Miras moves in for a feint-I don't fall for it. Instead, I shift my weight, sidestepping his real attack before he can fully commit. He barely has time to register his mistake before I drive my elbow into his ribs, using his own momentum to send him sprawling onto the mat.
He groans, rolling onto his back. I rest my hands on my hips, grinning down at him. "Point goes to me. Again."
Miras exhales sharply. "You're way too smug about this."
"Maybe if you actually landed a hit, I wouldn't be."
From the sidelines, Imani lets out a slow, exaggerated whistle. "Damn, Miras, you getting your ass handed to you like this before a mission? Should I be worried?"
Miras glares, but I can see the flicker of something grudging in his eyes-respect, maybe, or the barest hint of amusement. "I'm letting her win."
"Sure," I say, offering him a hand. He takes it, but I don't miss how he puts in just a little more force than necessary when he pulls himself up.
Before we can go again, he gestures to the bench. "Your turn."
I groan. "I hate this part."
Miras retrieves my notebook and flips it open, scanning the pages like he's reviewing a mission briefing. "You'll hate failing midterms even more."
Imani snorts. "He says that like you'd actually let yourself fail anything."
Miras ignores him. "Newton's third law."
I press my lips together. "The one about equal and opposite reactions."
He waits. I sigh. "Fine. Newton's third law states that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction."
He nods approvingly. "Good. Now-"
Imani groans loudly. "Can we go back to the part where Cherish kicks your ass? That was way more entertaining."
I smirk. "Oh, don't worry. We're not done yet." I grin and step back onto the mat, already settling into position. Miras shakes out his arms, rolling his shoulders like that's going to stop me from knocking him down again. I see the shift in his stance, though-he's adjusting. Adapting. He's not making the same mistakes twice.
Good. I like a challenge.
This time, he doesn't give me an easy opening. His movements are sharper, more controlled, forcing me to work for every counter. He's still slower than me, still a beat behind in every exchange, but he's making me think. We trade blows-punch, block, step back, feint-until I catch the flicker of his weight shifting too far forward.
There.
I dart in, using his own force against him, twisting his arm to send him crashing toward the mat. Except this time, he's ready for it. He pivots at the last second, bracing himself and using the momentum to yank me with him. I land hard, twisting just in time to avoid taking the full impact.
For half a second, we're locked in a dead heat, both of us trying to pin the other. Miras braces over me, forearm pressing against my shoulder, his breath controlled but tight.
"Not bad," I say, smirking up at him.
His eyes flick over my face like he's trying to figure out if I'm stalling. "You're going easy on me."
I grin. "Maybe."
I use his hesitation against him, hooking my leg around his and flipping us over. Before he can recover, I pin him completely, locking his arm and pressing my knee against his ribs.
Miras lets out a frustrated breath. "Okay," he says. "Now you're just showing off."
"Yeah, well," I say, leaning in just enough to make my point. "I like winning."
From the sidelines, Imani bursts out laughing. "Miras, buddy, this is getting embarrassing."
Miras glares at him. "Do you want to get in here?"
"Absolutely not," Imani says, still grinning. "I'm happy right here, watching you get humiliated."
Miras doesn't even dignify him with a response. "Define entropy."
I sigh. "Entropy is the measure of disorder in a system."
Miras nods approvingly. "See? You're learning."
I scowl. "I liked this better when I was throwing you on the mat."
Imani snickers. "Same."
Before Miras can hit me with another question, the door to the training room swings open, and my dad steps inside. His presence is like a cold wind cutting through the room, instantly shifting the mood.
Miras straightens, all business. Imani slouches even more, like he's compensating. I just sigh, wiping sweat from my forehead as I turn to face my father.
He doesn't waste time. "The mission details have changed."
Miras stiffens beside me. "How?"
Dad walks further into the room, his eyes scanning over the three of us before settling on Miras. "The target's movements were unpredictable. We have confirmation they're heading east sooner than expected. You'll need to mobilize within the next forty-eight hours."
