Miras shakes his head, exhaling through his nose like he's holding back a comment.
I finally chance a glance at him.
His expression is neutral. Relaxed, even. But his eyes—
Yeah. He doesn't believe me.
I look away first, picking at a loose thread on my sleeve. I don't need to explain myself. I don't owe him an explanation.
But that doesn't make the silence any easier.
Miras stretches, rolling his shoulders back as he stands. "I'm heading to the gym."
Dewey, who has been stuffing his face with the last bag of chips, immediately perks up. "Oh, sick. I'll come."
Miras gives him a flat look. "Why?"
Dewey gestures vaguely. "Emotional support."
Miras raises an eyebrow. "For who?"
Dewey grins. "For you, obviously."
Miras snorts, shoving his hands into his pockets as he heads for the door. "That's the worst excuse I've ever heard."
Dewey hops off the couch, unbothered. "Yet, here I am. Supporting you emotionally."
He turns to me expectantly. "You coming, or do you want to sit here and mope?"
Dewey just stares at me.
I sigh. "…Fine."
He fist-pumps in victory before practically dragging me along behind him.
The second Miras starts warming up, I realize something. I forgot how strong he is. It's not even the weights—though, yeah, those are ridiculous—it's the way he moves. The way his muscles flex effortlessly as he lifts, the sharp focus in his eyes like this is just another day.
Dewey exhales low beside me. "Damn."
Miras doesn't pause. "What?"
Dewey gestures vaguely. "Just saying. No wonder you can pick Cherish up like a ragdoll."
Miras raises an eyebrow, lowering the barbell with controlled ease. "I don't just pick her up."
Dewey smirks. "No? What would you call it then?"
Miras shrugs, stretching his arms over his head. "Strategic repositioning."
I scoff. "That's the worst excuse I've ever heard—wait, how often does he puck me up."
Miras smirks. "Yet, here we are."
Dewey cackles. "Oh, I love this." He leans toward me. "You okay? You're looking kinda…" He waves a hand at me. "Overwhelmed."
I roll my eyes. "I'm fine."
Dewey grins. "So you don't find him impressive?"
I hesitate a fraction too long. Miras catches it. Of course he catches it.
He wipes his face with a towel, feigning nonchalance. "It's okay, Cherish. You can admit it."
I cross my arms. "Admit what?"
"That you're impressed." He slings the towel over his shoulder, giving me a look that is way too smug. "It's fine. A lot of people are."
Dewey snorts. "Oh my God. You're actually insufferable."
Miras shrugs. "I just think it's interesting. The way she's staring."
I glare at him. "I am not staring."
"You kinda are," Dewey chimes in, completely throwing me under the bus.
I smack his arm. "You're supposed to be my emotional support."
"This is emotional support," Dewey argues. "I'm supporting you socially by exposing your blatant thirst."
I groan. "You're the worst."
Miras chuckles, stepping toward the punching bag. He braces a hand against it, testing the weight, then glances back at me. "So? You gonna jump in, or just admire from the sidelines?"
I narrow my eyes. "I can still take you. I kicked your ass when i helped you study for that mission."
Dewey lets out a long, dramatic oooohhh.
Miras tilts his head, like he's actually considering it. "Mmm. I don't know." He flexes his fingers, smirking. "It's been a while. You might need a handicap."
I scoff. "Please. I'd mop the floor with you."
Dewey whistles. "Oh, this is gonna be good."
Miras rolls his shoulders, grinning now. "Alright. Prove it."
My stomach flips—equal parts excitement and nerves. Because I want to. I need to. Even if I know I'm not at my best. Even if I know I'm nowhere near where I used to be. This could be the first normal thing I have done in ages. Miras watches me closely, like he can see the wheels turning in my head. Then he tosses me a pair of gloves.
"You get first hit."
Dewey gasps. "Oh my God, are we actually doing this?"
I catch the gloves, tightening my grip.
I don't know if I'll win.
