They were already inside the aircraft by the time Mira became aware of where she was.
She could not recall how they had crossed the distance from the shore, could not remember walking, boarding, or even sitting down.
The moment after his arms had closed around her, everything blurred into a strange, muted haze, as though her body had been moving while her mind lagged somewhere behind.
Now, she sat across from him, the cabin quiet except for the low hum of the engines, the faint vibration beneath her feet, and the weight of his presence pressing into the space between them. Cassian was seated opposite her, one arm resting along the side, his posture composed, his gaze fixed forward rather than on her.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken, pressing into the narrow space of the cabin until it felt almost tangible, as though it had weight and intention of its own.
Mira shifted slightly in her seat, her hands resting in her lap, her posture composed even though every part of her felt tightly wound, bracing for something she could not yet name.
"Can we talk?"
The words were simple, but the weight behind them was not.
Silence followed, stretching long enough that Mira wondered if he would take it back, if he would retreat into himself again the way he often did when things grew too complicated to control.
Then he spoke.
"I'm sorry for my reaction that day," Cassian said quietly. "And for what happened at the hospital."
Mira blinked.
She had not expected that.
Not from him.
He continued before she could interrupt, his tone steady, not defensive, not cold. "My reaction was extreme. I should have asked you first. You are not someone who acts without a reason."
Something in her chest tightened.
He wasn't excusing himself.
He was explaining.
And that made all the difference.
Mira looked at him, surprised by how much it mattered to her that he wanted to understand rather than command. That he wanted her side.
"You're right," she said after a moment. "I think I did act on impulse that day. And you had every right to be mad."
His eyes remained on her, attentive, grounded, telling her without words that he was listening.
So she spoke.
"That moment brought something back for me," she said slowly. "From two years ago. The accident."
Her voice did not shake, but it carried weight.
"I was in a situation where I couldn't help. And I remember how helpless I felt. Like I couldn't protect the people I loved. I couldn't accept that I ran away when they needed me the most."
Her gaze dropped to her hands, fingers loosely folded together, as if she were seeing them not as they were now, but as they had been then—unresponsive, unreliable, foreign.
"I remember the helplessness. If only I hadn't been poisoned. If only my arms and legs hadn't failed me. Maybe the result would've been different. Maybe… I would still have them."
Cassian did not move.
Did not interrupt.
She swallowed and continued.
"I ran," she said quietly.
"I ran like crazy through that forest, not even thinking, not even looking back, just moving because my body wouldn't do anything else. There were gunshots—loud, sharp, too close—and explosions that shook the ground beneath my feet, but I didn't stop. Everything was chaos, noise and smoke and shouting, and all I could do was keep moving farther and farther away from them."
Her breathing grew uneven, but she refused to stop.
She lifted her gaze to his.
"I knew what I was doing," she said. "I knew I was leaving them behind."
The admission settled heavily in the space between them.
"I knew I was leaving them behind. And that was the worst part. Every step felt wrong, but I kept taking it anyway. I hated myself for it."
Her voice thinned.
"I still do."
Silence pressed in around the memory.
"So when I saw that boy, my body moved before my mind had a chance to argue.," she said.
"I didn't stop to measure the danger or consider the consequences. I just moved, because something inside me recognized that moment before I could reason with it. Maybe, somewhere deep inside, I was imagining that I had turned back—that I had done what I couldn't do before."
Her fingers curled slightly, as if gripping a memory.
"Maybe I was trying to rewrite it," she continued quietly. "Trying to prove to myself that I wasn't the person who ran, that I could still be the one who stayed, who chose to protect instead of flee. Maybe saving him felt like saving them. Like giving myself one chance to do it right."
Her fingers curled into her palms.
"Maybe if I had been faster, I could have saved a life," she said, her voice quieter now, heavier. "The same way I could have saved them that night. If I had moved sooner, if I hadn't hesitated, if my body hadn't failed me—maybe the ending would have been different."
She swallowed, forcing the words out.
"I keep thinking about that. About how one second can change everything. About how being late, even by a moment, can cost someone their future. I don't know if it's true, but it feels true to me. It feels like something I should have been able to stop."
She looked up at him.
"I didn't think it was dangerous," she said quietly. "I didn't stop to calculate what could happen, didn't pause to imagine the worst. It never crossed my mind that it could cost me my life, because in that moment, none of that mattered. All I could see was him—small, terrified, standing there in the middle of everything."
Her voice softened.
"When I realized he was unharmed… when I saw that he was okay…" Her breath trembled. "I felt this overwhelming sense of relief, like something heavy had finally lifted off my chest. For a moment, it felt like I had fixed something. Like I had finally done what I couldn't do before."
Her gaze dropped to her hands.
"And I didn't care what it had cost me."
Her breath shuddered.
"I didn't want to worry you," she added more quietly. "Or maybe I just didn't know how to face you with it. I wasn't thinking clearly. I thought I could handle it alone."
She exhaled slowly.
"That was my mistake."
Cassian's jaw tightened as she finished, but his voice, when it came, was steady.
"Survival isn't betrayal," he said. "And because you were alive, you were able to stand in front of the boy that day".
The engines hummed steadily around them, the world moving forward without pause.
And for the first time since that night in the forest, Mira allowed herself to breathe without punishment.