Amaris' POV
"Ha… you guys really did come for work," Miss Hayley sighed, arms crossed and brow raised as she eyed Trent and me with mild amusement.
Trent chuckled, brushing a hand through his hair. "Hey, Hayley," he greeted easily.
I offered her a small, polite bow. "A pleasant day to you, Miss Ziktor," I said, my tone courteous as always.
Hayley shook her head and muttered something under her breath, though the faint smile tugging at her lips betrayed her fondness. Trent chuckled again, and I couldn't help but return a quiet smile of amusement.
The moment I checked the clock, I realized our shift had officially begun. With that, I tied on my apron, gloved my hands, and surrendered myself to the familiar rhythm of Hayley's Cyberspace. The café bustled with chatter and the hum of machines—the clinking of mugs, the murmur of students, the scent of roasted beans mixing with sweet pastries. It was almost comforting.
As I began preparing a new set of drinks behind the counter, I noticed Trent swiftly picking up trays and delivering orders, his movements fluid and practiced. Despite everything happening beyond these walls—the secrets, and the shadows lurking beneath our lives—for this brief time, we were simply two coworkers. The white and violet Rangers, hidden in plain sight, blending with the ordinary.
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"And done," Trent exhaled, setting the last tray down on the counter.
"That was the final order for our shift," he said, stretching his arms behind his head.
I wiped my hands clean with a lavender towel before neatly folding it back into my bag. "Good work," I said softly. "We managed to complete everything on time."
He grinned. "So, what was it you wanted to discuss?"
I scanned the café. It was quieter now, only a few customers lingering. Near the back, there was a small, secluded table partially hidden from view. Perfect.
Without a word, I gently took Trent's wrist and guided him toward it. The moment we sat down, his expression turned more serious, though a trace of humor still lingered in his voice.
"I'm guessing this is super important, seeing how secretive you're being right now?" he asked, leaning slightly forward.
I nodded approvingly. "Indeed, it is rather important," I replied as I opened my handbag and retrieved my phone.
With a few swipes, I pulled up an image and turned the screen toward him. "Look at this."
Trent squinted at the picture for a second, then his eyes widened in disbelief. The next instant, his lips curved into an incredulous grin.
"No way. You found it?"
I allowed myself a proud, restrained smile. "Yes. I located it yesterday, at the abandoned factory we had suspected."
He leaned back, running a hand over his face before letting out a breathless laugh. "I can't believe it… I'm going to have my very own Zord."
His joy was infectious. I watched him, feeling a rare warmth in my chest as his excitement shimmered through the air. Then his head tilted slightly.
"Come to think of it," he said, "I haven't seen your Zord yet, Amaris."
I blinked, realizing he was right. Of all things, he had never actually seen my Ankylosaurus companion.
"Oh, that is true," I said with a small nod. "Well, you will be having your check-up later, will you not? We can inspect both your Drago Egg and my Zord afterward."
He nodded, the smile still lingering. "Oh, right. I almost forgot to tell you something."
I tilted my head, curious. "Yes?"
"So, the evil encoding is integrated in my DNA, right?"
I gave a slight nod, sensing where this might lead. "That is correct."
"Maybe…" he began, leaning closer, eyes focused and sharp, "instead of amplifying the energy of my Morpher, we could design something that works directly with my DNA. Since that's where the encoding is programmed, maybe we can isolate or rewrite it at the source."
For a moment, I was silent, processing his words. His logic was sound—bold, even—yet dangerous.
"That," I said finally, "is an incredibly perilous approach, Trent."
He gave a faint shrug, lips curling into a resigned half-smile. "Figures. It was just a suggestion."
But the seed of the idea lingered in my thoughts. I looked at him—the determination in his eyes, the quiet defiance that refused to yield despite the corruption eating away at him—and my mind began to turn.
"However," I said at last, letting a small, knowing smile tug at my lips, "I believe your concept has potential. In fact, I think I can refine it."
"Oh?" he said, straightening in his chair, interest sparking again. "Care to share, Amaris?"
"It would be my pleasure."
I unlocked my phone again, scrolling until I reached the right file. "To tell you the truth," I said, "I have been contemplating this since last night."
I opened a file labeled Prototype 187 and handed him the phone. He began reading, at first with mild curiosity, then with growing astonishment. By the time he looked up, his eyes were wide, nearly glowing with hope.
"You're right," he said, voice alight with renewed energy. "Your prototype and my idea could definitely work together. It's risky, but possible."
His excitement was infectious—yet beneath it, guilt twisted faintly in my chest. 'He still believes. Still fighting,' I thought. 'Even after everything I've done, everything he's endured.'
I forced the thought away and focused on the present. "I already possess most of the necessary components for our project," I explained, my tone calm but precise. "However, I lack a design—one that is both practical and aesthetically efficient. Which, fortunately," I said with a faint glint in my eyes, "is your specialty."
He chuckled, sitting up straighter. "I'm on it, partner."
Then, with an almost childlike grin, he lifted his hand. "High five?"
I hesitated a moment before returning the gesture. The sound of our hands meeting echoed softly through the café, a small, almost fragile sound, yet it carried something weighty.
Resolve.
Hope.
And a quiet understanding between two people bound by secrets—both of us trying to rewrite what fate had already begun to carve.