*Trigger warnings, comatose father, graphic description of brain surgery, amnesia, guilt, implied previous assault.
The beeping of the heart monitor is steady. Too steady. Too perfect. Like it's mocking the mess of emotions tangled inside me.
I stand at the side of the hospital bed, staring down at my father—at the man I shot.
There's no sign of pain on his face. No tension in his jaw. No furrow in his brow. Just stillness, unnatural in a way that makes my chest ache. He's always been larger than life, always filled the room without trying. Seeing him like this, reduced to wires and tubes and the rise and fall of a machine forcing him to breathe—it twists something deep inside me.
I swallow hard, hands gripping the rail of the bed like it's the only thing keeping me upright.
"I…" My voice catches, too thin, too unsteady. I exhale and try again.
"I'm sorry."
The words feel too small. Too simple for something this massive. But I don't know what else to say.
My fingers curl tighter around the rail. "I know it wasn't me. Not really. But it was my hands. My gun. My body pulling the trigger."
My breath shudders out of me.
"I don't know if you'll ever forgive me," I whisper. "But I had to say it. I had to—"
I stop.
The weight of another presence presses against my back, silent but impossible to ignore.
Imani stands by the door, arms crossed, his eyes unreadable. Watching. Listening.
Judging?
I don't know.
And it doesn't matter.
This isn't for him.
I turn back to my father, my fingers aching from how tightly I'm gripping the rail. I force myself to loosen them, to lay one hand gently over his.
"I need you to wake up," I say, softer this time. "Please."
The machines keep beeping. The room stays silent. My father doesn't move.
I close my eyes.
I try to breathe evenly, but the air feels too thick in the room, too heavy. It presses against my chest, squeezing out any sense of calm I might've had.
The reality of what happened, of everything that's happened, keeps hitting me in waves. The attack. The mind control. The decisions I had no control over.
And now, this—this hospital room, this stillness, the fear I won't remember anything when I wake up.
My fingers tremble as I reach for my father's hand again, squeezing it gently. I can't look at him the way I want to. I keep my gaze fixed on the machines, on the rhythm of his breaths.
"I don't know if you'll remember me when I wake up," I say, barely above a whisper. "I don't know if I'll even remember you."
The words feel like lead in my mouth. I want to take them back. I want to pretend it's not a possibility, that everything will go back to normal once I'm through this.
But I can't.
"I just—I need you to know. Even if you can't hear me, I want to warn you. If I don't know you... if I don't know me, please don't give up on me. Please don't think I'm gone."
My chest tightens, the words scraping against my throat.
"I'll come back, even if it takes a while. Even if I'm not the person you remember."
I lean forward, pressing my forehead to the edge of his bed, my breath shaky.
"I'm sorry, Dad. I'm so sorry."
The door creaks as I push it open, the soft click of the latch echoing in the empty room. The air is thick—too thick—with everything that's about to happen. I step inside, letting the quiet settle over me, feeling the familiar weight of the space around me.
I sit down on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. The quiet in my room is different from the silence at dinner—this feels more like a waiting room. Like any moment, something will change.
I'm halfway through running my hands through my hair when I hear a soft knock on the door.
"Yo, you in here?"
I don't even look up. "I'm here, Dewey."
He enters without waiting for an invitation, his sneakers squeaking against the floor. His usual unfiltered grin is gone, replaced by a weird kind of awkwardness that I'm not used to seeing from him.
He stands in the doorway for a moment, like he's not sure whether he should come closer. "So… uh… looks like you're ready for a nap, huh?"
I don't laugh, though I can't help but smirk. "I'm really not in the mood for jokes right now, Dewey."
He winces, rubbing the back of his neck. "Right. Yeah. Sorry."
I glance up at him. He's trying. I can see it in his eyes—he wants to be helpful, to say something that will make this less unbearable for me. But there's nothing he can say. No words that will erase the fear gnawing at me.
"You're nervous," he says, stepping closer. "I get it. I'd be too."
"I'm terrified," I admit quietly, staring at the floor again. "But it's not about me anymore."
He doesn't say anything, but I feel his presence next to me now, like he's waiting for me to continue.
"I need you to do something for me," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
He blinks, clearly caught off guard. "What's up?"
I swallow hard, fighting the tightness in my chest. I have to ask. I have to make sure. "If something happens, Dewey, if I don't come out of this whole—if something goes wrong—I need you to promise me something."
His brows furrow. "What are you talking about? Nothing's gonna—"
I hold up a hand to stop him. "Promise me you won't let Miras give up."
Dewey blinks, processing. "Cherish, don't—"
"No, Dewey," I cut in, my voice trembling just a little. "He won't be able to handle it if I… if I don't come back the way I was. He'll fall apart. I can already see it in his eyes. Please. You have to make sure he doesn't give up."
Dewey stands there, silent for a long beat. I can feel the weight of the promise in the air, the way his eyes search mine like he's looking for any hint of doubt in me.
Finally, he nods, his face softening with something almost like understanding. "Yeah. Yeah, I promise."
I meet his eyes, feeling the quiet seriousness between us. "Make sure he doesn't shut down, Dewey. He'll try to convince himself it's better if I'm… if I'm gone. But it won't be."
"You're asking a lot, you know that, right?" he says, a small, sad grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "But I get it. I won't let him lose it."
I nod, grateful, but not entirely relieved. Not until I know that no matter what happens, someone will be there to hold Miras together when everything feels like it's breaking.
Dewey takes a deep breath. "Now. That—that was probably the hardest thing you'll ask me all day, so... if you need anything else, just say the word, yeah?"
I can't help but give a weak smile, a little laugh breaking through the tension. "Thanks, Dewey."
He flashes that grin again, the one that always feels like he's trying to make light of everything. "No problem, kid. You're gonna be fine. You've got this. I'll make sure Miras doesn't turn into a total mess, and, well, I'll leave the rest to you."
I watch him leave the room, his words lingering in the quiet. I almost believe him.
Almost.
The door creaks open after some time. Aunt Nayley steps inside, her presence steady as always—but there's something different in her eyes tonight. Something that's been there all evening but is finally showing itself now, in the dim light of my room.
She closes the door gently behind her, and for a moment, we just stand there. She's holding herself together with everything she has, but I can see the tightness around her jaw, the way her shoulders are just a little too stiff, like she's trying to keep from collapsing.
"Hey," I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
She gives me a small, forced smile as she crosses the room to sit beside me on the bed. Her hand settles on mine, warm, like a comfort she doesn't even realize she's offering.
"Hey," she replies, her voice thick with something she's fighting to hide. "How're you holding up?"
"Okay. Well, you know. As good as I can be," I say, shrugging. I don't know what to say to that. What can you say when your mind's about to be... rewritten?
She nods slowly, her fingers tightening around mine for a brief moment before she lets go and sits back. "I... I just wanted to warn you about Miras."
I stiffen, immediately catching the shift in her tone. "What about him?"
Aunt Nayley exhales, and I can see the battle happening behind her eyes. She's trying not to break, trying to remain strong for me, but she's struggling. I see it in the way her hands shake ever so slightly, in the way her gaze lingers on me for a beat longer than usual. She's scared. Scared for me, yes, but also scared for him.
