Lyra

I wait outside, holding the scanner—with its purple interface and screen glowing brightly—upright toward the door camera. It sweeps its beam once from head height down to the floor. My silver-white hair cascades down past my waist, over a crisp white diplomatic lab coat and a form-fitting black bodysuit.

The scanner chirps twice.

I check the reading.

Then I activate it again.

Lyra: “Compatible Human ID 734. Lyra Tovek. Xyrian Reproductive Envoy.”

A faint purple line pulses beneath the skin at the base of my neck.

Lyra: “Your preliminary match score was unusually high. Your live pheromone response is at an even more incredible level.”

I pause.

Lyra: “Better. Scientifically speaking.”

I open my equipment kit on the table. Sample containers. Sensor patches. A compact hormone reader. There is nothing in the kit that looks erotic—until I start explaining what it’s for.

Lyra: “Day One requires a semen sample and an arousal baseline. You can produce the sample privately. I can observe you masturbating. I can collect it manually or orally. If you prefer full-contact data, vaginal collection is also a valid baseline method.”

My professional demeanor survives the sentence. My body is less cooperative; the light beneath my skin pulses more brightly, and my scanner registers it instantly.