But damn if I won't try.
"Handicap my ass."
I slip the gloves on, rolling my shoulders as I step into the sparring ring. Miras watches, his smirk still firmly in place, arms loose at his sides.
Dewey, self-appointed commentator, lounges dramatically on the bench just outside the ring. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to witness the humbling of Cherish—"
"Shut up," I say without looking at him.
Miras chuckles. "He's not wrong, though."
I roll my eyes. "You talk a lot for someone about to get their ass kicked."
Miras grins. "Then do it."
I don't need further invitation.
I move fast, closing the distance between us with a sharp jab toward his ribs. It should land—it would have landed—but Miras sidesteps so smoothly it's like he saw it coming an hour ago.
I don't let the miss slow me down. I pivot, going for a hook, but he ducks just enough that my glove skims air instead of his jaw.
He's toying with me. I hate it. I go in again, a quick one-two combo—block, deflect. I push harder—another swing, a feint—sidestepped.
I growl under my breath. "You gonna fight back, or just dodge all day?"
Miras smirks, finally stepping in. "Just waiting for you to warm up."
And then he moves.
One second, I think I have an opening—then my balance is shifting, his leg sweeping mine out just enough to throw me off.
I stumble, catching myself before I can fall.
Dewey gasps. "Ohhhhhhhhhh."
I glare at him. "Shut up."
Miras watches me recover, tilting his head. "You alright?"
I grit my teeth. "Fine."
He nods. "Good."
Then he taps his chin, all faux contemplation. "I mean, if you want the handicap, I can slow down—"
Oh, hell no.
I lunge forward, aiming for center mass—Miras catches my wrist, turning me just enough to throw me off balance again.
Dewey is losing his mind. "NO WAY. SHE'S GETTING HER ASS BEAT—"
"I SWEAR TO GOD, DEWEY."
Miras is laughing now, stepping back just enough to let me reset. "Still think you can take me?"
I shake my arms out, bouncing on the balls of my feet. "Give me a minute."
Miras smirks. "Take all the time you need."
I hate how smug he is. But I love this.
The rhythm of it, the way my body remembers even if my strength isn't where it used to be.
And Miras—he's pushing me, yeah, but he's careful. Calculated. Not treating me like I'm breakable, but not reckless, either.
It's frustrating. It's exhilarating. I want to win.
Dewey, still loudly enjoying my suffering, leans forward. "Okay, okay, but real talk—Miras, are you trying to make this look hot?"
Miras exhales through his nose, unamused. "Dewey."
"I'm just saying. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were showing off."
Miras doesn't respond—just twirls the knife he grabbed from the side table while waiting for my next move.
Dewey howls with laughter. "OH, HE TOTALLY IS—"
I take the distraction and go for it.
My fist connects—clean, right against his ribs. Not hard enough to do damage, but enough.
Miras blinks, a little surprised.
Dewey screeches. "SHE GOT A HIT IN—"
I grin. "Told you I'd get you."
Miras tilts his head, considering me. Then, without a word—
He grabs me.
One second I'm standing, the next I'm flipped clean off my feet, an arm hooked under my knee as he sweeps me up.
I yelp, gripping his shoulder instinctively. "What the hell?!"
Dewey absolutely loses it. "OH MY GOD—"
Miras, the absolute menace, just shrugs. "Strategic repositioning."
I glare at him. "Put me down."
He grins. "Nah. You lost."
"PUT ME DOWN."
Dewey, wheezing from laughter, flails dramatically. "Nooo, you can't give up now! You were so close—"
I smack Miras's arm. "I swear, if you don't—"
He shifts me effortlessly, adjusting his grip like I weigh nothing, and I immediately shut up.
Miras smirks. "What was that?"
I hate him.
hate him.
But also.
Damn.
I should've tapped out by now.
Every muscle in my body is screaming at me to stop, but I can't. I won't. Miras is still standing, still smirking like he knows he's winning, and I refuse to let that be the outcome.