"Miras won't be able to come in here and say goodbye to you," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. She's watching me closely, like she's measuring my reaction. "Not because he doesn't want to. It's... it's because he's afraid, Cherish. He's afraid of losing you, of seeing you in a way that..."
I swallow, my throat tight as I realize the truth of her words. "...That I won't be me anymore."
She nods. "Yes."
My chest tightens. I already knew this was going to be hard on Miras, but hearing Aunt Nayley say it out loud, the weight of it crashing down—it's more than I can bear in this moment. He's been holding it together for me for so long, and I know he's on the edge, hanging by a thread, trying to stay strong.
I exhale, my mind spinning with everything that's about to happen, but I know one thing for sure: Miras needs me to be strong now, even if I'm not sure how I'll make it through this myself.
"I know." I blink, forcing back the wave of emotion that threatens to overwhelm me. "He's gonna be okay, right?"
Aunt Nayley looks at me for a long moment, her face unreadable. She doesn't say anything, but I can see the truth in her eyes. She doesn't know.
"I... I don't know," she says softly. "But you have to promise me, Cherish, that you'll try to come back. For him. For all of us."
I nod, though I feel the weight of her words settle into my chest like a stone. I wish I could promise her that I will. But I know how this goes. Things never go as planned.
"I'll try," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
Aunt Nayley doesn't say anything more. She just pulls me into a hug, tight and warm, like she's afraid she won't get the chance again.
And maybe she won't.
For a moment, I let myself believe everything will be okay, that this fear will pass, that I'll come out of surgery, and I'll be me again. But I know better.
I know the truth.
And so does she.
The door opens once more, but this time, the shift in the air is palpable. It's not Dewey's easygoing vibe or Aunt Nayley's quiet strength. It's Imani.
The moment he steps inside, I feel it—a thick, invisible wall between us, stretching out in every direction, heavy and suffocating. I don't have to look up to know he's standing there, his posture tense, like he's weighing whether to say anything at all or just leave the room.
I've never felt this kind of distance between us before. It's like an invisible gap has formed that neither of us knows how to cross, and it's all because of the tension that's been building ever since the surgery plan was put into motion. I know I'm not the only one feeling it. His presence is cold, a sharp contrast to Aunt Nayley's warmth, as if he's steeling himself for something he knows is coming but can't stop.
"Cherish," he says finally, his voice clipped.
I look up slowly, meeting his eyes. I can't help it. The words that spill from my mouth are barely a whisper. "You don't have to do this, Imani. I know what you're thinking."
The words hang between us, raw and vulnerable, and I can see the flicker of frustration pass across his face. He takes a step closer, but it's not an easy movement. He's still hesitant, still not sure how to break the silence between us, but his eyes are soft, conflicted. "I don't know what you mean."
I exhale slowly, my heart racing. "You're angry. You're angry at me, at all of this, and I get it. You're trying to protect me, but you don't have to do it by keeping me away."
Imani's eyes narrow slightly, and I can see him processing my words, fighting the urge to just say what's on his mind. The tension only grows, thick and suffocating.
"I'm not angry at you, Cherish," he says slowly, but there's a hesitation in his voice that makes me wonder if he's telling the truth. "But I am angry. At everything that's been happening. At the people who've done this to you. At the fact that we're here in the first place, waiting for a surgery that—" He cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I can't control this. I can't control any of it."
His words land like a blow to the gut, and I feel a pang of guilt twist deep inside. I know he's right. None of us can control any of this. Not the surgery. Not what's been done to me. Not the way everything keeps spiraling out of control, despite all the plans and preparations.
"Imani," I whisper, my voice faltering, "I need you to stop pushing me away."
There's a long silence. It stretches between us, as long and painful as the distance we've been walking. I watch his jaw clench as if he's fighting something deep inside, something he doesn't want to let me see.
Finally, he sighs, the weight of his frustration sinking into his shoulders. "I'm just... scared, Cherish. Scared of losing you. And scared of what'll happen if I'm not here, if I'm not in control, if I'm not... doing something."
The vulnerability in his voice, the cracks in his usually steadfast exterior, hit me harder than I expected. For a moment, I feel the sting of his pain, his fear, but also the underlying care he's been trying to hide from me. "I'll be here," he says quietly, almost like a promise. "I'm not going anywhere."
The hours seem to stretch on forever, each second dragging as the reality of what's about to happen sinks deeper. The moment I stand up, my legs feel heavier than they should, like the weight of everything—of the surgery, of everything I've been through—has settled into my bones. I try to shake it off, but it doesn't work.
Aunt Nayley's in the room with me, quietly preparing me for what's to come, and her calm presence is the only thing that seems to anchor me. I'm still not sure I'm ready for this, but as much as I want to resist, I know I have no choice. There's no turning back now.
She moves around me, adjusting my hospital gown, the cool fabric shifting beneath her careful hands. Her touch is light, but there's something about the way she moves—methodical, steady—that makes me feel just a little less fragile, even if I don't feel steady myself.
"Are you okay?" she asks, her voice soft, but sharp with concern. She doesn't look at me directly, her focus entirely on what she's doing, as if the act of keeping me physically ready might help keep me mentally intact, too.
"I will be," I lie, my throat tight. "I just… don't want to forget anything again."
Aunt Nayley freezes for a moment, and I can tell it's not just the words that stop her. It's the weight of the fear behind them, the fear I haven't been able to shake since the memories rushed back. The fear that I won't be me when I wake up, or worse, that I won't wake up at all.
She doesn't respond to that. Instead, she gently adjusts the straps of the gown and smooths out the wrinkles in the fabric. Her hands linger for a moment, almost as if she's gathering strength from something I can't see.
"You won't forget anything again," she says finally, her voice thick with an emotion I can't place. "I know this is hard, but you're strong. You've always been strong, Cherish. And no matter what happens in there, I'm going to be right here when you come out. We all will."
I nod, the lump in my throat growing, but I can't bring myself to say anything in response. There's too much I'm feeling, too much I can't put into words right now. The fear. The uncertainty. The loneliness I've been trying to push away. It's all here, tangled up inside me, and all I want is for someone to tell me it's going to be okay. But Aunt Nayley doesn't have those words either.
"I just… don't want Miras to—"
Aunt Nayley cuts me off gently. "Miras will be okay. He'll try to be okay, but you have to promise me something, Cherish."
I look up at her, the tightness in my chest making it hard to breathe. "What?"
She meets my gaze, her own eyes holding a quiet intensity. "Promise me that if you need to fight, if you need to come back, you do it for yourself, not for anyone else."
My breath catches in my throat. I know what she's saying, and I know it's something I need to hear, but hearing it still feels like a punch to the gut.
"I don't know if I can do that," I admit quietly. "I don't know if I'm strong enough."
Aunt Nayley squeezes my hand, her voice unwavering. "You are. You've always been stronger than you give yourself credit for. And no matter what happens, Cherish, you're going to make it through. We are going to make it through."
She helps me adjust the pillows behind me, her hands steady even as I can feel the tremors of fear and uncertainty running through her. I can see how hard she's trying to hold it together—for me, for Miras, for all of us.
She helps me adjust the pillows behind me, her hands steady even as I can feel the tremors of fear and uncertainty running through her. I can see how hard she's trying to hold it together—for me, for Miras, for all of us.
"I'm ready," I say, the words almost a whisper as I take a slow, deep breath.
