—”

            “I did not.”

            “This doesn’t look like what I approved.”

            “It’s not.” Levi holds out his hand, and when Boris returns the phone, he pulls up another picture. A person, wearing something on their head. The line on Boris’s brow deepens even more.

            “When was the picture taken?”

            “That, I’d rather not say.”

            Boris’s gaze sharpens. “Levi, if you’re making this up because of yesterday’s conversation—”

            “The name of the company is MagTech. They are very well-established, based in Rotterdam, and do science tech. They’ve been open about the fact that they’re working on wireless neurostimulation helmets.” A pause. “They have a fairly long history of supplying armed forces and militias with combat gadgets.”

            “Which armed forces?”

            “Whoever can pay.”

            “How far ahead are they?”

            “Based on those blueprints and on my . . . contact’s information, pretty much where BLINK’s at.” He holds Boris’s eyes a little too intensely. “At least, where BLINK was at. Before it was shelved.”

            Boris risks a quick glance at me. “Technically, the project was never shelved,” he says defensively.

            “Technically.” There is something commanding about the way Levi talks, even to his boss. Boris flushes and returns the phone. I pluck it from Levi’s hand before he can pocket it and study the pictures.

            It’s a neurostimulation helmet—the blueprints and the prototype. Not quite ours, but similar. Scarily similar. Oh shit we have competition similar.

            “Do they know about BLINK?” Boris is asking.

            “Unclear. But they wouldn’t have seen our prototype.”

            “They don’t have a neuroscientist on their team. Not a good one,” I add distractedly.

            “How do you know that?” Boris asks.

            I shrug. “Well, it’s pretty obvious. They’re making the same mistake Levi is—the output locations. Honestly, why can’t engineers ever be bothered to consult with experts outside of their discipline? Is it part of vector calculus? First rule of engineering: do not display weakness. Never ask questions. Better to finish a wrong, unusable prototype on your own than to collaborate with—” I look up, notice the way Boris and Levi are staring at me, and slap my mouth shut. I really shouldn’t be allowed in public before coffee. “Point is,” I say after clearing my throat, “they’re not doing so hot, and as soon as they start trying out the helmet in action they’ll realize it.” I give Levi’s phone back, and his fingers brush mine, rough and warm. Our eyes meet for a split second, then flit away.