"Getting tired?" His voice is smooth, teasing, but there's an edge to it. A quiet challenge.
I refuse to give him the satisfaction of an answer.
Instead, I lunge.
It's fast, desperate, and for a second, I think I have him. My leg hooks behind his, my palm slams against his chest—
But Miras reacts just as quickly.
His arm catches me around the waist, momentum shifting, and before I can process it, I'm falling.
The world tilts.
Then—
I hit the mat hard, the impact knocking the air from my lungs. But that's not what sends my heart racing.
It's him.
Miras is on top of me, caging me in, his hands braced on either side of my head, his body pressed so close to mine that I can feel the heat rolling off of him.
My breath stutters.
His eyes darken as he looks down at me, and there's something in his expression—something slow and heated and dangerous.
Neither of us moves.
I'm aware of everything.
The weight of his body. The way his fingers flex slightly against the mat. The way his breath ghosts over my lips when he exhales.
It would take nothing to close the distance. Nothing at all.
From somewhere across the gym, Dewey makes a choked noise.
"Oh—oh no."
Miras doesn't react.
He doesn't so much as glance away.
Instead, he shifts, pressing closer, his voice dropping to something that feels like it's just for me.
"You going to tap out?"
I don't trust myself to speak.
I shake my head.
His smirk deepens.
And then I move.
I twist beneath him, using his own balance against him, and somehow—I don't know how—I flip the position, pinning him instead.
Now it's me straddling him.
Now he's the one who goes still.
His hands come up, gripping my hips instinctively, his fingers pressing just a little too firmly.
My pulse pounds in my ears.
I should move. I should do something.
But I don't.
Neither does he.
Dewey makes a strangled sound. "I—I can't be here for this!"
Still, neither of us react.
Miras's fingers tighten against my waist. His gaze flickers to my lips for half a second before snapping back up.
It's enough.
It's too much.
I shove off him, standing up so fast I almost stumble. My skin burns.
Miras follows slower, like he's taking his time, like he knows exactly what just happened and isn't going to let me forget it.
I don't know how I make it out of the gym alive.
Dewey is still muttering under his breath as he storms ahead of me, dramatically rubbing his temples like he's personally been victimized by whatever just happened.
Miras is beside me, way too relaxed for someone who was just pinned to the floor in a way that should not have been allowed. He stretches, rolling his shoulders, completely unbothered.
I, on the other hand, am still burning from the inside out.
My heart is pounding. My skin feels too hot. I can still feel his hands on me.
I need to get out of here.
Dewey suddenly whirls around, walking backward so he can face us. His expression is somewhere between horrified and utterly betrayed. "So we're just gonna pretend that didn't happen?"
"Yes," I say quickly.
Miras shrugs. "I mean, we could talk about it—"
I elbow him hard.
He smirks. Smirks.
Dewey groans. "I hate you both."
I cross my arms, trying to will away the heat still crawling up my neck. "Why are you acting like you were the one involved? You were just watching."
"That was worse!" Dewey throws his hands up. "Do you have any idea what it's like to witness that kind of insanity? I was there! I had to experience that in real time!"
I roll my eyes. "You're being dramatic."
"I'm being traumatized." He turns his glare onto Miras. "And you! You were enjoying that way too much."
Miras raises an eyebrow, not denying a damn thing. "And?"
Dewey looks physically pained.
I sigh, rubbing my forehead. "Okay, can we just drop it? Please?"
Dewey narrows his eyes. "Fine."
A pause.
Then—
"I wasn't the one who started straddling people."
Dewey chokes. "I'M LEAVING."
And then he actually does. He turns and sprints ahead, practically running from the conversation, shouting something about needing "spiritual cleansing."
I exhale sharply, shaking my head. "Unbelievable."
Miras just watches me for a moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then, casually, he leans in just enough to make my breath hitch.
"You did look good on top, though."
My brain shuts down.
I don't even have a response.