Aunt Nayley doesn't say anything more, just takes a moment to look at me—really look at me—and I can feel the weight of her love and worry. It's enough to almost make me break, but I hold it in, keeping my resolve as best as I can.
"Okay, Cherish," she says, her voice soft but firm. "Let's get you to the operating room."
The door opens, and the cool air rushes in. The finality of it all feels suffocating, and I can't help but glance one last time around the room. I see Aunt Nayley's face, her concern too evident to hide, and I see myself reflected in the mirror—someone who is about to go through something I'm not sure I can survive.
But I have to. For me. For everyone I love.
As Aunt Nayley leads me toward the door, I turn to look back, to find some semblance of comfort in her gaze before I'm taken to the unknown. And as the door shuts softly behind us, I try not to think about what's to come.
Aunt Nayley's hand on my arm is steady, but I feel the tightness in her grip, the weight of her unspoken words pressing down. The last few minutes have been a blur—preparations, quiet words, the sterile scent of the hospital room, the beeping of machines. I should be focusing on what's coming next, but there's one thing on my mind, one last thing I need before I face whatever's waiting for me in that cold, sterile operating room.
I glance up at Aunt Nayley, the question unspoken but clear. She knows what I need. She always does.
"Not yet," she says, her voice soft but resolute. "You're going to see Miras first."
I freeze. For a moment, I feel a pit open in my stomach, my breath catching in my throat. I don't want him to see me like this—broken, vulnerable, not knowing what comes next. I don't want him to say goodbye to me, not like this. It feels like something we should've had more time to prepare for, but instead, everything's been rushed, unrelenting.
"But—"
"No," Aunt Nayley cuts me off gently but firmly. "You need to see him. Don't let him make the mistake of thinking he can keep his distance now. He's going to be here, Cherish, and you're going to remind him of that."
I nod, swallowing the lump that's formed in my throat, and she leads me towards the room I saw them then in earlier. When we reach the door, Aunt Nayley hesitates for a fraction of a second before pushing it open.
Miras is sitting by the window, staring out into the darkening sky, his body tense. He doesn't notice us right away. The way he holds himself, like he's trying to keep his own thoughts at bay, makes my heart ache. He's been through so much. And I—I—could be the one to break him if I'm not careful.
Aunt Nayley steps aside, giving me the space to enter. I take a deep breath and step forward, my feet feeling like they're moving in slow motion. My heart races, unsure of what to say, unsure of what to feel.
Miras doesn't look up, not immediately. His focus is still fixed on the world outside. I take another step, then another, until I'm standing in front of him.
"Miras," I whisper, my voice barely above a breath.
He still doesn't look at me, but I see his shoulders tighten, like he's holding himself back. Like he's trying to keep his emotions in check, afraid of what's coming.
I step closer, kneeling in front of him so that I'm on eye level. His eyes flick to mine, finally, and for the first time, I see the raw fear in them—the kind of fear I know all too well.
"I need you to say goodbye to me, Miras," I say, my voice trembling even though I'm trying to keep it steady. I reach for his hand, feeling how cold his skin is, how tightly his fingers curl. "I need you to promise me you won't give up on me if something goes wrong."
His eyes flash with pain, his jaw tightening as if he's trying to stop the flood of emotion that threatens to break through. He doesn't answer right away, and in that silence, I feel the weight of everything hanging between us. The possibility that this could be the last time I see him like this. The possibility that I might not come back.
"Cherish…" His voice cracks, and I can see him fighting for control, fighting to hold back the tears. "Don't ask me to say goodbye like this."
I let out a shaky breath, my heart hammering in my chest. "I'm scared," I admit quietly, feeling the weight of everything—the surgery, the possibility of not waking up the same, or worse, not waking up at all.
He pulls me into him then, his arms wrapping around me tightly, as if he's trying to hold me together, as if he's afraid I'll shatter if he doesn't.
I close my eyes and bury my face in his chest, letting his warmth surround me, letting his presence be the anchor I cling to in this storm. For a moment, it feels like time stands still, and I can forget the looming surgery, the pain, the fear.
It's just me and him, holding on, unwilling to let go, even as everything else feels like it's slipping away.
"I love you, Cherish," he whispers, his voice rough. "I love you so much."
The words are a balm, soothing the ache in my chest, even as it cracks open more. I pull back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes.
"I love you too," I say, the words feeling like a promise, a pledge, something more than just a declaration.
As Aunt Nayley gently guides me toward the door, my hand still holding onto Miras', I can feel the weight of what's about to happen pressing down on me. But something shifts in the air around us—something that has nothing to do with the sterile, cold room or the looming surgery ahead.
Miras doesn't let go of my hand. His grip tightens slightly, and when I glance up at him, I see something in his eyes that stops me in my tracks.
"Miras?" I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
He's looking at me with a determination I didn't expect, something fierce, protective, but also so vulnerable, like he's made up his mind and is now waiting for me to understand it.
"You're not doing this alone," he says, his voice steady, but I can hear the tightness there, the emotion he's trying to hold back. "I'm coming with you. I'm staying with you. I'm not going to let them take you without me being right there."
My heart stutters in my chest, a warmth rushing through me at his words, even as the fear that's been clinging to me deepens. The idea of him being by my side through this, even in the face of everything, is both comforting and terrifying.
I want to argue, to tell him that it's too dangerous, that he shouldn't have to see me like this, so vulnerable, so exposed. But looking at him now—so resolute, so determined—I know there's no changing his mind. Not when it comes to me.
"You don't have to," I whisper, but my voice is barely there, swallowed by the rawness of the moment.
"I want to," he replies, cutting me off gently but firmly. "I'm not letting you go through this alone, Cherish. If they're going to do this to you, then I'll be right there with you. I'll be right there when you wake up."
I swallow, the knot in my throat growing. There's something in his voice, something so full of raw emotion that I can't help but believe him. I want to tell him how much it means, how much it terrifies me to be this exposed, but instead, I just nod, my eyes filling with the same mix of fear and gratitude.
"Okay," I whisper, my voice breaking on the word. "Okay, Miras."
He leans in then, his forehead touching mine for just a moment, a silent promise passing between us. His hand finds mine again, his fingers interlacing with mine, and I feel that familiar warmth—the strength he always gives me, even when I don't deserve it. Even when I'm not sure I can keep going.
"Let's go," he murmurs, and I nod again, feeling the world shift just a little. Maybe, just maybe, I'm not as alone as I thought.
Aunt Nayley doesn't say anything at first, but I can feel the understanding in her eyes as she watches us. She knows, just like I do, that this isn't just about the surgery anymore. It's about the bond we share, the fight we're both in together.
We walk down the sterile hallway, our footsteps echoing louder than usual in the silence. Every step brings me closer to the operating room, and I can feel the pressure of what's coming—the sharp pinch of fear in my chest, the unease that coils through my stomach. But Miras is here. He's right here, his presence a steady force, something I can hold onto even when everything else feels like it's spinning out of control.
When we reach the door to the operating room, I stop. The cold metal handle feels foreign under my hand, the finality of it all making my pulse spike.
Miras squeezes my hand, his thumb running over my knuckles. "I'm not leaving," he says again, his voice low, but the strength in it makes me breathe a little easier. "I'll be here when you wake up. You're not alone, Cherish. You'll never be alone."
