*Trigger warnings* assault, hospital, surgery, mass destruction.
This is a nightmare.
Not the kind I wake up from gasping—no, those end. This is ongoing, stretching out every second, twisting the world into something cold and unbearable.
Because Miras is in the hospital.
Because someone sent me a picture of him, broken.
Because I am standing in the middle of a fucking hospital in a red ballgown, arguing with a nurse who thinks she is my biggest problem.
"I'm sorry, miss," she says for the third time, voice calm in a way that makes me want to tear something apart. "But unless you're family, I can't let you in."
I stare at her. What.
I blink once. Then again. Then, slowly, I say, "I am literally the reason he has a security detail, and you're telling me I can't see him?"
The nurse, to her credit, doesn't flinch. "Hospital policy."
I inhale sharply, nails biting into my palms. My heart is still slamming against my ribs, my brain still stuck on the image—the one someone sent me—of Miras unconscious on the floor, his face a bloody mess.
And now I'm supposed to just stand here? Wait?
I lean in slightly, dropping my voice. "Do you know who I am?"
Her lips press together. She does. I can tell. The way her gaze flickers, the way she shifts her weight just slightly—it's there, that recognition.
Then she straightens. "I know who you are, Miss Battle. But unless he put you down as next of kin—"
"That's bullshit."
"—I cannot let you back there."
I hate this woman.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaling through my teeth. "Fine," I say, forcing my voice into something light. Polite. "Then tell me how he is."
The nurse hesitates. I see it in the slight shift of her shoulders, the way she glances at the computer screen like she's debating whether or not to check.
"Stable," she says eventually. "He's stable."
I should feel relief. I do—but it's buried under something sharper. Something that burns through my veins like acid.
Because someone did this to him.
Because they sent me the proof.
Like a warning.
Like a fucking message.
I lift my chin. "You're telling me that after what he's been through tonight, you'd rather leave him alone?"
The nurse shifts, lips pressing into a thin line. "He needs rest."
I swallow hard, steadying myself. "Fine," I say, voice tight. "Then call his emergency contact."
"I—"
"Call him. Right now."
She hesitates for a fraction of a second too long. Then, finally, she sighs and picks up the phone.
I cross my arms, ignoring the way my hands are still trembling.
She can fight me on this all she wants.
But I am not leaving this hospital without seeing him.
****
The nurse is still trying to argue when my father arrives.
Which, really, should have been my first clue that things were about to get dramatic.
I hear him before I see him—his voice, sharp and authoritative, cutting through the hum of the hospital like a scalpel.
And then, suddenly, there he is.
Flanked by security, dressed like he belongs at a board meeting instead of a hospital in the middle of the night. His expression is unreadable, but his gaze locks onto mine like a target.
"Cherish."
I straighten instinctively, bracing for impact. "Dad."
His eyes flick over me—red gown, clenched fists, barely-contained fury—and I can see the moment he decides to table whatever lecture he's brewing.
His attention shifts to the nurse. "Why is my daughter still standing out here?"
The nurse, to her credit, manages to hold her ground. "Sir, unless you're family, I can't let her—"
"She is family," he cuts in smoothly. "In every way that matters."
The nurse hesitates. "Hospital policy states—"
My father exhales. It's not a sigh. It's something lower, sharper—something designed to make people listen.
"Tell me," he says, his voice casual in a way that sends a chill down my spine. "What does your hospital need?"
The nurse blinks. "Excuse me?"
"I assume you have a funding goal," my father continues, already reaching for his phone. "Equipment? Renovations? Staffing?" He glances up. "What's the number?"
There's a pause. The nurse looks thoroughly out of her depth now. "Sir, I—"
"Ten million?" he offers, as if he's ordering from a menu. "Twenty?"
The nurse's mouth opens. Then closes.
The receptionist two desks over makes a choking sound.
My father glances at me, then back at the nurse. "Would that be enough to bend policy?"
I should be embarrassed. I should tell him to stop, that this is ridiculous, that he can't just buy my way in—
But I don't.
Because I know exactly what he's doing.
My father doesn't throw money around for no reason. If he's willing to make an offer like this, it's because he knows I won't back down. And more than that—he knows Miras is worth it.
The nurse swallows. "Sir, I—I can't—"
My father's lips curl into something polite. "Fifty."
Jesus Christ.
The nurse makes a small, strangled noise. The security guard at the door actually turns to look.
I fold my arms. "Just let me in."
The nurse hesitates for a beat longer—then sighs, stepping aside. "Room 317."
I'm already moving before she finishes the sentence.
"Thank you," my father says smoothly, pocketing his phone. "Send the paperwork to my assistant."
I don't wait to hear her response.
Because Miras is on the other side of this hospital, and someone put him there.
I step into the room, and for a second—just a second—everything in me locks up.
Miras looks awful.
His face is swollen, one eye nearly shut. Blood crusts along his temple, dark and dried against his skin. There's a deep gash across his cheekbone, and his lower lip is split open. The bruising spreads down his jaw, his throat, disappearing beneath the hospital gown.
I cannot breathe.
Miras—who's always sharp, always put-together, always Miras—is barely holding on.
I inch closer. "Miras?"
His fingers twitch against the sheets. His breath is slow, uneven. I can see the effort it takes just to shift his head slightly toward me. His one good eye cracks open, dazed and unfocused.
"...Cherie?"
His voice is barely a whisper. It's raw, wrecked, wrong.
My hands curl into fists. "Yeah. I'm here."
Miras swallows like it physically hurts. His head shifts again, barely an inch. "...You—" His voice catches, and I see his brow pinch, like even speaking is too much effort. "You got the message?"
My stomach twists. "Yeah, Miras. I got it."
His breath shudders. He blinks sluggishly, eyes struggling to stay open.
"Nakita," he mumbles.
My blood goes cold.
My pulse roars in my ears, but I force myself to stay still. "What about her?"