Miras absorbs the information like it's a new assignment being stamped onto his file. His expression doesn't change, but I see the shift in his posture-tighter, more alert. He's already running calculations in his head.
Imani, however, throws up his hands. "Unbelievable. You really came in here and killed my entertainment."
Dad gives him a blank look. "I wasn't aware that was a priority."
"It should be," Imani mutters.
I shake my head. "So, what does this mean for Miras's prep?"
Dad glances at me. "It means training time is over. Mostly because your guys' midterm starts in twenty minutes."
I freeze.
Miras tenses.
Imani nearly falls off the bench from laughing.
"Oh my God," I groan, scrubbing a hand down my face. "You're joking."
Dad raises an eyebrow. "Do I look like I'm joking?"
Imani wipes at his eyes, still grinning. "This is the best thing that's ever happened to me."
Miras has already grabbed my notebook, flipping frantically through the pages. "You didn't tell me it was today."
"I thought it was tomorrow!" I shout, grabbing at my hair. "Why didn't anyone remind me?!"
Dad looks unimpressed. "I assumed you'd keep track of your own schedule."
"That was your first mistake," Imani says.
Miras shoves the notebook into my hands. "We need to go. Now."
I frantically try to scan my notes, but my brain is still stuck in fight mode, not exam mode. Imani claps me on the shoulder, looking way too entertained.
"Good luck, champ," he says. "If you fail, at least you still have your fists."
Dad sighs. "Just go."
Miras and I bolt.
Miras and I practically sprint down the hallway, dodging staff and security personnel as we make a beeline for the lockers. We skid to a stop in front of them, both of us panting, both of us very aware that we have less than twenty minutes to get changed, get to the car, and get to the exam.
"This is your fault," I hiss as I yank open my locker.
"My fault?" Miras shoots back, already unzipping his training jacket. "You're the one who thought it was tomorrow."
"You're the one who quizzed me! Why didn't you check the damn schedule?"
"I thought you knew!"
We both start pulling on our uniforms at the same time, and immediately, it's a disaster.
The space is too small, and we keep bumping into each other as we yank off our training gear. I grab my uniform shirt and pull it over my head, only to elbow Miras in the ribs as he reaches for his tie.
"Ow-"
"Move over, you're in my way!"
"There's nowhere to move to!"
He tries to shift to the side, but I'm already leaning down to grab my shoes, and somehow, we both end up half-collapsing into the lockers. My shoulder slams into his back. His elbow jabs into my ribs. It's a mess of tangled arms, rushed movements, and the frustrating heat of being in too close of a space with him, of all people.
By the time we're fully dressed, we're both flustered. Miras's tie is crooked, my shirt is buttoned one button off, and we're glaring at each other like this is war.
"I'm driving," I say, pointing at him as I fix my buttons.
Miras snorts, tightening his tie. "Absolutely not."
"Absolutely yes."
"You just spent the last hour kicking my ass, you're too amped up-"
"I'm fine."
"You're not driving."
I shove my arms into my blazer and step forward, narrowing my eyes. "What, you think I'm bad at driving?"
He doesn't answer immediately, and that's my first clue. My jaw drops. "You do!"
Miras pinches the bridge of his nose. "I think you're reckless-"
"That is so unfair-"
"You literally ran a red light last time-"
"It was yellow!"
"Barely!"
We both turn as we hear footsteps, and Imani rounds the corner, eating an energy bar like he doesn't have a single care in the world. He stops short when he sees us, tilting his head.
"Are you two seriously arguing about who gets to drive?"
"Yes," Miras and I snap at the same time.
Imani sighs, like this is the most exhausting thing he's ever witnessed. "You both suck. I'm driving."
Miras and I immediately shift, standing shoulder to shoulder. "No, you're not," we say in unison.
Imani shrugs. "Then figure it out fast, because you've got fifteen minutes, and traffic's a bitch."
Miras and I stare each other down.
I could let him drive. I could let this go.
But I really, really don't want to.
Miras and I are still locked in a silent battle of wills when Imani, completely unfazed, jingles the keys in front of our faces.