I close my eyes for a brief second, gathering whatever strength I can before turning to face the door. When I open my eyes, I see Aunt Nayley standing quietly behind us, ready to give us a moment, but also ready to guide me through this next part.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself as I nod toward the door. "Let's do this," I whisper, my voice barely audible, but resolute.
The operating room is cold, too cold, but it's the sterile, clinical nature of it that leaves a pit in my stomach. I can feel the sharp scent of antiseptic in the air, and the bright overhead lights are blinding. But none of it matters as much as the steady pressure of Miras' hand in mine.
Seraphine stands off to the side, organizing her instruments, her movements precise and calm, almost detached. Imani, though, stands near me, his eyes locked onto mine with a strange mix of caution and something softer I can't quite place.
"Cherish," Imani says, his voice low, "before we start, I need to explain a few things."
I nod, swallowing hard. Every word feels like it's sinking into the pit of my stomach, making the nerves twist tighter.
"This surgery is going to be... complicated," Imani continues, his gaze flickering between Miras and me. "The mind is delicate, and we're walking a thin line here. We'll be using a combination of advanced neural technology and a sedative to control the pain, but it's not without risk. The procedure itself will last several hours, and we'll need to wake you up at several points along the way to assess your progress."
I blink, trying to grasp the weight of what he's saying. "You'll... wake me up?" My voice trembles, more from the exhaustion settling in than anything else.
Imani nods, his face tense. "Yes. We need to make sure your brain is adjusting properly, that the implants are integrating safely without causing any further damage. You'll be sedated, then woken up, then sedated again. Each time you come back to consciousness, we'll check how you're responding. It's going to be disorienting."
A jolt of panic shoots through me at the thought of being pulled in and out of consciousness, of not knowing what's real or not. My fingers tighten around Miras' hand, and I can feel him steady me, his presence anchoring me in the chaos swirling inside me.
"You've done this before?" I manage to ask, though the question feels almost absurd in the face of everything. My voice feels small, like I'm a child asking if the shadows are real.
Imani meets my gaze directly, his expression unwavering. "Nothing quite like this. You've been through a lot already, Cherish. This will be a challenge. But I did restart your entire nervous system and you made it out just fine."
I wince at the memory.
"Hey," Miras says, his voice cutting through the tension in the air. He squeezes my hand once, hard. "You don't have to do this alone. You've got me. We've got this, okay?"
His words are a lifeline, but even as I nod, the reality sinks in again. I'm about to go under, and there's no telling what will happen to me after. There's no way to know if I'll wake up whole or if this will break me even further.
I glance at Imani. "Will I remember each time you wake me up?"
He pauses for a moment, his brow furrowing in thought. "I can't guarantee that. The anesthesia and sedatives will cloud your memory, and we're working on a timeline. It's possible you'll remember some moments, and others will fade completely."
"Cherish…" Miras starts, his voice low, but his grip on my hand tightens again. "I'll be here. Every single time. I'll make sure you know I'm here. You're not going through this alone."
I give him a weak smile, my throat tight with emotion. "I know," I whisper, squeezing his hand back as tightly as I can manage. "I know."
Imani watches the two of us quietly for a moment before speaking again. "We need to start now. Are you ready?"
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, trying to gather the fragments of strength I have left. I glance at Miras one more time, the warmth of his hand in mine grounding me.
"I'm ready," I say, though the words feel like they're hanging by a thread. "Just… stay with me. Please."
"I'm not going anywhere," Miras assures me, his voice thick with emotion.
With a final nod from Imani, he signals Seraphine, who steps forward with a syringe in her hand. The cold steel gleams in the light, and I feel my heart race.
"Just breathe, Cherish," Imani murmurs. "Focus on Miras. We're here."
The needle presses gently against my skin, and within seconds, the world begins to blur. The cold warmth of the sedative spreads through my veins, and my eyes flutter. Everything feels distant, like I'm floating away. Miras' hand slips from mine just before the darkness takes over.
But before it does, I hear him—his voice, steady and strong. "I'm here, Cherish. Always."
There's nothing but the quiet, the darkness, and the uncertainty of what comes next.
I blink, the world still swirling, the harsh lights overhead pressing into my skull like a vise. My body feels uncomfortably numb, disconnected from itself, but at least I know where I am now—somewhere sterile, with the distant hum of machines. The faint beeping of a heart monitor steadies me, a rhythmic comfort as my senses struggle to catch up.
I try to lift my hand, but it feels heavy, uncooperative. There's a gentle weight pressing down on it, and I turn my head slowly, catching sight of Miras' face. His expression is tense, worried, his eyes locked on mine as though trying to gauge whether I'm truly awake.
"Hey," he murmurs softly, "you're okay."
But am I?
Before I can say anything, Imani's voice cuts through the haze. "Cherish, I need you to focus, alright? We're going to ask you a few questions to make sure your brain is functioning correctly. I need you to try your best to answer, okay?"
I nod, though my thoughts feel like a tangled mess of static. I can feel the fog still in my head, and each word that escapes my mouth feels muffled, distant. I try to steady my breathing, trying to focus on Imani, who's standing by my bedside, his face unreadable but focused.
"Okay," Imani continues. "First question. Can you tell me today's date?"
I try to think, digging for the answer. I know it should be simple, but everything seems so far away. Time feels like a blur.
"Uhh…" I say slowly, the words feeling like they're coming from someone else. "Tuesday?"
Imani nods, his lips pressing into a tight line. He's watching me closely, trying to gauge my responses. "Alright, Cherish. Now, can you tell me the name of the person sitting next to you?"
I turn my head to Miras, his hand still holding mine. There's a flicker of recognition in my chest, but when I open my mouth, the words get tangled in my throat. His face is so familiar, but it feels like a distant memory, like something I'm supposed to remember, but can't quite place.
I open my mouth again, but the words don't come. The name is there, on the tip of my tongue, but it's slipping away. A cold wave of frustration washes over me. "I... I don't—" I try, my voice shaky, but the name won't form.
Miras' face shifts, his brow furrowing with concern. "Cherish…" he whispers, his voice thick with worry. "You know me. You know me."
But I can't seem to pull the pieces together, the fog swallowing everything. I want to scream, to cry out that I do know him, but it feels like I'm drowning in a sea of confusion, each breath harder than the last.
Imani doesn't seem surprised, though. He moves on, trying to keep the process going. "Alright, let's try something else," he says gently. "What's two plus two?"
The question is so simple, almost laughable in its simplicity. I don't even need to think about it.
"Four," I answer, a small flicker of relief surging through me at how easily it comes.
Imani's gaze softens, but only slightly. "Good. Now, can you tell me where we are right now?"
Where we are? The question feels like it should be easy, but my mind is a fog again. I know this room. I can sense the sterile air, the machines around me, but it feels... distant, disconnected from me. I try to reach for the answer, but it's like trying to grasp smoke.
"Hospital?" I say, unsure of myself, hoping it's right.
Imani doesn't react immediately, just watches me closely. "It's a medical facility, yes. But specifically, this is the tower." He waits for me to process. "Can you remember why you're here?"
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to concentrate. My head is heavy with the weight of the question, but the answer won't come. I feel Miras' hand tighten around mine, but it only makes the ache inside me worse.
"I… I don't know," I finally say, my voice breaking. "I don't know."
