His eyes flicked across layers of Dr. Wynn Maren Kael's profile again — not because he needed to reread it, but because repetition deepened instinct. She'd disappeared from public academia two years ago, after releasing a series of neural adaptation models that challenged long-standing theories in plasticity. People had mocked her for pushing beyond what was 'peer-approved.' That was the first reason she interested him. The second: her early neuro-synchronization experiments, which came dangerously close to his own hidden protocols — the ones he hadn't yet released.
Adrian exhaled slowly. She was 29. More than a decade older than him. But age was noise. He had a method to cut through it.
The sensors verified her biometric data and opened the lock. No assistant. No welcome committee.
Just Adrian.
She entered. Confident stride. Crisp black suit. Zero hesitation. No makeup. No attempt to soften the image. She was here for one thing: to see if she was walking into history — or fantasy.
"Dr. Kael," he said evenly.
"Adrian," she returned.
No 'Mr.', no qualifiers. That was good.
He didn't rise when Dr. Wynn Maren Kael entered, but his eyes lifted to meet hers with a nod of acknowledgment. He gestured to the seat opposite him, his voice calm and steady. "Thank you for coming, Dr. Kael. Please, have a seat."
Adrian opened a slim matte-black panel between them. A simulated brainwave display shimmered to life — a cascade of layered neural data, animated in real time. It pulsed with activity, and somewhere within it, a flaw had been intentionally embedded.
"Let's begin with something straightforward," he said gently. "There's an inconsistency in this signal stream. You're welcome to take your time. I'd like to hear your thoughts when you're ready."
Wynn leaned forward, studying the projection. She remained silent for a while, scanning the dense information. Her eyes tracked the timing, the rhythms, and the microscopic inconsistencies. After a moment, she spoke.
"The phase-locking between the delta and beta bands is unstable," she said, calm but confident. "It mimics fatigue, but this pattern is consistent with premature signal reflection — a feedback loop caused by incorrect timing in the hardware interface. It's only 30 milliseconds off, but that's enough to disrupt neural harmony."
Adrian nodded thoughtfully, his expression unreadable. "Very good. Most people overlook the loopback error. Thank you." He tapped the display, which instantly changed into a schematic overlay of the neuro-interface system. "Now, if you don't mind," he said with polite curiosity, "would you be willing to correct the issue? No constraints, I'm simply interested in your approach."
Wynn's hands hovered briefly over the panel, then moved decisively. She implemented a dynamic delay buffer tethered to the subject's real-time task load, allowing the system to adapt rather than rely on fixed intervals. She also optimized the filter gates to reduce high-frequency contamination from the stimulation nodes. Within minutes, the sequence recalibrated, clean and balanced.
Adrian glanced at the output, then offered the faintest nod of approval. "Thank you. That's a precise and thoughtful adjustment."
He then paused, as though considering something more complex. "May I ask your opinion on a hypothetical scenario?" he asked, voice still measured. "Let's say a trial subject is showing unprecedented cognitive acceleration — exceptional memory retention, rapid pattern learning — but there are early signs of irregular prefrontal activity. The ethics committee recommends discontinuing the trial. The subject insists on continuing. How would you proceed?"
Wynn did not flinch. "I would pause the trial," she said firmly. "Consent from a subject experiencing cognitive elevation can be unreliable. If we're unsure about the neurological impact, especially in a developing brain, continuing the test would be unethical."
Adrian nodded, just once. "Even if that subject might represent a breakthrough unlike anything we've seen?"
She met his gaze directly. "Then the breakthrough will have to wait. I believe in science with boundaries."
There was a longer pause this time. Adrian observed her carefully, then adjusted his seating slightly. His voice remained calm and respectful. "Thank you for that answer. I appreciate the clarity of your reasoning."
He changed the screen again, this time to a new set of data — a helmet schematic with modifications proposed by a junior engineer. "One final question, if I may. A team member wants to add a frequency-saturation booster for higher resolution, but it may result in a slight thermal increase over time. Would you allow the modification?"
Wynn didn't hesitate. "Not without rigorous tissue simulation and proper safeguards. Even a small increase in temperature, sustained over time, can have a compounding effect. I'd invite the team to a review session to address the risks and explore better alternatives."