Miras exhales, a slow, pained thing. "She..." His eyelids flutter. His voice is so weak. "Guys—she had guys—"
I grip the side of his bed. "She sent them after you?"
Miras barely nods. He's drifting, slipping, his body too battered to keep up with his thoughts. But before he's completely gone, I hear him whisper, "...jealous."
The rage that ignites in my chest is immediate.
I don't move. I don't let it show. But inside, I am burning.
Nakita.
Of course it was her.
The cameras, the gala, the announcement—I should've seen this coming. She had a front-row seat to our performance, watched as Miras pulled me in close, watched as the whole world believed every second of it.
And now Miras is lying in this hospital bed, beaten and barely conscious, because of her. Miras barely stirs, his breathing already evening out, slipping into unconsciousness. His breathing steadies, his battered body giving out to exhaustion. The fight in him is gone—for now.
But mine?
Mine is raging.
And then, I hear them.
Raised voices. Sharp, heated words coming from just down the hall.
I turn toward the doorway, every nerve in my body already on edge.
"...He's not your business, Nakita." Aunt Nayley's voice is sharp, firm.
"You think she deserves him?" Nakita spits back, furious.
Something inside me snaps.
The next few seconds are a blur. My heels click against the cold floor as I move, my pulse roaring in my ears. The red silk of my gown sways around my legs, a stark, elegant contrast to the sheer violence boiling inside of me. When I round the corner, I see them—Nakita, standing there with her arms crossed, chin lifted, that same smug entitlement she always carries. And Aunt Nayley, her jaw tight, blocking Nakita's way like a brick wall.
They both freeze when they see me.
The look on my face must be something lethal, because Aunt Nayley exhales sharply. "Cherish—"
But I don't stop.
I don't think.
I reach Nakita before she has the sense to back away. And then I grab her—by the collar of her designer dress, by the stupid strings of diamonds wrapped around her throat—and I slam her into the nearest wall.
The impact knocks the breath out of her.
She gasps, eyes wide with shock. "Wha—"
"You jealous little bitch." My voice is low. Controlled. Deadly. "You had men jump him?"
Her lips part, but no sound comes out.
"That's how you want to play?" I tighten my grip. "You touch him again, and I swear to God—"
"Cherish." Aunt Nayley's voice cuts through the haze.
I barely register it.
Nakita's pulse flutters beneath my fingers, her breathing uneven, her expression a mix of shock and—no, not fear. Not yet.
But I can fix that.
I lean in close, so only she can hear me. "You don't get to put your hands on what's mine."
That gets her. Her eyes flicker, something uncertain breaking through her anger.
Good.
Let her be scared. Let her think about what happens next.
I shove her back. Not enough to make a scene—but enough to remind her exactly who she just pissed off.
Her breath is shaky as she straightens her dress, trying to regain composure. "You're not going to do anything," she hisses. "You can't."
I smile. It's not a nice smile. "Watch me."
She yelps, stumbling back, but before she can get up—before she can run—I lunge.
And this time, I don't hold back.
My fist connects with her face, hard enough that pain shoots up my arm, but I don't stop to feel it.
Another punch.
And another.
I see red. I feel red. The anger is consuming, blinding—so much worse than anything the Cube ever left inside of me.
This is mine. My fury. My hands breaking skin, my knuckles colliding with cheekbone.
Someone shouts. Someone grabs me.
But I keep swinging.
Nakita shrieks, her hands flying up to protect her face, but it's too late. She deserves this. She deserves every second of it.
"Cherish, STOP—"
Arms wrap around me—strong, forceful. I snarl, thrashing, but suddenly there's two sets of hands.
My father. Imani. Both of them dragging me back, prying me off her.
I fight. I fight them. Because they don't understand. They didn't see Miras lying on the ground, bloodied and broken. They didn't hear him whisper her name.
She did this.
She deserves this.
"Cherish, breathe!" Imani snaps, but his voice sounds far away.
"Let me GO," I spit, still struggling.
Nakita is curled on the floor, gasping, hands over her face. Blood drips between her fingers. I hope her stupid, perfect nose is broken. I hope it hurts.
My father grips my arms tighter. "That's ENOUGH."
His voice slams into me like a wall.
I freeze.
My breathing is ragged, sharp, my heart pounding like war drums. My hands tremble—whether from rage or exhaustion, I don't know.
The cold fluorescent lights hum overhead. My pulse still pounds against my skull, but the storm inside me has mostly settled—mostly. My father hasn't let go of my arm yet, as if he's waiting for me to lash out again.
I won't.
Not unless Nakita gives me a reason.
"She's being admitted," my father says after a long moment. His voice is level, but I don't miss the weight behind it. "She'll need stitches. Possibly surgery for her broken nose."
I stare at him.
And blink.
"Okay?" My voice is flat.
His expression tightens. "Cherish."
"What?" I snap. "Am I supposed to feel bad?"
He exhales slowly, rubbing his temple. "You beat her unconscious in a hospital hallway."
"Good."
His jaw flexes. "That's not the point—"
The door opens, and the doctor walks in before he can finish. My father straightens, but I barely move, my hands still curled into aching fists.
The doctor—middle-aged, exhausted-looking—glances between us before settling his gaze on my father. "I wanted to give you an update on Mr. Carter."
I instantly forget about Nakita.
My father nods. "Go ahead."
"He's stable for now, but his injuries are severe," the doctor says. "There's internal bleeding near his liver that needs immediate attention. We're prepping him for surgery now."
The room tilts.
Surgery.
I barely register the words. The doctor keeps talking, something about risks, something about percentages, but all I hear is the buzzing in my skull.
Surgery.
Miras, hooked up to machines. Miras, cut open on an operating table.
Miras, because of her.
My breath shakes.
My father thanks the doctor. I don't hear him. I don't move.
Because I don't feel remorse.
I don't feel guilt.
I feel rage, curling back to life in my chest like a slow-burning ember.
If Miras doesn't make it through this—
No.