Miras folds his arms. "We're doomed."
Imani grins, already heading for the door. "Keep talking, and I will stop for coffee on the way."
We don't have a choice. The exam clock is ticking, and if we argue any longer, we won't even make it to school. Miras lets out a slow, frustrated breath before shoving his hands in his pockets and stalking after Imani. I glare at the back of his head before following.
The car ride is awful.
Imani has never met a speed limit he respected. He weaves through traffic like he's trying to make a point, one hand on the wheel, the other messing with the radio.
"Eyes on the road," Miras grits out as we narrowly avoid clipping a curb.
"Oh, relax," Imani says, completely unbothered. "I know what I'm doing."
We do make it to school-barely. Imani takes a turn into the parking lot at entirely the wrong angle, screeching to a stop with three minutes to spare.
Miras and I scramble out of the car, straightening our uniforms, barely sparing Imani a glance as we slam the doors behind us.
"You're welcome!" he calls after us.
We ignore him.
The test stared up at me, crisp and unrelenting, daring me to mess up. I took a deep breath, rolled my shoulders, and picked up my pencil.
Beside me, Miras had the look of a man walking into certain death. He gripped his pencil like it might explode in his hand, and I could already see the beginnings of an academic breakdown brewing behind his eyes.
"Begin," the professor announced.
Papers shuffled, and a chorus of frantic scribbling filled the room.
I scanned the first few questions. Multiple choice-good.
What was the primary cause of the French Revolution?
I almost laughed. We had literally gone over this while throwing punches. My pencil flew across the paper: B) Economic crisis and social inequality.
A few desks away, Miras let out a soft, suffering sigh.
I didn't look at him. If I did, I'd start laughing, and the last thing I needed was to get kicked out of the room because Miras was experiencing a slow, painful death by midterm.
I kept moving through the questions, my brain working fast. I could still feel the dull ache in my muscles from sparring earlier, but the adrenaline kept me sharp.
Midway through the test, I heard a soft thunk.
I flicked a glance at Miras. He had lightly banged his forehead against the desk, face down, pencil frozen in his hand.
I nudged his foot under the desk. Stop being dramatic.
He slowly turned his head to glare at me, eyes full of betrayal. Then, with the weariness of a man much older than seventeen, he forced himself back upright and kept writing.
I bit back a smile and returned to my test.
The essay questions were the worst. I gritted my teeth as I scribbled paragraph after paragraph about Cold War diplomacy, feeling the seconds slipping away.
Five minutes left.
Miras muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse word.
Four minutes.
I sped through my last answer, flipping back to check my work.
Three minutes.
Miras aggressively erased something, looking like he wanted to throw his entire test in the trash.
Two minutes.
I fixed a stupid mistake and dropped my pencil, stretching my fingers.
One minute.
"Pencils down," the professor called.
Miras slumped back in his chair like he had just survived an actual war.
"That was brutal," he muttered.
I exhaled, rolling out my stiff fingers. "It wasn't that bad."
He gave me an incredulous look. "Cherish, my soul left my body halfway through."
I shrugged. "At least you finished, right?"
Miras groaned. "Yeah. Doesn't mean I want to know my score."
"Yeah, well, now we have something worse to deal with." I glanced at him. "You have less than forty-eight hours before your mission."
Miras exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to shake off the tension. "I know."
I knew the second we walked out of the school building that I wasn't going back today.
Miras must've known it too because he didn't question it when I led the way toward my house instead of heading back inside for our next exam. He just followed, his silence heavy with unspoken thoughts.
I crossed my arms. "You are going to die if you go in alone."
"You're not coming." His voice is low, controlled, but I can see the edge underneath. "You're not ready for this, Cherish."
I scoff, folding my arms. "That's exactly what I thought you were going to say. You don't get to decide that."
"I do get to decide, because if you come, my head's on the chopping block." He steps closer, his voice dropping even lower, like he's trying to drill the point into me. "Your father will kill me if I let you tag along. Do you get that?"
I take a step forward, not backing down. "I don't trust you to do this alone."