A soft tone indicated the biometric analysis had completed — micro-expressions, pulse tracking, pupil dilation. Consistent. Honest. Clear.
Adrian sat still, posture composed, after outlining the structure and expectations of the lab. His tone remained even.
"Do you have any questions for me?" he asked, eyes steady on Wynn.
She didn't hesitate. "Yes. What's your long-term vision for this lab — not just technically, but in terms of impact? And… where do you draw the line on ethics? I have no tolerance for gray zones."
Adrian leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes steady on Wynn. He didn't rush his words — didn't need to. "My vision is focused. Precision-driven breakthroughs in cognitive interface technology. The kind that doesn't follow trends, but redefines them."
He paused, his tone even. "The lab will operate at a lean scale. Every member is expected to be excellent, autonomous, and accountable. There will be no hand-holding — only collaboration based on mutual competence."
Wynn listened intently, her expression neutral but alert.
"I value efficiency," he continued. "I will not micromanage. But I will expect initiative. If something needs to be done, I expect it handled before I mention it. If something goes wrong, I expect it corrected before excuses are formed."
Wynn gave a small nod of acknowledgment.
"As for ethics," Adrian added, folding his hands. "We do not blur lines. No shortcuts, no justifications in the name of speed or funding. Every subject — human or otherwise — is treated with full transparency and respect. If something violates that, it won't be part of this lab." His voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. It carried clarity — and finality.
Wynn sat silently for a moment, letting the response settle. Then she spoke, her words deliberate. "That's sufficient. Thank you."
Adrian nodded once in return. "I'll have the formal offer sent by tomorrow. If you accept, your onboarding begins within the week." She stood, extending a hand with quiet certainty. "Then I'll look forward to it." Their handshake was brief. Professional. No grand promises — only alignment.
Before she turned to leave, Adrian added, "One more point." Wynn paused, giving him her full attention.
"This lab handles knowledge that will outpace existing norms. Security isn't a guideline here — it's foundational. Data, code, even discussion outside authorized channels — all are subject to full trace and review."
He spoke without threat, but without softness either. "Everything is compartmentalized. Encryption is layered. Personal devices won't be allowed in research zones. No unauthorized transfers, verbal or digital. Ever. If there's uncertainty, you ask. If there's breach, you report — immediately."
Wynn nodded. "Understood."
He studied her a beat longer, then added, "You'll be issued a separate biometric key. All sessions and files will be time-stamped and locked by my system. What we build here — it doesn't belong to curiosity. It belongs to discipline."
Wynn's expression didn't waver. "I expected no less."
❧
The long, matte-black table still bore the marks of an intense day—open files, fingerprint-smudged tablets, and the last untouched coffee going cold. The room was quiet now, with just two men remaining: one sitting with his legs crossed, back against the chair like it owed him a favor; the other standing, arms folded, watching the light from the smart glass windows dim with the evening sky.
Nate leaned back, rubbing the bridge of his nose and exhaling. "Three labs. Twenty-two candidates. All wrapped before sunset. You do know this isn't how normal humans do recruitment, right?"
Adrian, standing at the head of the room in his usual neutral-toned blazer, didn't look up from the device in his hand. "We're not normal."
"No kidding." Nate scoffed, lips twitching with dry amusement. "You have any idea how HR people survive this? They spread that workload over three months. And you wrapped it in an afternoon like it was a chess match. Dangerous efficiency, kid."
"I prefer precision," Adrian said simply. He turned off the display on his tablet and finally looked at Nate. "You'll handle onboarding and structural operations. Legal, funding release, cross-lab logistics."
"Right." Nate swung his chair to the side slightly, reaching for the summary folder with one hand. "And the paperwork storm you've left in your wake?"
Adrian didn't blink. "I trust you."
Nate gave a low chuckle, shaking his head as he flipped the folder open. "Lucky me."
Adrian glanced at the time, expression unreadable. He picked up his bag — no wasted motion, everything already prepared. "Schedule's tight. I'll be at the airport in twenty."
He walked out without looking back, the soft click of the door the only sign he'd been there at all.
Nate sat alone, surrounded by the quiet hum of a room that still felt like it was thinking.
❧