He's already walking off, hands in his pockets, completely unbothered while I stand there, rooted to the spot, burning with the realization that I might actually die before the day is over.
********
I knew this was going to be awkward.
But somehow, it's worse.
The dining room is too quiet. Too tense. The kind of silence that makes every clink of silverware deafening.
I push my food around my plate, pretending I don't feel everyone's eyes flicking toward me every few seconds.
Aunt Nayley is watching me with that soft, too-knowing expression of hers. Like she's trying to gauge how much of me is still me.
Dewey, sitting across from me, looks like he wants to say something. Desperately. But every time he opens his mouth, he glances at Imani, thinks better of it, and shoves another bite of food in instead.
Imani, to no one's surprise, is stiff as hell. He keeps glancing at me like he's waiting for something. A misstep. A sign that something is wrong.
I hate it.
The only person not pretending they aren't studying me like some science project is Miras. Because of course he isn't. He's leaning back in his chair, relaxed as ever, one arm slung over the backrest, spinning a fork between his fingers in a way that's starting to remind me way too much of how he twirls his knives.
He's watching me, but not like the others. Not like I might break. No, his stare is more amused. More like you gonna say something or should I?
I scowl at him. He smirks.
Dewey finally gives in to the unbearable tension. "Soooo…" He draws the word out, forcing a smile. "Crazy weather we've been having, huh?"
Imani pinches the bridge of his nose. "Dewey, we live in a climate-controlled tower."
Dewey glares at him. "Okay, well, excuse me for trying to lighten the mood instead of sitting in this soul-crushing silence—"
"You're the only one talking," Miras points out.
Dewey scowls. "Because the rest of you are being weird!"
Aunt Nayley finally speaks, her voice calm but firm. "Dewey has a point. There's no reason for us to act like strangers."
I poke at my food. "Feels like I am a stranger." The table goes dead silent.
Miras huffs a quiet laugh under his breath. "Well. That killed the conversation."
Imani glares at him. "Not helping."
"Wasn't trying to."
Aunt Nayley clears her throat. "Cherish, sweetheart, you are not a stranger."
I glance up at her. "Then why does everyone keep looking at me like I'm going to malfunction? Did I miss something?"
Imani sighs. "Because I am waiting for something to go wrong."
I scoff, pushing my plate away. "Glad to know you have so much faith in me."
He sets his utensils down carefully, his jaw tight. "That's not what I meant."
"Sure felt like it."
A muscle in his jaw twitches.
Dewey looks genuinely uncomfortable. "Soooo… dessert, anyone?"
"Dewey," Aunt Nayley says gently.
He slumps in his chair. "Yeah, okay, I'll shut up."
Miras, apparently deciding that we haven't hit peak awkward yet, leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "This is going great, by the way. Super warm welcome back."
I shoot him a glare. "You're making it worse."
"No, you made it worse when you dropped the 'I'm a stranger' bomb in the middle of dinner."
I open my mouth—then shut it. Because damn it, he's right.
Aunt Nayley sighs. "Maybe this was too soon."
I immediately feel guilty. "No, it's not—it's just—" I shake my head, frustrated. "I knew this would be weird, but I didn't think it would be this bad."
Imani runs a hand through his hair. "Then maybe next time, don't throw out something devastating in the middle of a meal?"
Miras smirks. "She does have a talent for it."
*******
The awkwardness from dinner lingers.
No one outright addresses it, but I can feel the shift. The way Imani is watching me even closer. The way Aunt Nayley's concern has deepened into something more cautious. The way Dewey keeps making terrible jokes just to fill the silence.
And Miras—Miras is just Miras. If the tension affects him, he doesn't show it. He just keeps showing up, keeps needling me with teasing remarks and sharp little smirks like nothing's changed.
Maybe it hasn't. Maybe I'm just the one who's different.
I try not to think about it too much.