Miras exhales shakily, his thumb rubbing over the back of my hand in slow, soothing motions. I can feel the tremor in his fingers, the way his body is trembling, but he doesn't speak. He's waiting for me, waiting for me to find the right answer.
Imani leans forward slightly, his gaze never leaving me. "It's okay. You don't need to know everything right now. We're going to take this one step at a time."
I nod, even though the emptiness in my chest grows, the confusion making it harder to breathe.
Imani gives a subtle nod, though his expression is still carefully neutral. "We're going to keep monitoring you closely, Cherish. The surgery's only part of the process, and recovery is going to take time."
As the questions fade into the background, a new wave of exhaustion crashes over me, heavier than before. My body aches, every muscle worn down from the strain, and my mind is sluggish, floating in and out of clarity. The fog is thick again, settling over me like a heavy blanket. My thoughts are fragments, and the world around me feels too distant to hold on to.
Imani watches me carefully, but there's a quiet resolve in his eyes now. "Alright, Cherish," he says, his voice gentle but firm. "You've done well. We're going to take you back under, okay? We'll wake you up again in a few hours."
Hours?
The idea of going back under doesn't scare me—not now. Right now, it's a relief. I can feel myself slipping again, the darkness pulling at the edges of my consciousness, like a soft invitation to let go.
"Just breathe," Imani murmurs, his hand on my shoulder. "You'll be fine. We'll wake you again when it's time."
I can barely keep my eyes open. My eyelids feel like they weigh a ton. I hear Miras again, his voice low and steady, and it's like an anchor in this vast sea of fog.
"I'll be right here," he says softly, his hand still wrapped around mine. His voice is both a promise and a plea. I cling to it as tightly as I can, holding on to the warmth of his touch, the only thing in this swirling chaos that feels like home.
And then, the world tilts again, just enough to make my stomach lurch, and the pressure builds in my head. It's like everything's falling into place, but it's too much, too fast. The room spins, and the darkness comes rushing back.
I try to speak, to tell Miras something, but the words slip through my fingers like water, vanishing into the void before I can grasp them.
The last thing I feel is the pull of the anesthetic, a cool wave washing over me, taking my body and my mind away.
"Miras…" I whisper, but the sound is barely a breath.
The first thing I feel is the coldness. My skin prickles with the sensation, and I try to shift, but my limbs feel heavy, like they're made of stone. My brain is still thick with fog, everything blurred, but I can hear the beeping again—the steady pulse of the heart monitor, like a lifeline pulling me back from whatever abyss I'd just fallen into.
I try to open my eyes, but they feel glued shut. My head is a dull, aching throb, and there's a tightness in my chest, like I haven't taken a real breath in what feels like forever. Slowly, my eyes crack open, and the harsh light overhead makes everything spin.
"Cherish?" Miras' voice is soft but unmistakable, and it wraps around me like a warm, familiar blanket. I try to focus on him, but my vision swims, not quite sharp enough to hold on to the image of his face. His hand is there though, on mine, firm and warm. "You're okay. You're alright."
I want to say something back, but my throat feels tight. I try to speak, but only a rasp comes out, a sound barely louder than a whisper. "Miras..." I try again, but my voice is so weak, it doesn't sound like me at all. I swallow thickly, but it feels like I'm swallowing glass.
"Easy," Miras says, his voice low, though I can hear the undercurrent of concern. "Take it slow. You're still recovering."
I try to nod, but it's like my neck doesn't respond. Every movement feels sluggish, like my body has to catch up with my brain.
And then, I realize... I'm awake. But why? Why am I awake now?
"Imani?" I manage to whisper, my words still garbled, though they feel more coherent than before.
"Right here," Imani's voice cuts through the haze, and I hear the faintest sound of shuffling footsteps. His figure comes into view, his expression a mix of tiredness and determination. "Cherish, how are you feeling?"
"Thirsty," I croak. It's the only thing that makes sense. My lips feel cracked, and there's a dryness that makes it hard to think clearly.
"You've been under for a while," Imani says softly, sitting beside me now. I try to focus, to remember. But there's only fragments. The questions. The confusion. The sharp, searing pain in my head... It's all tangled, disjointed.
"Cherish," he says softly, his tone sharp with a quiet authority, "Can you move your fingers for me? Just wiggle them."
The request is simple enough, but it takes a moment for the message to register. My fingers feel foreign—like they belong to someone else—and the connection between thought and action is weak, sluggish. I focus, try to obey, but nothing happens at first. I feel the impulse, but my hand doesn't respond. It's as though the signals aren't reaching the right places.
"Miras?" I whisper, unsure why I'm even saying his name, but I need something familiar.
Miras is there instantly, his presence like a tether. His hand is on mine, warm, grounding.
"I'm here, Cherish," he reassures me, squeezing gently. His voice is soft but full of concern, and I lean into the sound of it.
"Cherish," Imani's voice is more insistent now. "Focus, just a little harder. Move your fingers for me."
I try again, this time pushing harder against the haze clouding my mind. My fingers twitch, just slightly, but it's enough to send a flicker of relief through my chest. Not much, but it's progress.
"Good," Imani says. "Now, can you make a fist?"
I nod, feeling the tension in my muscles, but when I attempt to curl my fingers, they don't cooperate. The strength isn't there. They barely bend, and the frustration rises. The absence of control is unsettling, leaving me unbalanced.
Miras's grip tightens on my hand. "It's okay, Cherish," he murmurs. "Take it slow. You're still waking up."
But Imani doesn't stop. His voice is steady, like he's doing his best to pull me back into the world. "Cherish, I need you to try. Can you move your hands more, try to make a fist?"
The weight of his words settles into me, and I feel a flicker of determination. My fingers twitch again, this time with more intention. Slowly, they curl into a loose fist, but it's more effort than it should be, more than I expect. Still, I'm grateful for the tiny victory.
"Good. That's good," Imani says. "We're testing your motor skills, seeing how your brain is responding. You're doing well."
My mind is still swimming, trying to grab onto the fragments of understanding, but the sounds around me start to soften. Miras is still holding my hand, his steady presence reminding me that I'm not alone, even as everything else blurs around me.
"Just breathe, Cherish," Miras says quietly. "You're doing fine."
"We're probably going to have to do this one more time, kid. Just try and relax until then."
I don't know if that's supposed to be a joke. As the darkness tugs at the edges of my mind, I feel a strange sense of relief. The pressure in my head, the overwhelming fog, it all starts to slip away. My thoughts become slower, drifting, like I'm sinking into a pool of cool, quiet water. I can still feel Miras' hand holding mine, warm and steady, but it feels distant now, as if it's fading into the background. The constant hum of the machines, the soft voices around me—they blur, becoming a muted soundtrack to my descent. The pain recedes, leaving a dull ache in its wake, and the confusion that clung to me for so long eases into nothingness. My chest loosens, my breath more even, as though I'm being gently rocked to sleep.
Miras' voice is still there, faint, but I can't make it out anymore. It's comforting, but I can't hold on to it. The darkness welcomes me fully now, enveloping me like a soft, quiet blanket, and I let it take me.
The first sensation I notice as I regain consciousness is the feeling of weight pressing down on me, like I'm being held in place by something unseen. My eyes flutter open, but they don't focus right away. The world around me feels hazy, like I'm seeing everything through a fogged window.