I clench my jaw, pushing the thought out of my head.
He will.
Because if he doesn't—
Then breaking Nakita's face will be the nicest thing I've ever done to her.
*****
I stay close to Aunt Nayley, my fingers gripping the silky fabric of her sleeve like I might lose my balance if I let go. The hospital air is thick with antiseptic and something colder, something heavier. I try not to let it sink into my skin, but it's already in my lungs, settling like a weight on my chest.
The doctor said Miras would need surgery. That he was stable for now. That should be enough to quiet the screaming in my head, but it isn't.
Aunt Nayley squeezes my hand. She hasn't let go of me since they pulled me off Nakita. She hasn't said much, either, which I appreciate. If she told me to calm down, I might actually lose my mind.
I let my eyes close, just for a second, just to steady myself—
And then I hear it.
Soft, low voices. Just past the waiting room doors.
My father.
Imani.
I don't mean to listen, but their words pull at me, sharper than the ache in my knuckles.
"We need to send someone else." My father's voice is measured, but I know him too well—there's tension beneath it.
Imani exhales. "He was supposed to leave tonight."
I freeze.
Miras?
My father curses under his breath. "That's obviously not happening now."
Imani is silent for a beat. "Then what do you want to do?"
I lean slightly toward the door, careful to keep my breathing steady.
My father mutters something I can't quite make out, but I catch Imani's response loud and clear.
"We don't have time to find a replacement."
Aunt Nayley shifts beside me, pulling me back to reality. "Cherish?"
I straighten quickly, trying to pretend I wasn't just eavesdropping. "Yeah?"
Her sharp gaze flicks between me and the door. She knows. Of course she knows. But she doesn't press.
I force a breath. "I just need air."
She nods once, but I can feel her watching as I stand, smoothing down my dress as if that'll make any of this normal.
Then, without another word, I slip out into the hallway.
I need to know what's going on.
And I need to know now.
I press my back against the cool hospital wall, breath shallow, and listen.
"Even if we could get someone else in last-minute," Imani is saying, his voice hushed but tight with frustration, "they wouldn't be able to handle the equations. The vault is designed to be unsolvable—"
"Not unsolvable," my father cuts in, calmer. "Just impossible for most people."
Imani exhales sharply. "That's the same thing in this case. The security measures are absurd. No brute force, no shortcuts—just math. And not basic math. Einstein's worst nightmare kind of math."
Something in my brain clicks into place.
I know exactly what kind of vault they're talking about.
Because I could crack it.
I straighten slightly, heart thudding in my ears.
Imani groans. "Even if Miras was able to go, he wouldn't be able to solve it. He was supposed to get the drive past the second checkpoint, and then we were going to extract the data later. But without him—"
I step forward, clearing my throat. "I can do it."
Both of them spin around so fast I wonder if I should have prepared myself for whiplash.
My father's expression hardens immediately. "Cherish—"
"I can do it." I fold my arms over my chest, ignoring the way my knuckles throb from Nakita's face. "I'm smarter than Einstein."
Imani stares at me like I just said I invented gravity. "...What?"
I roll my eyes. "It's not ego—it's a fact. My IQ is higher. My processing speed is faster. And I know how these vaults work." I glance between them. "So if the mission is impossible for most people—" I raise a brow. "That just means you need someone who isn't most people."
They're silent.
I can feel their hesitation. The weight of it.
But they both know I'm right.
Finally, Imani sighs, running a hand down his face. "You just beat a girl unconscious in a ballgown."
I shrug. "And I'd do it again. But that's not relevant."
My father pinches the bridge of his nose like he's debating whether to ground me or send me on this mission.
I sit on the edge of Miras's hospital bed, my fingers loosely curled around his hand, my mind spinning as I watch my father and Imani map out my transformation.
I should be exhausted. Wrung dry from the gala, from Nakita, from Miras. But the moment I forced their hand into letting me take the mission, something inside me ignited.
Now, I watch as they turn their attention away from their usual operative—the one lying unconscious next to me—and onto me.
"Cherish will need a suit." My father's voice is crisp, all business. "Something custom."
"I'll put in a request for tactical gear," Imani says, already pulling up specs on his tablet. "Form-fitting, reinforced plates, but flexible enough for her to move." He pauses. "Do we integrate weaponry, or is she sticking to external gear?"
"She doesn't know how to use weapons yet."
"Then she'll need training," Imani mutters. "We'll start with basic firearms—"
"Hand-to-hand first." My father's tone leaves no room for argument. "She needs to know how to defend herself before we put a gun in her hand."
My stomach tightens, but I don't argue.
I do need to learn how to fight.
They keep talking—moving pieces around, adjusting plans, setting a new trajectory that now includes me—but I can't focus on the logistics.
Because all I can think about is how this feels different.
Every mission, every operation before this? I was a pawn. A target. A liability.
Now?
I'm about to become something else entirely.
I'm about to become dangerous.
***
I don't look at him.
I can't.
If I do, I'll change my mind.
Instead, I focus on the sound of my father's voice, the weight of Imani's agreement, the way the hospital lights flicker above us like they know something big is shifting. I focus on the fact that this is my choice. My mission now.
Not Miras's.
Not my father's.
Mine.
I press my palm against Miras's wrist, feeling the steady pulse beneath his skin, proof that he's still here, that he's still alive. His face is pale, lips slack from the sedatives they pumped into him before surgery. He should be the one going, not me. He should be the one suiting up, slipping into the dark, making sure this mission doesn't fall apart.
But he isn't.
I am.
"We need to move," Imani says from the door.
I know.
I smooth my thumb over Miras's hand one last time, memorizing the way it fits against mine, then slowly pull away.
"I'll be back before you wake up," I whisper.
It's a lie.
By the time Miras wakes up, I'll be deep inside enemy lines, breaking into an unsolvable vault with nothing but my brain and my body as weapons. He'll be furious when he finds out. He'll curse me, curse my father, curse Imani. But it won't change anything.