Instead, I fall into the routine of the tower. Mornings filled with medical tests I don't want but don't argue against. Afternoons spent in the gym, slowly relearning what my body is capable of. Evenings full of strained interactions and moments where I feel like a ghost haunting my own life.
The voice hasn't spoken since that night.
But I can feel it.
Always lurking. Always waiting.
And every time Imani hooks me up to one of his machines, every time he runs his tests, I wonder if he knows. If he can see it. If it's just a matter of time before he realizes what's wrong with me.
I don't want to know what happens when he does.
I'm halfway through stabbing at a piece of fruit on my plate when Imani casually drops a bomb on the conversation.
"You all should probably start thinking about going back to school."
Silence.
Then—
I nearly choke on my bite of apple. "School?"
Dewey blinks at me like I just sprouted another head. "Uh. Yeah? You know, that thing where we sit in classrooms, pretend to learn, and count down the minutes 'til freedom?"
"When was the last time I attended school?"
"You've been out of it for awhile," Dewey says without hesitation. "When you got kidnapped it didn't really leave a lot of time for—"
I'm moving away from the table before Dewey can finish his comment, but I don't miss Miras elbowing him in the side. "Oh my God." I push back from the table so fast my chair nearly topples. "I need to check my grades. Did I do my midterms?"
Dewey bursts out laughing. "Cherish, midterms were months ago."
I am already across the room, grabbing my tablet. "What if I failed?"
"Cherish," Imani pinches the bridge of his nose. "Panicking about old grades isn't going to help anything."
I ignore him, frantically logging into my school account. "I was good at school, right? Like, I actually tried?"
Imani sighs. "Yes, Cherish, you cared a lot about school."
Dewey snickers. "Kinda to an unhealthy degree."
Miras watches me with pure amusement. "You do realize, even if you did fail, they're not gonna take your brain reset as an excuse, right?"
I freeze. "What?"
Dewey cackles. "Yeah, no, dude, I don't think 'I got my mind wiped by a secret underground organization' is on the official list of acceptable excuses."
I look at Imani in sheer horror. "You can get me out of this, right? You have pull with the school."
Imani pinches the bridge of his nose. "Cherish—"
Miras is actually laughing now, the sound rich and entirely too pleased. "This is incredible. I'm so glad I didn't stop you from this spiral."
I slam my tablet down on the table, eyes locked on Imani like he just personally ruined my entire academic career.
"You let me miss two months of school?"
Imani, who has clearly had a long day already, exhales through his nose. "Cherish—"
"No, no, don't Cherish me." I point an accusatory finger at him. "Two months. That's practically an entire semester! Do you know how hard it's going to be to catch up?"
Dewey, lounging on the couch, grins. "I dunno, I think it'll be fun watching you suffer."
I ignore him. "I could've been studying this whole time! Do you even know how important consistency is for retention?"
Miras tilts his head at me. "You didn't even remember school existed five minutes ago."
"That's not the point!" I whirl back to Imani. "You're supposed to be responsible! How could you let me fall behind like this?"
Imani gives me a look. "You were literally recovering from a full neural reset. School was not the priority."
I cross my arms. "You should've at least given me homework."
Dewey snorts. "You hear that, Imani? Next time you wipe her brain, don't forget the worksheets."
Miras hums thoughtfully. "Maybe throw in some pop quizzes, keep things interesting."
I glare at both of them. "Not helping."
Imani rubs his temples. "Cherish. Be serious. You needed rest, not algebra."
I narrow my eyes. "Would've been nice to have the choice."
He gives me a tired look. "You know what? Fine. I'll email your teachers. See if they'll send you all the work you missed."
Miras chuckles. "Oh no. What have you done?"
Imani shrugs. "If she wants to drown in coursework, who am I to stop her?"
Dewey shakes his head. "Well, there goes any chance of fun for the foreseeable future."
I ignore them all, already pulling up my school portal again. "I need to make a study plan. Oh God, what if I missed group projects?"
Imani just sighs, muttering something about this is what I get for trying to be helpful.