Miras stares at me for a long moment, then shakes his head like he's so tired of this argument. "You don't get it, do you? This is dangerous. You're not a soldier, Cherish. You've barely healed, and you're still-"
I cut him off, voice sharp. "I'm fine." I swallow hard, but I'm not backing down. "I'm not letting you go on this mission alone, Miras. I don't care what my dad says. I'm in this whether you like it or not."
His eyes darken, a storm brewing. "Then you're making this harder than it has to be." He turns away, walking a few paces, muttering under his breath. "I'll protect you. But I won't let you drag me into your mess. I won't let you-"
"You don't get to make that call!" I snap, catching up to him and spinning him around. "I don't care how much you think you can protect me, this isn't your mission. This is our mission."
For a moment, he doesn't speak, just stands there, tension hanging thick between us. Then he lets out a breath, low and defeated. "You're impossible."
"You're welcome," I say, offering a small, defiant smile.
He shakes his head, "I don't know how I ended up here."
******
I stand by the car, arms crossed over my chest, staring at Miras with a look that could freeze fire. He's already sitting in the driver's seat, looking way too smug for someone who had to practically beg me to let him drive.
"Let's go, Cherish," he says, his voice casual, almost too casual.
I narrow my eyes. "You're driving. But I'm in charge of the directions."
"Fine," he grins, flipping the keys in his hands. "I'll follow your directions, promise."
I hesitate for a second, then slide into the passenger seat, the air between us crackling with the usual tension.
We pass through a few familiar streets, and I give him the first turn. He doesn't question it. But then, a few blocks later, something's off. He doesn't follow the next set of directions.
I glance at him, frowning. "Miras, what the hell are you doing?"
"Taking a detour," he says, a little too nonchalantly.
My stomach twists. "We don't have time for this, Miras."
He doesn't answer me, just keeps driving, his eyes focused ahead as the neighborhood shifts. The houses grow closer together.
I could slap him right now. I should. But my hands are clenched into fists at my sides, and the last thing I want is to give him any reason to feel like he's won some sort of battle.
"I can't believe you're doing this," I mutter under my breath.
"Relax, Cherish," he says, glancing at me, his smile widening.
I don't say anything. I can't. I don't want to hear it.
Miras doesn't even give me a chance to protest as he practically drags me up the stairs of the rundown apartment building. Each step feels like it's getting us further from the mission, from our goal.
"Miras," I grumble, my voice tight. "We're wasting time. The mission is in-what-two days?"
He doesn't respond, just gives me that annoying half-smile that says it's all under control. Yeah, right. I still have the same I'm going to kill you look on my face when the door opens, and I'm left starring at a short, curly haired boy with a family size bag of popcorn.
"Oh my god!" the boy exclaims, his voice an octave higher than usual as his eyes practically pop out of his skull when he sees me standing there. "Cherish Battle! In my doorway. In the flesh. What-" He looks from Miras to me and back to Miras again, as if trying to confirm he's not hallucinating. "This is real, right? This is really happening?"
"Yeah it's real," I say bitterly. "You've never seen a girl before?"
He sputters, hands raised in surrender. "No! It's not that! It's just-you-you're Cherish Battle! You know, the Cherish Battle? You're-wow, okay, okay. I need a minute to process this."
I glance over at Miras, who's leaning casually against the doorframe with that smirk of his. Of course, he finds all this hilarious.
"Dewey, chill," Miras says, a little amused at his friend's reaction. "I told you I worked for her dad."
Ah, so this was the infamous Dewey.
"I just thought you had gone on some weird acid trip." Dewey looks like he's trying to recover from the shock, but it's pretty clear he's still struggling to process the fact that I'm standing in front of him. "I mean, I guess I thought you were more... mythical?" he says, eyes wide and slightly embarrassed now.
"Mythical?" I repeat, raising an eyebrow. "You've got some wild ideas, Dewey."
"Yeah, well, I wasn't expecting you to just show up like this," Dewey mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. "I figured you'd be, I don't know... a little more intimidating in person?"