I try to lift my head, but it's too heavy. My body feels sluggish, disconnected, like it's not quite mine. My chest is tight, and there's a dull ache running through my skull.
"Cherish?" Imani's voice cuts through the haze, sharp with concern, though his tone is carefully controlled. "Can you hear me?"
I try to respond, but the words get stuck in my throat, a dry rasp that barely escapes. My mouth is parched, and the taste of the air is strange, metallic. I blink a few times, trying to clear the fog, trying to focus.
"Cherish," Imani repeats, closer now, and I feel the pressure of his hands on my arm. "I need you to focus. I need you to move your fingers for me."
I try, but the order feels heavy in my mind. There's no immediate response. My fingers twitch, but it's like they're far away, detached from my will. I can feel them, but the connection is faint, weak. It's like trying to reach across a vast distance and not being able to bridge the gap.
Imani watches me closely, his gaze unreadable, but I can feel his tension. "Cherish," he prompts again, his voice softer now, though the undertone of concern is unmistakable. "Just wiggle your fingers."
I focus harder. I know what he's asking. I know the task is simple, but the effort feels like I'm trying to move mountains. Finally, a small flicker, a slight movement, but it's not enough. The hesitation, the lack of strength—it's there, and it's unsettling.
I try again, harder this time, but it's like there's something missing, a disconnect that I can't place. My fingers move slightly, but they don't obey like they should.
"Not enough," Imani mutters under his breath, and I feel his frustration. "Cherish, I need you to concentrate. Can you try to make a fist?"
I try, but my fingers only curl halfway, and my hand doesn't obey me completely. The frustration builds, twisting in my chest, but I can't summon the strength. I can't push through the fog that still clings to my mind.
"I can't... I'm... sorry," I whisper, my voice weak and hoarse. I feel the tightness in my throat again, a knot forming there.
Imani exhales sharply, his frustration palpable. "You've been under a long time, Cherish. Your brain is trying to rewire itself. But this... this isn't what we need right now. You need to be able to move more. To respond better."
His voice falters just slightly, like he's losing the control he's always held so carefully in check. "You're supposed to be progressing, not slipping backward."
Miras, who's been quietly standing beside me, steps in closer. His hand tightens around mine, his touch warm and grounding, but I feel the tension in him. His eyes flicker to Imani, then back to me.
"You're pushing her too hard," Miras says, his voice low but insistent. "She's been through a lot."
Imani doesn't meet Miras' gaze, his attention still focused on me. "We don't have time for this, Miras. The longer she takes to recover, the harder it's going to be for us to fully remove the damage. We need to see progress, and we need it now."
But as I listen to them talk over me, I realize that I'm not sure what progress looks like anymore. My body, my mind—everything feels fractured, a puzzle missing pieces. I try to focus on the sound of Miras' voice, but the fog is still so thick, I can't hold on to anything for long enough to make sense of it.
"Cherish, focus," Imani says one more time, but there's an edge to his voice now. "Move your hand. Please."
I want to, I really do. I try again, pushing with all the willpower I can muster, but my hand doesn't respond. I can't make it obey. Not this time.
And the silence that follows is worse than the failure itself.
I feel lost.
"Cherish," he says, his tone firm, but gentle. "I need you to listen to me, okay?"
I try to nod, but it's difficult. My head feels heavy, and I'm not sure my body is listening.
"Just answer some questions. We need to test your memory. Okay?"
I focus on his voice, pushing through the haze, trying to catch up.
"Do you remember your name?"
The question seems simple enough, but the answer doesn't come immediately. I know the words, but they don't feel like they belong to me right now. There's a gap between the question and my mind, a moment where I can't seem to connect the two.
"Cherish..." I murmur, my voice hoarse and unsure. "Yes, I remember."
"Good," Imani says, though there's a slight hesitation. He's watching me closely now, and I can feel the weight of his gaze on me. "Now, tell me—who's with you right now?"
Miras' hand squeezes mine, a reminder that he's here. I try to picture him in my mind, but something about it doesn't quite fit. It's like I'm grasping for pieces of a puzzle that don't come together.
"Miras," I say, though it feels disconnected, like I'm saying the name from a distance.
"Good," Imani says again, but his voice is tighter now, less certain. "What happened to you? Do you remember?"
The question slices through the fog, and my heart stutters. I know I should know the answer. I should be able to recall what happened, to piece together the events, but everything is blurry.
"I… I don't know," I whisper, the words barely making it past my lips. "I can't… remember."
I hear a sharp intake of breath from Imani. He's still watching me, his face slightly tense, but trying to keep his calm. His fingers twitch against the tablet in his hands, and I feel a shift in the room.
"Think," he says, more forcefully this time. "What happened to you? Where were you?"
I try to concentrate, to pull something from the darkness that's clouding my mind, but it's like reaching into a void. There's nothing. Just empty space. My thoughts don't connect, don't link together.
"I… don't remember," I repeat, my voice shaking with the frustration I can't control. My heart beats faster, panic starting to rise in me, but I push it back. I try to force the memories to come, to pull them to the surface.
"Okay, okay," Imani says, his voice suddenly softer, though there's an undercurrent of worry. He leans in closer. "I need you to focus, Cherish. This is important. Do you remember—what did you do last week? Do you remember anything about last week?"
I close my eyes, trying to sift through the fog in my brain, but the harder I try, the further away it all feels. A week? Days? What is time even now? It's slipping away from me, like sand through my fingers.
"I… I don't know," I whisper again, my voice breaking.
Imani doesn't say anything at first, but the silence between us speaks volumes. His eyes flicker over to Miras, then back to me. The concern in his gaze is impossible to miss.
Miras' grip on my hand tightens, but I can't bring myself to look at him. I don't want him to see me like this. I don't want him to see how broken I feel inside.
Imani exhales slowly, his face drawn. "Cherish, this isn't just the anesthesia. This is more. You're not retaining information the way you should be. Something is wrong."
The words hit me like a blow to the chest, and I feel my stomach twist. Something is wrong. I can't remember things. I can't even remember basic things—who I am, where I've been, what happened to me. I'm slipping. And no matter how much I try to hold on, it feels like it's all just falling apart.
"You're going to need more time," Imani says, but it doesn't sound like reassurance. It sounds like a statement of fact. "We'll do more tests. But Cherish, I need you to understand—this might not fix itself right away."
I swallow hard, the lump in my throat thick and painful. "Will I remember?" I ask, my voice so small I almost don't recognize it.
Imani doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he looks at Miras, and I catch the flash of something in his eyes—something I can't quite read.
Finally, he speaks. "We can only hope."
The weight of Imani's words settles into the pit of my stomach, heavy and suffocating. "You have to go back under, Cherish," he says, his voice clinical, but there's a slight edge to it. "We're not done yet."
I can feel Miras' hand still tightly holding mine, his thumb brushing gently against my skin as if he's trying to reassure me. But it's not working. I feel cold. I feel trapped.
"Please…" My voice cracks, barely a whisper. "I can't. I can't go back under."
The thought of slipping back into that haze, losing myself again, terrifies me. The anesthesia had already taken so much from me—pieces of my memory, fragments of who I am. I can still feel the emptiness where they should be, the ache of trying to recall things that no longer make sense.