Because I'm already gone.
I push to my feet, shoving every second thought, every lingering hesitation, every aching piece of me that wants to stay back into the pit of my stomach.
*******
The soft glow of motion-activated lights flickered on as I descended the stairs, illuminating the sleek, modern interior of our family compound. My bare feet padded against the cool tiles, and my oversized pajama shirt hung awkwardly around me. The training room door was already open, revealing my dad standing in the center of the space like an immovable statue. He was dressed in his usual training gear—black compression shirt, tactical pants, and combat boots—his arms crossed and his expression as unyielding as ever. "Cherish," he said without preamble as I entered, "we don't have time for your usual excuses today."
I slouched dramatically against the doorframe. "Good morning to you too, Dad."
"Gear up," he ordered, gesturing to a rack of weapons and protective gear along the wall.
"Any word on Miras?" I said, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye as I strapped on padded gloves.
He didn't respond right away, which only confirmed my suspicions.
"Dad, is he okay?" I pressed.
His jaw tightened, but he didn't meet my gaze. Instead, he picked up a staff and tossed it to me. "Focus on your footing," he said curtly. "Your balance was off last time." I caught the staff clumsily, the weight pulling me off-center for a moment before I steadied myself. "You're avoiding the question."
"Cherish." His tone was sharp enough to cut through steel. "Miras is out of your hands now. You can't help him if you're unprepared."
I bit back the retort bubbling on my tongue. He wasn't wrong—he rarely was when it came to these things—but the knot of worry in my chest didn't loosen. We circled each other, the staff firm in my grip as he took a defensive stance. "Show me your transitions," he said.
I swung at him, aiming for his side, but he blocked effortlessly, his movements precise and fluid.
"Too predictable," he said, sweeping his staff low to knock me off balance.
I jumped back, barely avoiding the strike. "Maybe you're just too old to be surprised," I shot back, spinning my staff and lunging again. This time, he deflected, twisting the staff out of my hands with a quick flick. It clattered to the ground, and I scrambled to retrieve it.
"You think the enemy is going to wait for you to be ready?" he said, stepping back to let me recover.
"Maybe they'll feel bad for me," I muttered, gripping the staff tighter.
His expression softened, just for a moment, before hardening again. "You're not a child anymore, Cherish. You're stepping into something bigger than yourself. Act like it."
I hesitated, his words sinking in. For all his bluntness, I knew what he wasn't saying: Miras had been injured. That was why Dad was pushing me so hard. I was next in line.
My grip on the staff steadied, and I narrowed my stance. "Again," I said.
He nodded, the faintest hint of approval in his eyes. "That's more like it."
For the next hour, we sparred relentlessly. My muscles ached, my breaths came in ragged gasps, and the sweat dripping down my back was enough to soak through my pajamas. But I didn't stop, even when he knocked me down again and again.
Finally, as the first light of dawn began to seep through the high windows, he held up a hand to stop me.
"You've improved," he said, his voice almost grudging. "But you're still not ready."
I straightened, wiping my face with my sleeve. "I will be."
He studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Get some water. We'll start again in twenty minutes."
As he turned away, I pulled my phone from my pocket, my fingers hovering over the screen. Still no messages. I took a deep breath, the weight of responsibility settling heavily on my shoulders. If Miras couldn't finish this mission, then I had to. And I couldn't afford to fail. I leaned against the wall of the training room, gulping down water from the metal bottle my dad had tossed to me. The ache in my arms and legs was dull but persistent, a reminder of every failed block, every moment I hesitated. Still no messages. My fingers hovered over the screen, the urge to call Aunt Nayley or Imani building with every second. They had to know something.
"You can't focus if your mind is elsewhere."
I flinched, nearly dropping my phone. Dad stood a few feet away, arms crossed and watching me with that same unreadable expression he always wore when he was trying not to look concerned.
"I'm not—" I started, but he cut me off with a look.
"Cherish, I get it," he said, his voice softer now. "You're worried about Miras. So am I. But worrying doesn't fix anything. Preparation does."
I stared at him, trying to find some crack in his armor, some sign that he was as scared as I was. But of course, he didn't let anything slip.
"Fine," I muttered, shoving my phone back into my pocket. "What's next?"
"Simulation," he said, pointing toward the corner of the room.
My stomach twisted as I followed his gaze. The simulation pod loomed like some futuristic coffin, its sleek black panels gleaming under the lights.
"Seriously?" I asked, crossing my arms. "You're throwing me in there now? I've barely had any real rest, and I—"
"Exactly why you're going in," he interrupted. "You think exhaustion isn't going to be a factor in the field? You don't get to wait until you're ready, Cherish. You go when you're needed."
I clenched my jaw, biting back the argument rising in my throat. He wasn't wrong—he never was when it came to this—but that didn't make it any easier to hear. With a resigned sigh, I stepped toward the pod. The door hissed open, revealing a padded interior lined with monitors and holographic interfaces. I climbed inside, the air cool against my sweat-dampened skin.
The world around me solidified into a sleek, high-tech facility. White walls gleamed under sterile overhead lights, and the faint hum of security drones patrolling the corridors added to the oppressive silence. In my ear, Dad's voice came through sharp and commanding.
"Mission objective: retrieve the case from the secure vault on the 25th floor. The building's security is active, and hostiles are patrolling the premises. If you're spotted, you fail. Timer starts now." A holographic overlay appeared in my vision, marking the vault's location and the patrol routes of nearby guards. I crouched low, my heart pounding as I scanned the corridor ahead.
"Focus on the goal," I whispered to myself, gripping the slender black device strapped to my wrist—a multipurpose tool for hacking locks and disabling electronics. The lobby was massive, all polished floors and towering pillars. A pair of guards stood at the far entrance, chatting casually. Between them and me were two security drones, their sensor lights sweeping the area. I stayed low, slipping behind a reception desk. My hands flew over the keyboard of the console there, and within seconds, I disabled the cameras in the immediate area.