"Really? Because I'm standing here right now," I snap, the sarcasm thick in my voice. "So clearly I'm not as terrifying as you thought."
Dewey chuckles nervously, but then his excitement seems to come flooding back. "No, no! I didn't mean it like that! It's just... Wow, Cherish Battle. You're a legend!"
Miras gives him a look, shaking his head. "Alright, alright, we get it. Can we get to the point? We're kind of on a tight schedule."
"Right, right." Dewey snaps back into focus and steps aside, gesturing for us to come in. "Come on in. I've got everything you need. Just... wow. I still can't believe you're here."
I glance at Miras, who's smirking as always. He must be getting a kick out of this.
"I can't believe you didn't warn me about this," I mutter, under my breath.
He shrugs casually. "I didn't know Dewey was gonna lose his mind either."
"Well, he's not exactly hiding it, is he?"
As Dewey begins rummaging around his cluttered living room, pulling out a bunch of random tech gadgets, I can't help but feel that simmering frustration bubble up again. I glance at Miras, who's casually lounging on the worn-out couch, watching Dewey work like it's just another day. I lean against the wall, crossing my arms tightly. "So, you're really going to involve him in this?" I ask, my voice low and tight with the edge of a warning.
Miras doesn't look at me right away. He's busy eyeing Dewey as if the whole thing is totally normal. "What's wrong with that?" he asks casually, still not catching on.
"What's wrong?" I repeat, stepping closer, keeping my voice steady but stern. "Miras, we're talking about a high-stakes mission here. You don't drag him into this. You don't involve someone who's... this unprepared. Dewey's not even-"
"Not even what?" Miras interrupts, his tone suddenly sharp. His eyes flick to mine, the smirk gone. There's something hard in his gaze now, like he's daring me to challenge him.
I exhale slowly, trying to keep my cool. "He's not trained. He's not ready for this. You're putting him at risk for... what? Some kind of edge on the tech side?"
There's a flash of something in Miras's eyes-a mixture of guilt and defiance-and for a second, I wonder if I've said something I shouldn't have. But he doesn't back down. Instead, he stands up, his jaw tight. "Dewey might not be trained, but he's smarter than half the people I know. And we need him. Don't underestimate him, Cherish."
I bite my lip, my hands clenching at my sides. I don't like this. Not one bit. "If anything happens to him, Miras-"
"I won't let anything happen to him," he cuts me off, but his words are too quick, too defensive. It only makes me more uneasy.
"Dewey has skills when it comes to technology," Miras continues, his tone casual, but there's a hint of something more serious behind his words. "He might have some information on this thing we're searching for."
"Thing, what thing? I thought we were searching for some guy."
"The guy is connected to the thing."
"And you're just telling me this now!"
Miras looks away, clearly not enjoying the way this conversation is going. "I didn't have all the pieces, alright? It's not like I had the full picture from the start."
"Aha!" Dewey's silhouette pops up from the corner of the room. "Found it."
********
The apartment is cramped, cluttered with an assortment of gadgets, half-finished projects, and discarded coffee cups. It smells faintly of burnt wires and takeout, and I can feel the weight of the evening pressing down on me as I slump back on the couch, arms crossed, watching Dewey and Miras work.
It's quiet except for the occasional click of Dewey's keyboard, the hum of monitors, and the sound of Miras pacing. They've been at it for hours, heads buried in their screens, muttering to each other about encryption, code.
This is last time I let Miras fucking drive. At this point, I hoped my father would find me and drag be back to the tower.
I glance over at Miras, who's scribbling something down on a piece of paper, frowning at it like it holds the key to everything. I don't get it.
I don't get him.
"Ok, I'm starving," Miras says as his pencil drops to the table. "I need food dude, I can't think on an empty stomach."
"I could definitely use some brain power food," Dewey says, rubbing his temples. "We can order take out, my parents are gone for the weekend and the food we have in the fridge is a little sketchy."
Without missing a beat Miras goes, "Cherie, what do you want for dinner."
I freeze.
