“This is legacy ,” Lux corrected. He leaned over her shoulder, his breath a hot, forbidden caress against her ear. “The founders of Hedonia didn’t just have orgies and eat chocolate. They weaponized joy. They built a bomb that exploded inside the nervous system. The Collective didn’t ban pleasure because it’s evil. They banned it because it’s addictive . One taste, and you’d burn the whole world down just to feel it again.”
He reached out and, breaking every law of the Collective, placed his bare palm against her cheek.
Low-lit, red-filtered shot of hands reaching through bars.
Lux opened the diary to a page marked with a dried petal—a geranium, extinct in the wild. “Read,” he commanded.
He turned the page.