Imani looks at me with those professional, calculating eyes, but there's something softer there now, a thread of understanding. He doesn't want to do this any more than I want to go through it. But he doesn't give me a choice.
"Cherish," he says, leaning in slightly, his voice steady but firm. "The procedure isn't finished. We're trying to save you. This isn't just about the memories—it's about your brain healing. We need to finish the process so you can start recovering properly."
I want to scream. I want to push him away. I want to run, to hide, to do anything other than surrender to the cold, sterile void of whatever they're doing to me.
But Miras' grip on my hand tightens, and I turn my head toward him. His expression is unreadable, but I can see the way his jaw tightens, the tension in his body. He's holding it together for me, but I can feel the worry emanating from him.
"Cherish," he says, his voice low, but there's something in it that breaks through the panic. Something that makes me want to listen. "You have to trust him. We're doing this for you. For us."
I don't want to trust. Not when it feels like everything is slipping away from me. But Miras is here, and I can't shake the feeling that if I don't do this, I'll lose something else. Something I can't get back.
"I... I don't want to," I whisper, my chest tight with fear. "I don't want to lose myself again. I don't want to forget..."
Imani's face softens, just a fraction. "I know this is hard, Cherish. But this is the only way to fix it. I need you to trust me, okay? It won't be like before. You'll wake up. You'll remember."
I close my eyes for a moment, trying to gather what little strength I have left. I want to fight. I want to scream. But the reality of the situation presses in on me, and I know I have no choice.
I nod slowly, the motion almost imperceptible. "Okay," I manage to whisper. "Okay. Just... please... don't let me forget."
Imani steps closer, his hand hovering near the IV line. "I'm going to give you something to help you relax," he says. "You'll be asleep soon, but when you wake up again, we'll be almost done. Trust me."
I take a shaky breath and close my eyes. I don't know how much longer I can keep fighting this feeling, but I don't have a choice. I have to trust them. I have to trust Miras.
"Okay," I whisper again, even though my body feels like it's breaking apart inside. "Okay."
The darkness begins to pull me under once more.
Something is pulling me upward, but I don't want to go. The darkness is warm, thick, safe. There's no pain here, no weight pressing down on me, no thoughts. But something keeps yanking me back. A sound—no, a voice. Distant but sharp, cutting through the haze.
I try to open my eyes, but they're too heavy. My body feels like it's sinking, like I'm made of lead. My chest is tight, something pushing against my ribs with every breath. I realize I'm trying to breathe on my own again, and it hurts. The sensation crashes into me all at once—raw, deep pain radiating from my side, sharp and burning. I would cry out if I had the strength.
The voice comes again. Closer now.
"Cherish."
I know that voice. I know it.
Miras.
I want to reach for him, to let him know I hear him, but I can't even move my fingers. My body doesn't belong to me yet. My pulse is sluggish, my limbs distant. Everything is wrong.
I force my eyelids to part, just barely, and the light is blinding. My breath stutters as the brightness stabs into my skull, and I squeeze them shut again, swallowing against a wave of nausea.
The bed shifts. A hand—warm, solid—wraps around my wrist, grounding me. I focus on that. The warmth of his skin. The steady pressure of his fingers. I manage a small sound, barely more than a breath, but it's enough.
"I'm here," Miras murmurs. His voice is quieter now, like he's afraid to speak too loudly. "You're okay."
I don't feel okay. I feel like my body has been torn apart and put back together wrong.
"Hey, Cherish," another voice—gentle, careful. Seraphine. "You're okay. You're safe."
Safe. The word echoes strangely in my head. Safe means I should be able to move, to breathe without pain. But everything feels wrong.
There's a hand on my arm. I think it's Seraphine's. Imani is leaning over me, his brows furrowed, lips moving. I hear the words but can't hold onto them.
"—took longer than expected, but the procedure was successful."
Procedure. Surgery. Right. I remember that much.
I close my eyes again, trying to concentrate, but my head is full of static. Their voices fade in and out like a radio caught between stations.
"There were some complications, but we managed—"
"…kept your vitals stable the whole time, but you were under longer than we wanted."
"…shouldn't push yourself yet, your system's still recovering—"
It's too much. The words don't connect, just piling up like scattered puzzle pieces that don't fit together. I shake my head, or at least I think I do. My throat is dry, raw. When I try to speak, the only thing that comes out is a broken, hoarse sound.
Miras is still here. I can feel him close, the warmth of his presence at the edge of my awareness. That's the only thing that makes sense right now.
Seraphine's voice softens. "It's okay, you don't have to talk yet. Just rest."
I want to ask what happened, but I'm too tired to form the words. Too tired to hold onto anything except the pain and the distant, familiar warmth of Miras's hand still gripping mine.
The weight pressing down on me hasn't lifted. It clings to my limbs, my lungs, my skull. Every time I try to focus, reality shifts, slipping sideways before I can catch it. The room is too bright, the voices too sharp. The pain hasn't dulled. It's a steady, thrumming thing, an anchor keeping me tethered when all I want to do is drift away again.
"Cherish?"
Seraphine. I force my eyes open, though it takes too much effort. She's sitting beside me, her expression careful. Controlled. Imani stands behind her, arms crossed, looking like he's waiting for a fight.
Miras is here too, still holding my hand. I squeeze his fingers—at least I think I do. He tightens his grip in response, grounding me.
"There's something I need to tell you," Seraphine says. Her voice is gentle, but there's something in it that makes my stomach twist.
I try to answer, but all that comes out is a rasp. Imani is already moving, pressing a straw to my lips. Water slips down my throat, too cold, too sharp, but it helps.
Seraphine waits until I manage a slow, shuddering breath before she continues. "During the procedure, I found something in your brain."
The words don't make sense at first. My brain. I thought they were just—what? Fixing whatever the underground did to me? Pulling out whatever they left behind?
Seraphine hesitates. She's always careful with her words, but this time, I can feel the weight of them before she even says them.
"There was a device implanted near your brainstem."
Everything in me locks up.
No.
I don't realize I've stopped breathing until Miras shifts beside me, his grip on my hand tightening. I force air into my lungs, but it's shallow, too fast, not enough.
"It was sophisticated," Seraphine continues, her voice softer now. "Not just a tracker, not just a trigger. It was…" She exhales, shaking her head. "It was rewiring you."
Something deep in my gut twists so violently I feel sick.
"It wasn't fully activated," Imani says, his voice edged with something cold. "But if they had triggered it…" He doesn't finish.
He doesn't need to.
I know what he's saying. What he isn't saying. If they had triggered it, I wouldn't be me anymore.
Seraphine reaches out, hesitating before brushing a hand over my wrist. "I removed it," she says, like she's trying to reassure me. "It's gone, Cherish."
But the damage is already done.
Because now I know.
They were inside my head. Inside my head. And if they had flipped a switch, they could've turned me into whatever they wanted.
I feel Miras shift closer, like he knows I'm unraveling. Like he wants to say something, but the words won't fix this. Nothing will.
The thing is gone. But the ghost of it remains.
****
I don't know how long I lay there, staring at nothing, feeling the weight of Seraphine's words settle deep in my bones. The walls feel too close. My skin itches with something I can't scratch away. The thing is gone, but it still feels like it's there, pressing against the back of my skull, a phantom presence I can't shake.