Dewey bursts out laughing at my expression. "Oh my god, you actually call her that?" he says, eyes wide with amusement. "Like, seriously?"
"It's short for Cherish!" Miras's voice cracks, destroying any chance he had at being serious.
"Uh-huh, sure."
I push myself up from my spot, walking away to a room---any other room. "Get me a large syringe of potassium chloride."
The boxes of pizza are scattered across the coffee table, the greasy aroma of pepperoni and cheese filling the cramped space as Dewey and Miras continue to pick at their dinner. I sit back, nursing my third slice, but the weight of the night is starting to drag on me, and I'm having a hard time focusing on anything.
After hours of research, I can feel my patience wearing thin. The longer we stay here, the more unsettled I feel. The thought of spending even one more minute in Dewey's apartment, trying to piece together something that might not even work, is giving me a headache.
Miras leans back on the couch, stretching out his arms lazily. "We're not getting much more done tonight. It's late, and I don't think we're gonna crack this before tomorrow, anyway."
I glance at the clock. It's already well past midnight. I know we need to rest, but I'm not exactly thrilled with his next suggestion.
Miras looks at Dewey, then back at me, a glint of something mischievous in his eyes. "How about we crash here tonight? We've already wasted half the night, might as well stay and get some sleep. Besides, Dewey's got a couch we can use."
I freeze. "What?"
Miras is already halfway to his feet, grabbing his jacket and slinging it over his shoulder like it's the most normal thing in the world.
"Stay here," he repeats, totally unfazed. "It'll save us time tomorrow. We can pick back up first thing in the morning."
"Where are you going?"
"To get the bags from the car."
I shoot him a glare, but he's already heading for the door, his footsteps steady and confident.
I can't believe I'm missing my midterms over this.
I hear Dewey's voice behind me, and I turn to see him already gathering pillows and blankets like he's prepared for a sleepover. "Hey, if you want, I can put on a movie or something to make this a little more... comfortable?"
"No movies," I snap, finally turning to face him. "I just want to get through tomorrow. The sooner this mission is over, the better."
The movie starts, some low-budget thriller that Dewey swears is "a classic" but feels more like a fever dream. I can feel the strain in my neck from where I'm sitting stiffly on the couch, trying to ignore the inevitable awkwardness of being trapped in a place I'd rather not be.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling of Dewey's cramped apartment, the hum of the movie still blaring in the background as my mind races in a thousand directions. Miras and Dewey are both asleep-well, as much as they can be, sprawled out on the couch like it's a regular night. Dewey's snoring softly, his face half-buried in a pillow, while Miras has his arms folded behind his head, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths.
The car's keys are still on the counter where Miras left them earlier, and I grab them with a swift motion, slipping them into my pocket before I even realize what I'm doing. I know what I'm about to do is reckless. I know Miras is going to figure out I'm gone right away. But at this point, I don't care. I need to finish this. I need to be the one to take control, no one else.
The engine roars to life as I slide into the driver's seat, my fingers gripping the wheel tight as I pull out of the parking lot. The tires screech for a moment as I shift into gear, but then it's just me and the open road.
The car rumbles beneath me as I drive, the city lights blurring in my peripheral vision. My knuckles are white from how hard I'm gripping the wheel, but it's the only thing keeping me grounded right now. I have to finish this.
I can't help the bitterness that wells up in my chest, though. Miras. That damn smirk of his, like he knows everything. Like I need him to finish this for me. Every time he drags me into something, it's the same. He's the one with the plan, the one with the strategy. And I'm the one who always ends up cleaning up the mess.
It's always the same. I always have to finish the mission.
I shake my head, a sharp laugh escaping me, though it sounds hollow. "Always me. Always."
I glance in the rearview mirror, half-expecting to see his headlights behind me, but I keep going. I know he'll come after me, but I'm done letting him call the shots. I'll finish this one myself-just like I always do.
It's never been his mission, it's always been mine.
With a final glance at the road ahead, I push the pedal down, the engine roaring louder in my ears. Whatever's waiting for me at the end of this, I'll handle it. Just like always.