The Threshold (Joe’s POV)

Not long after Zoe left, the script arrived in our inbox. I printed it out and settled back in my chair, the pages warm from the printer as I began to read.

It was a high-octane action sequence set in a lush Puerto Rican resort; the same one I’d visited years ago on my first major assignment with the agency. Back then I’d been so buried in work I barely had time to breathe, let alone enjoy the crystal waters or the way the sunlight kissed the white sand. But the memory of it was still vivid: palm trees swaying, warm breeze carrying salt and flowers, golden light painting everything in rich, sensual tones.

As I read, my brow furrowed in concentration. The sequence was big. Ambitious. Explosions, brutal hand-to-hand combat, bullets ripping through the air, blood spraying across marble floors, flames licking at silk curtains. Cataleya moving like a deadly shadow; graceful, lethal, unstoppable. I could already visualize it playing out like a film in my mind: Zoe’s lithe body in motion, sweat glistening on her skin, the fabric of her dress clinging to every curve as she fought. The way her muscles would flex, the fire in her eyes, the raw power and sensuality she’d bring to every strike.

It was all there… but it was just an image. A beautiful, vivid image I didn’t yet know how to translate into reality.

I caught Iris watching me from her desk just outside the glass walls of my office. Her eyes were soft, supportive, that quiet faith she always carried for me shining through. She’d told me she believed in me, and when I’d taken her hand earlier, I felt that familiar spark; the one that never quite died no matter how hard we both tried to bury it.

I called her “Irie” in that moment; the nickname I normally only used when we were alone, away from prying eyes. The same name I’d whispered against her skin that one night years ago, when she’d moaned mine back to me as I buried myself deep inside her, her legs wrapped tight around my waist, her nails raking down my back.

That door between us had been shut long ago. Even Emily knew about it. She’d accepted it with more grace and love than I probably deserved. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about that night. The way Iris had felt; tight, wet, trembling beneath me. The way she’d gasped my name like a prayer when she came. The way her body had clenched around me as I filled her.

But I would never betray Emily. Not in the real world. I couldn’t even fathom it in my Domain… it wouldn’t really be her. Not the Iris who laughed with me over late-night coffee, who had my back through every crisis, who meant so much more than just one stolen night. A perfect copy could never capture the real her; the warmth, the history, the love we both chose to set aside.

Still… the temptation lingered.

My mind flashed back to Buffy and Faith; how impossibly real they had felt. Every touch, every moan, every clench of wet heat around me. If I could experience this script in the Domain… feel the resort’s warm breeze on my skin, hear the distant crash of waves, watch Zoe move through the chaos with my own eyes… I could finally see it outside of my head. Make it real. Bring it back with me in ways no storyboard ever could.

The world around me froze.

Bubbles in the water cooler hung suspended mid-ascent. The soft hum of the office vanished. The ethereal doorway to my Domain unfolded before me; a perfect rectangle of infinite black, edges shimmering with invitation.

I stood up slowly. My chair remained reclined behind me, the indentation of my body still pressed into the leather, frozen in time. Iris stood mid-step just outside the glass, her expression caught between concern and quiet hope.

Before me, the void stretched endlessly beyond the threshold.

Time to see how real this could get.