"Good," Dad said in my ear. "Keep moving."
Using the blind spots between the drones' sweeps, I darted from cover to cover, holding my breath as the last drone whirred past. At the elevator bank, I used the wrist device to bypass the keycard scanner. The doors slid open silently, and I slipped inside. The elevator jolted to a stop halfway up. My stomach dropped as a harsh alarm blared.
"Someone's manually overriding the system," Dad's voice crackled. "Find another way up."
The emergency panel at the top of the elevator was my only option. I pried it open and hoisted myself into the shaft, my muscles protesting with every movement. Above me, the faint hum of another elevator descending made me freeze.
"Think fast," Dad said, his voice sharp.
I spotted a maintenance ladder bolted to the side of the shaft. Gripping it tightly, I scaled the wall as the descending elevator zoomed past me, the rush of air making my stomach flip. By the time I reached the vault floor, sweat dripped down my back, and my arms burned from the climb. The corridor ahead was quiet, but my holographic overlay showed multiple guards patrolling in a grid pattern.
"Vault is at the far end of the hallway," Dad said. "Two guards stationed outside. You'll have 30 seconds to bypass the lock once you're in position."
I exhaled slowly, watching the guard patterns. Timing was everything now. When the nearest guard turned the corner, I darted into the shadows, moving with practiced precision.
The two guards at the vault's entrance were alert, their rifles held loosely but ready. A direct confrontation was out of the question. My eyes flicked to a vent above the door. It was narrow, but I could fit. Using the grappling hook function on my wrist device, I silently climbed into the vent. The air inside was stifling, but I ignored it, crawling until I reached a grate directly above the vault door. From here, I could see the lock: a state-of-the-art biometric scanner.
"Access the lock from above," Dad instructed.
I lowered the wrist device carefully, attaching it to the lock with a flexible wire. The scanner's lights blinked erratically as the device worked to override its security.
"Hurry," Dad said. "You've got guards looping back."
The lock clicked open just as I heard the sound of footsteps approaching. I dropped back down, slipping inside the vault and closing the door behind me. The vault was small and cold, lined with shelves holding various high-security items. At the center of the room was my target: a sleek, black case locked in a transparent, laser-guarded enclosure.
"Disable the lasers," Dad said.
I knelt beside the enclosure, using the wrist device to interface with the system. Lines of code scrolled across the holographic screen as I worked, each second feeling like an eternity. The lasers flickered off. I grabbed the case, its weight heavier than I expected, and turned back toward the vault door.
"Guards have noticed the breach," Dad warned. "Extraction route is compromised. You'll need to improvise."
The sound of boots thudding against the floor outside sent adrenaline surging through me. I glanced around the room, spotting an emergency escape hatch in the ceiling.
Using the grappling hook again, I hoisted myself up, dragging the case with me. The hatch led to a maintenance crawlspace, narrow and pitch-dark. I crawled quickly, ignoring the protests from my already-exhausted muscles.
Below me, the guards entered the vault, their voices muffled.
"She's gone!" one barked.
"Find her. Now!"
I reached the end of the crawlspace, emerging into an unguarded corridor. From there, I sprinted toward a window, the city lights glowing below.
"Jump," Dad said.
"What?!" I hissed.
"Trust me. Jump."
With no time to argue, I activated the grappling hook one last time, aiming for the rooftop of the adjacent building. The hook caught, and I leapt through the window, glass shattering around me. For a heart-stopping moment, I was weightless, the city blurring beneath me. Then the grappling line tightened, and I swung toward safety, landing hard on the rooftop.
"Mission complete," Dad said, his voice calm but laced with approval.
I dropped the case, collapsing onto my back as the simulation dissolved around me.
The harsh fluorescent lights of the training room came back into focus. I was lying on the mat, gasping for air as Dad approached.
"Sloppy in places," he said, crouching beside me. "But you got the job done."
I closed my eyes, my body still trembling. "How's...that for focus?"
For the first time in what felt like forever, he smiled faintly.
"Better," he said.
But I wasn't sure if I believed him—or myself.
*****
I sat on the edge of the training mat, still catching my breath. My body felt like it was made of lead, every muscle protesting as I shifted my weight. The faint hum of the simulation pod behind me was the only sound in the otherwise quiet room. Dad stood nearby, reviewing a holographic replay of the mission. Lines of code and my heat map movements flickered in front of him. His expression was as stoic as ever, but I knew he was analyzing every misstep, every hesitation. I wasn't sure I wanted to hear his critique yet. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees and staring at the floor. The simulated events replayed in my mind, sharper and more unforgiving than any hologram. The moment the elevator stalled. The guards outside the vault. The split-second leap from the shattered window. Every decision felt heavier now that it was over. What if I had been too slow hacking the vault's lock? What if the guards had spotted me in the crawlspace? What if the grappling line had failed? And what if this hadn't been a simulation? I ran a hand through my hair, wincing as I pulled against the hastily tied bun. The ache in my arms reminded me of the climb through the elevator shaft. The simulation was so realistic, it almost felt like the mission had already happened.
"Not bad," Dad said suddenly, his voice cutting through my thoughts.
I blinked, surprised. I looked up at him, but his eyes were still on the hologram.
"Not bad?" I repeated, my tone a little sharper than I intended. "I almost got caught twice. And the jump—if I'd timed that wrong, I wouldn't have made it."
He turned toward me, crossing his arms. "But you didn't time it wrong. And you didn't get caught. You adapted. That's what matters."
I frowned, not sure if I believed him. "It didn't feel good enough."
"It never will," he said simply.
I looked at him, startled by the bluntness of his words.
"Cherish, no mission is ever going to feel perfect," he continued. "Not in the moment, and not when you look back. You're always going to see the cracks, the things you could've done better. That's what keeps you sharp. But you can't let it paralyze you."