Miras hasn't let go of my hand. I should focus on that, on the solid warmth of his palm against mine, but my fingers feel numb.
I try to swallow, but my throat is dry again. "How long?" I manage, voice hoarse and uneven.
Seraphine hesitates. "We're not sure."
"Guess."
She looks at Imani. He exhales sharply, running a hand over his jaw, "anywhere from the time Dr. Amar experimented with the cube too when the underground organization got to you. Could be weeks or a few days."
My stomach twists.
How many times did I think I was making my own choices? How many times were my thoughts… not mine?
Something sick and cold curls up in my chest.
"I need a minute." The words come out flat. Too quiet. But Seraphine nods like she understands. Miras hesitates, but I squeeze his hand—this time on purpose. I'll be okay.
I'm lying, but he lets go anyway.
They step out, leaving me in the too-bright silence of the medical room.
I press a shaking hand to my forehead. My skin is damp. Clammy. I don't know if I'm sweating or if it's just the leftover haze of the anesthesia, but it makes me feel wrong. Like I'm still not fully in my body.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
They took a piece of me.
No, they tried to.
They didn't win.
I focus on that. On the fact that I know now. That Seraphine got it out. That Imani isn't going to let them get anywhere near me again. I don't know who I am right now. I don't know what was me and what was them.
I hear the knock before the door creaks open. It's soft, hesitant, not like Imani's sharp raps or Seraphine's careful but clinical movements.
Aunt Nayley steps in, her expression caught between relief and something sadder.
"Hey, baby," she murmurs, closing the door behind her.
I don't sit up. I can't—everything still aches, my body still sluggish from the aftermath of surgery—but I try to make it look like I'm here instead of floating somewhere outside of myself.
She comes to my bedside, smoothing a hand over my hair. It's gentle, but I still flinch. I don't mean to.
Her eyes soften. "You don't have to talk, but I wanted to see you. See with my own eyes that you're okay."
I let out something that's not quite a laugh. It's a weak breath, a sound that barely counts. "Okay is a stretch."
She sighs, settling into the chair beside my bed. "You're alive. That counts for something."
Does it?
I don't mean to say it out loud, but I must make a face because she tilts her head, studying me like she can read my mind.
"Something's still sitting heavy on you," she says. Not a question. Just fact.
I swallow, shifting my gaze to the ceiling. My throat is still raw, but the words claw their way up anyway. "They put something in my brain." The moment I say it, my stomach turns.
Nayley doesn't interrupt. Just waits.
I force myself to keep going. "It was rewiring me. Not just to track me. To change me. And I—" My fingers curl into the blanket. "I didn't even know."
I blink hard, staring at a crack in the ceiling. If I look at her, I'll break.
"It was inside me. For days or weeks. And if they had activated it…" My voice wavers. "I wouldn't have been me anymore."
The words settle between us, heavy and unshaken. I don't expect her to have anything to say that could make it better. There isn't anything.
But after a moment, she exhales, low and steady. "When I was your age, someone tried to take my mind, too."
That makes me look at her. Her face is unreadable, but her fingers twitch where they rest on her lap.
She doesn't wait for me to ask. She just keeps going, voice quiet.
"I was seventeen. Had a run-in with people who thought they could make me into what they wanted." Her mouth pulls tight. "They didn't use tech like they did on you—a roofie. It was… different. But the goal was the same. They wanted to control me."
A chill runs through me. I can't picture it—Aunt Nayley, the unshakable force of a five foot two woman who has always been herself no matter what the world threw at her. I can't imagine someone taking that from her.
"What happened?" My voice is hoarse.
She huffs, a dry sound. "I fought it. It took time. Took help. But I made sure they didn't win." She shifts, meeting my gaze. "And I'm still me."
I swallow, hard. "How do you know?"
She leans in slightly, resting her hand over mine. "Because I decide who I am. Not them."
The words sink into me, settling into the places still raw and bleeding.
I'm still me.
I have to be.
She gives my hand a squeeze, then sits back. "It doesn't go away overnight. That feeling that something was taken from you. That maybe you aren't all your own anymore." She exhales. "But you are. Every choice you make going forward? Yours. They can't take that from you."
Aunt Nayley stays for a while, her presence steady, like an anchor keeping me from drifting too far into my own head. She doesn't push me to talk, doesn't try to fix things with empty reassurances. She just stays.
And somehow, that helps.
But eventually, she gives my hand one last squeeze, stands, and says, "You need rest, baby. I'll be back later."
I don't argue. I just nod, watching her go.
The door clicks shut behind her, and suddenly, the room feels too quiet again. Too empty.
I should sleep. My body is screaming for it, but my mind won't settle. My skin still itches, my ribs ache with every breath, and my head—my head—won't stop feeling like there's something still lurking there. A ghost of what was inside me.
I shift under the blanket, trying to get comfortable, but my body is stiff, muscles sore from being unconscious for so long. I clench and unclench my right hand, feeling the familiar ache of nerve damage.
The scars from the Cube. The implant from the underground.
It's like my body doesn't belong to me anymore.
I press my palm against my forehead, trying to breathe through it. Aunt Nayley's words are still there, warm in the back of my mind, but they don't chase away the exhaustion pressing down on me.
I don't know how long I lay there, caught between restless wakefulness and the edge of sleep. But then the door opens again, and I expect it to be Seraphine or Imani checking in on me.
It's Miras.
He doesn't say anything at first, just steps inside and closes the door behind him. His eyes flick over me like he's assessing how bad off I am.
"I thought you were resting," he says finally.
"Trying," I rasp. "Not working."
He exhales through his nose, then crosses the room, dropping into the chair beside my bed. "Yeah," he mutters. "Figured."
He leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, like he's waiting for me to say something. Maybe waiting to see if I'll let him in.
I hesitate.
Then, before I can stop myself, I whisper, "It still feels like it's there."
His head snaps up. "The implant?"
I nod, throat tight. "I know it's gone. Seraphine said so. But my head still—it still feels wrong. Like I can't tell what's me and what's just…" I trail off, unable to finish.
Miras is quiet for a moment, his brows drawn together, jaw tight. Then, slowly, he reaches out. His fingers brush against mine, waiting for permission.
I don't pull away.
He takes my hand, his grip firm but careful. Like he's reminding me what's real.
"You're still you, Cherish," he says, voice low but steady. "They didn't win."
I let out a shaky breath. "I don't feel like me."
His thumb brushes over my knuckles. "Then we'll figure out how to get you back."
We.
Not just me. Not just some fight I have to claw my way through alone.
I squeeze his hand. It's the only response I can manage.
But he seems to understand.
Miras must think I'm asleep. His hand is still wrapped around mine, warm and steady, but his breathing has evened out, slow and deep. I should rest too, but my mind won't stop circling back to everything that's happened. The implant. The surgery. The fact that I still don't feel like I fit inside my own skin.
At least Miras is here.
I let my eyes close, focusing on the sound of his breath, on the steady weight of his presence beside me. I'm not sure how long I hover between wakefulness and sleep, but then—
Crash.
A distant thud echoes down the hall, followed by the unmistakable sound of something metal hitting the floor.
Then, a shout. "You are NOT supposed to be up yet!"
Imani.
Another voice follows—hoarse but insistent. "Get out of my way, Imani."
My stomach drops. My eyes snap open.
No way.