He called them "security," but what he meant was retired soldiers with real skill—men whose character and competence were beyond question.
Maeve shook her head. "My lab doesn't need company."
Jasper frowned, the worry refusing to leave his face. "From what I've heard, the secret of this place has already spread through the top tier."
"Sooner or later, people are going to come sniffing around. A lot of them. If no one's here watching, you're really comfortable with that?"
Maeve took a slow sip of her drink. "I'll put protections in place. Outsiders won't be able to get in."
Jasper's expression said he didn't buy a word of it. "Outsiders can't get in? Then how did the movers get in ten minutes ago?"
Maeve smiled turned wicked. "Go ahead. Try it again."
Jasper pushed away from the table and strode outside like a man determined to prove a point.
Two minutes later, Maeve heard a howl from the front yard.
"Maeve! Help! There are snakes—there are snakes all over me!"
When she reached the doorway, Jasper was spinning in place like he'd lost his mind, eyes wide, face drained of color, slapping at his own legs in sheer panic.
Maeve, perfectly calm, lifted her phone and filmed him for a few seconds—because of course she did—then casually lifted whatever invisible lock she'd set.
In the next blink, Jasper froze.
The snakes—every last one—were gone.
He stared at Maeve, stunned. "W-what the hell just happened?"
Back inside, Maeve played the video for him.
On-screen, there were no snakes. Not even one. Just Jasper at the doorstep, flailing and shrieking like an idiot.

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