I swallowed hard, his words settling in my chest like a weight.
"What if I freeze up out there?" I asked quietly. "What if I can't—"
"You won't," he said firmly, cutting me off. "You know why? Because you've already proven you can handle the pressure. You didn't freeze tonight, and you won't freeze when it counts."
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to feel the confidence in his voice resonate in me. But all I could think about was Miras and the mission's he had done. Was he doubting himself too? Did he replay his choices over and over, wondering what he could've done differently? Dad sat down beside me, his posture surprisingly relaxed. "The vault scenario? That's one of the toughest simulations we have," he said. "We don't throw that at rookies. You're not a rookie anymore, Cherish."
I stared at him, my chest tightening. "Then why does it feel like I am?"
He let out a rare sigh, leaning back on his hands. "Because you care. And because you know the stakes. That's a good thing. But caring doesn't mean doubting yourself. It means using that fear to fuel you, not stop you."
I didn't respond, my thoughts still a tangled mess. The fear hadn't felt like fuel in the simulation—it had felt like a weight, dragging me down with every decision I made.
"Take the win," Dad said after a moment. "You completed the mission. Learn from the cracks, but don't let them overshadow the fact that you succeeded."
I nodded slowly, even though part of me still didn't feel like I'd earned the win.
"Get some rest," he added, standing and walking toward the exit. "You'll need it for tonight."
As the door closed behind him, I stayed on the mat, staring at the now-empty holographic display. The room felt impossibly quiet.
I pulled my knees to my chest, closing my eyes. The simulation had been hard, but the weight of what was coming felt even harder. If this was a taste of what the real mission would be like, I couldn't afford to let fear win.
***
The first light of dawn crept through the edges of my curtains as I sat cross-legged on my bed, my phone clutched tightly in my hands. The room was quiet except for the faint ticking of the clock on my nightstand, but the noise in my head wouldn't stop.
No updates. Not a single word about Miras.
I opened my messages again, scrolling through our most recent thread. His texts were always short and to the point—no emojis, no fluff. "Got it," or "Be there in 10," or his personal favorite: "Relax, Cherish."
The irony wasn't lost on me now. Relaxing wasn't exactly in my skill set.
I hesitated, then typed out another message:
Hey. Just checking in again. Hope you're okay. Let me know when you can.
I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the send button. Would he even see it? Was he even awake? What if—
No. Stop.
I hit send before I could second-guess myself and tossed the phone onto the bed. My stomach twisted with the same helpless worry that had been gnawing at me since the event. Miras wasn't just my friend—he was my anchor. The one who could calm me down when my nerves threatened to spiral out of control, who could make me laugh in the middle of a tense mission debrief with one dry comment. I buried my face in my hands, the ache in my chest tightening.
"Relax, Cherish," I muttered under my breath, mimicking his voice. But I couldn't. Not until I knew he was okay. The sound of my phone buzzing snapped me out of my thoughts. I grabbed it so fast, I almost dropped it.
Imani's name flashed on the screen.
I swiped to answer. "Imani! Do you have news?" There was a long pause on the other end, and my heart sank.
"Hey, Cherish," he said softly. "Yeah, I've got news."
I gripped the phone tighter. "Is he...?"
"He's stable," she said quickly. "He's awake, too, but..."
"But what?"
"His memory's patchy. The doctors are optimistic, but it's going to take time."
I closed my eyes, relief washing over me even as the fear lingered. Miras was awake. He was alive. That was what mattered.
"Can I see him?" I asked.
"Not yet," Imani said, his voice firm but kind. "He's still adjusting, and they don't want too much stimulation right now. Give it a few days, okay?"
"Okay," I whispered, though it felt like a hollow promise.
"Cherish," he said gently, "he's strong. You know that. He's going to get through this."
I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. "I know. Thanks, Imani."
We hung up, and I sat there for a long moment, staring at my reflection in the dark screen of my phone. Miras was alive. He was stable. But the thought of him lying in that hospital bed, struggling to remember the things that made him him...
******
The hospital was quieter than I expected, the kind of silence that made you feel like even your thoughts were too loud. I adjusted the hood of my jacket, keeping my head low as I slipped past the nurses' station. Imani would kill me if he found out I'd ignored him. But I couldn't sit around waiting for updates anymore. Miras was awake, and I needed to see him. I reached the private ward where they were keeping him. The soft beeping of machines echoed down the hall. Each step felt heavier than the last as I approached his door.
Room 427.
The door was cracked open, light spilling into the dim hallway. I hesitated, my hand hovering just above the handle. What if he didn't remember me? What if I made things worse by coming here? No. You've come this far. Don't back out now.
I pushed the door open slowly and stepped inside.
The room was sterile and bright, the hum of monitors filling the air. Miras lay on the bed, his face pale and bruised. His dark hair was disheveled, and there was a bandage wrapped around his forehead. My chest tightened at the sight of him. He looked so small, so unlike the Miras I knew.
He stirred, his eyes fluttering open. For a moment, they were unfocused, hazy. Then they locked onto me.
"Cherish?" His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
I froze. "You...remember me?"
He blinked slowly, as if piecing something together. "Of course I do."
Relief flooded through me, so overwhelming that I had to grip the back of a chair to steady myself.
"I wasn't sure if—" I stopped, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Imani said your memory was...patchy."
He managed a faint, lopsided smile. "Patchy's a nice way of putting it. I remember bits and pieces. Some things are clearer than others. But you..." He trailed off, his gaze softening. "You're hard to forget."
The knot in my chest loosened slightly, but it was replaced by a surge of guilt. "I shouldn't be here. They told me to wait."
Miras shook his head weakly. "Since when do you listen to rules?"
A laugh bubbled out of me, half-sob, half-relief. "Fair point."
I moved closer, pulling the chair beside his bed and sitting down. For a moment, we just looked at each other, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between us.
"Do you remember what happened?" I asked quietly.
