Page 38 of Bearly Out Loud

The shift was subtle. A straightening in his shoulders. Not defensive—alert. “Why?”

“Because I’m voicing a character built on a mythology I’ve never seen pitched before, and I’m curious about the creative DNA.”

He studied her. She let him. Kept her breathing even, her face in the pleasant neutral she wore at industry events when someone asked about Hideo and she had to perform gratitude instead of grief.

“Meridian Creative Partners,” he said. “External pitch. They brought the concept to us fourteen months ago. Full bible, concept art, episode outlines. We licensed it for development.”

“Meridian Creative.” She made her voice flat. Incurious. It cost her. “I’m not familiar.”

“Small firm. Boutique. They approached us through a broker.”

“Through a broker.” She picked up Priya’s red pen. Turned it between her fingers. “So you never met the creators directly.”

“The pitch meeting was with Meridian’s representatives. Standard acquisition process.” He stepped into the room. Closer. She clocked the distance—six feet, five feet, the invisible perimeter where his warmth started registering against her skin. “Nari. What’s this about?”

She met his eyes. Held them.

Tell him. Not yet. The evidence was strong, but the chain wasn’t complete, and James Wixx’s daughter knew better than to show her hand before the cards were counted.

“Professional curiosity.” She smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes, and they both knew it. “Yua’s mythology is unusually specific for an original property. I wanted to understand the source.”

He watched her for a long beat. His gaze had weight—physical, present, like standing too close to a fire.

“If there’s a problem with the property?—”

“No problem.” She set down the pen. “Just asking.”

The silence between them held tension like a held breath. She broke it first—she always did.

“You’re wearing my jacket.”

She looked down. She was, in fact, wearing his jacket. Had been wearing it over her shoulders during the late session because the studio ran cold at night and it was there and it was warm and it smelled like him and she’d stopped pretending that was a coincidence three days ago.

“You didn’t ask for it back.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Did I say that?”

His eyes tracked the jacket’s shoulders where they hung past her own, the sleeves she’d rolled twice and still fell to her fingertips, the collar turned up against her neck. His jaw worked once. A muscle in his throat moved.

“It looks better on you.”

“Everything looks better on me. That’s not the compliment you think it is.”

He laughed. Low, warm, and it did damage. It always did damage. She’d been tracking the specific damage his laugh caused since the rooftop—a loosening behind her ribs, an unwinding in her spine, like her body recognized the sound and decided safety was a place rather than a concept.

You might be building a case against this man’s company. His laugh has no business making you feel safe. Get a grip, Wixx.

“Go home, Nari.”

“You first.”

They looked at each other. Neither moved.

TWENTY-ONE

DOJIN