His brow furrowed. "Not everything. Just flashes. Nakita texted me, asking to talk. I agreed to meet with her. I felt bad. And I wanted to tell her to leave you alone ..." He winced, his hand twitching as if reaching for something that wasn't there. "We met somewhere, I don't remember where. It was dark and cold. It started off ok, I let her yell at me. At some point, she said something that pissed me off. I went to leave but this car pulled up. A bunch of guys from school got out and started throwing punches. Next thing I know, I'm here."
I swallowed hard. "It wasn't your fault, Miras. You couldn't have known."
"Maybe," he murmured, his voice heavy with doubt. "But that doesn't change what happened."
We fell silent again, the beeping of the machines filling the void. The exhaustion in his eyes was starting to win, his lids drooping as he fought to stay awake.
"You should rest," I said softly, standing up.
"Stay," he mumbled, his voice slurring slightly. "Just for a bit."
I hesitated, then sat back down, resting my arms on the edge of the bed. His breathing evened out within minutes, but I stayed where I was, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest.
For the first time in days, the knot in my chest felt just a little lighter.
When Miras stirred again, his eyes fluttered open. I was still in the chair beside his bed, arms crossed and head resting against the wall.
"Cherish," he rasped, his voice pulling me out of a light doze.
I straightened up immediately, leaning toward him. "Hey. How are you feeling?"
"Like I went ten rounds with a brick wall," he muttered, wincing as he shifted slightly.
I managed a small smile. "That sounds about right."
He studied me for a moment, his gaze sharper now, more focused than it had been hours ago. "You stayed."
I shrugged, avoiding his eyes. "You asked me to."
He sighed softly, his head sinking back into the pillow. "You're stubborn, you know that?"
"Learned from the best," I shot back, though my smile didn't quite reach my eyes.
He didn't return the banter. Instead, his expression grew serious, his brow furrowing slightly.
"Imani told me," he said after a pause. "About the mission." I froze, my stomach twisting. I was going to kill Imani. "You're taking my place," he continued, his voice low.
"Miras—"
"No," he cut me off, his tone sharper than I'd expected. "No, Cherish. You can't do this."
His words hit like a slap, the raw fear in his voice cutting through my resolve.
"I have to," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. "There's no one else. You know that."
"They'll find someone," he insisted. "Someone more experienced, someone who—"
"Who what?" I snapped, standing up abruptly. "Who won't mess up? Who won't get hurt?"
"Yes!" he said, his voice rising despite his obvious discomfort. "Because if something happens to you, Cherish..."
He trailed off, his jaw tightening.
"If something happens to me, what?" I pressed, my own voice trembling now.
His hands clenched into fists against the blanket. "I couldn't live with it."
The room went silent, the weight of his words hanging between us.
I took a shaky breath, trying to push past the lump in my throat. "You think I want to do this? You think I'm not scared?" I shook my head, my voice cracking. "But this isn't about me, Miras. It's not about you either. If I don't go, the mission fails. People get hurt—maybe worse. I can't just sit back and let that happen."
His eyes softened, the anger fading as quickly as it had come. "I know," he said quietly. "I know you're capable. I've seen what you can do. But this mission...it's different. It's dangerous in ways you can't predict."
I sat back down, my hands trembling as I gripped the edge of the chair. "So what? I should just let someone else take the risk? Someone who might not care as much, who might not fight as hard?"
"It's not just about the risk," he said, his voice tight. "It's about you. I've already seen what this world takes from people. I don't want it to take you too."
For a moment, I couldn't speak. The vulnerability in his voice was so raw, so unguarded, that it knocked the wind out of me.
"I'm not going to break, Miras," I said softly, though I wasn't sure if I was trying to convince him or myself. "I can do this."
His gaze searched mine, the conflict clear in his eyes. Finally, he let out a slow, shaky breath.
"If you're going to do this," he said quietly, "promise me one thing."
I leaned closer, my heart pounding. "Anything."
"Come back," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "No matter what happens out there, you come back. To me."
My chest tightened, and for a moment, I couldn't speak. I reached out, taking his hand in mine.
"I promise," I said, my voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. "I'll come back." His fingers tightened around mine, and I held on, anchoring myself to the quiet strength I'd always found in him.
Whatever fears I had about the mission, I knew one thing for certain: I wasn't just fighting for the mission's success—I was fighting for him.
Miras had fallen back asleep, his grip on my hand loosening as the exhaustion overtook him. I stayed a little longer, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, before finally slipping out of the room. The hallway outside felt colder, quieter. I pulled my hood back up and made my way toward the exit, trying to ignore the gnawing guilt in my chest. Imani was waiting for me in the lobby.
His arms were crossed, his expression a mix of irritation and relief. "I figured you wouldn't listen," he said, his voice low enough not to draw attention but sharp enough to make a point.
I sighed, shoving my hands into my pockets. "I had to see him."
"I get it," Imani said, his tone softening just slightly. "But if the doctors had found out—if you'd upset him—"
"I didn't upset him," I snapped, then winced at the edge in my voice. "I mean...he's fine. He's awake, and he remembers me. That's what matters. You're the one who told him about the mission. You're one to lecture me about stressing Miras out when you told him about the mission behind my back. Did you think about at all how that would affect him? Because he didn't take it well."
"I know," Imani said, almost shamefully. "I shouldn't have. But he saw the neckline of the suit underneath your clothes. I couldn't think of an alternative reason."
"Dad is going to be expecting me at home," I muttered. "The mission will be starting soon."
Imani's had reached around, giving me a pat on the back. "Let's go kid, I'll give you a ride."
The car ride was quiet. My foot anxiously tapped against the SUV, replaying the conversation with Miras over and over again in my head. I thought about the promise I'd made to him, the way his hand had tightened around mine.
Come back to me.
I didn't know if I could promise success. I didn't know if I could promise perfection. But I could promise that I'd fight like hell to keep my word.
"Get ready Cherish," my dad looked back over his seat. "We're pulling up."
I reached up, pulling the mask over my head.
The building loomed ahead of me, a fortress of glass and steel. Inside, the target: a highly classified item, locked away in a safe hidden deep within the vaults. There were security cameras, motion sensors, laser grids—every precaution imaginable. But none of that mattered.
I was the best at what I did.
My hands were steady as I checked my gear one last time. Earpiece in, gloves on, lock-picking kit secured. I moved through the shadows, every step calculated, every breath timed. I was prepared, I was focused, and nothing was going to stand in my way.
The building's layout was ingrained in my mind, but it didn't hurt to double-check the schematics on my wrist display. The safe was in the lower level, behind multiple layers of security, but my primary concern was the pin code.
I knew the rumors. The pin was said to be the answer to a math problem—a problem so complex that no one had ever been able to solve it. It was supposed to be unsolvable. But I wasn't just anyone.
The math problem had been widely regarded as impossible: Find the square root of a number that isn't a perfect square, but the square of a root that lies between pi and Euler's number.
I scoffed. "Seriously?"
"Don't get cocky, Cherish," my dad warned in my ear. "Cockyness never ends well."
I had one advantage over everyone else who had tried: a mind that could see patterns others couldn't. I cracked my knuckles, pulling out the tablet where I'd jotted down my thoughts. A few seconds of mental calculations, a couple of equations scratched out and rewritten, and—there it was. The answer.
I quickly typed the solution into the terminal, the digits glowing green as the vault door clicked open with a hiss.
"I'm in."
"I'll be damned," Imani's voice could be heard over the three-way call. He was sitting in a getaway car not too far from where my dad was parked. He had hacked into the security cameras, watching to make sure I could do my work undisturbed.
"I told you I was a genius."
The vault door creaked open, revealing the cold, sterile interior. The low hum of the room felt like it was vibrating under my skin. The air smelled faintly of metal and antiseptic—precisely the kind of place you'd hide a dangerous, high-stakes asset.
The object sat in the center of the room, encased in a transparent, high-tech cube that glowed with a faint, ominous blue light. It was beautiful, pristine even. But I knew it wasn't just a piece of art—it was something much more dangerous. Something that could change everything.
I moved swiftly, scanning the area for any signs of alarms or security systems that might have been overlooked. The building's security was state-of-the-art, but I'd already disabled most of it, thanks to Imani's hacks. The countdown timer on my wrist display showed only ten minutes left until the system reset. I couldn't afford to waste time.
I approached the cube carefully, the device I had to retrieve. It was embedded within the base of the cube, a lock that seemed too simple for what was at stake. But there was no room for mistakes.
Click.
The lock gave way easily, but as soon as I touched the device, the unmistakable sound of an alarm echoed through the room.
Damn it.
"Cherish, we've got a breach. You've triggered the secondary security measures," my dad's voice crackled in my earpiece, strained with concern. "You need to leave. Now."
I cursed under my breath, but I wasn't leaving without the target. I grabbed the device, feeling the weight of it in my gloved hands, and shoved it into my pack.
"I'm not leaving empty-handed," I muttered, already making my way back to the vault entrance.
"I didn't think you would," Imani's voice was full of half-amusement, half-worry. "But you've got to move faster. The building's going into lockdown."
I made it back to the hallway, but the atmosphere had shifted. The lights flickered briefly, and the faint sound of doors sealing echoed down the hall. I sprinted, trying to keep my breathing steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
"Two minutes," my dad warned, his voice sharp. "I need you out of there, Cherish. Now."
The walls felt like they were closing in on me, and I knew time was running out. The secondary security breach wasn't just an alarm—it was a countdown to a lockdown and worst-case scenario: a self-destruct sequence. I had no choice but to push forward.
I reached the staircase, the exit only a few levels up. The building felt like it was trembling with the power of all its hidden security measures coming online. It was too much to process.
Suddenly, my foot slipped on the slick floor. My breath caught in my throat as I caught myself on the rail, but I knew I didn't have time to waste. I darted up the stairs and toward the exit.
But then—the lights went out.
The entire structure plunged into darkness, and for a second, all I could hear was the sound of my breathing and the distant hum of the emergency lights that flickered weakly overhead. I pulled out a small flashlight, using it to light my way. I had no idea what triggered the blackout, but I knew it didn't matter. I had to keep moving. I rounded a corner and nearly collided with a group of guards. The sharp clack of boots echoed in the dark as they took aim, but I was already one step ahead.
A quick roll, a swift strike, and I was back on my feet, two guards unconscious behind me.
I didn't have time to deal with more. I had to get out. I reached the main lobby, where the building's central control systems were located. The door was locked. I cursed, turning to find another way out when I heard the unmistakable sound of something heavy coming down the corridor toward me.
They were coming.
"Cherish, you're almost there, don't stop now," Imani urged from his location in the car. "But we've got to move fast. The system's about to activate the lockdown, and I can't guarantee access after that."
My pulse raced. I was so close.
But as I moved toward the emergency exit, I heard a distant, ominous sound—a low rumble that grew louder. A pulse of heat. The building was shaking.
"Shit!" I screamed, pushing through the door just as I heard the unmistakable sound of a massive explosion in the distance.
I burst out into the cool night air, feeling the tremor from the explosion that rocked the building. The ground beneath my feet shook, and I stumbled, barely managing to keep my balance. The building behind me was still standing, but I knew it wouldn't last. I looked over my shoulder, and the sky lit up in a flash.
The building's collapse was inevitable.
"You better not be dead, Cherish!" Imani's voice rang in my ear. "Get to the car. NOW."
I took a deep breath, shaking off the shock, and ran towards the vehicle waiting for me. Every part of me screamed to keep moving, to get as far away from that building as possible. The mission wasn't just a success—it had become something more dangerous. I had set off a chain reaction. I had triggered an explosion.
But the mission was complete.
The device was secured.
And for better or worse, I was still alive.