Vantaire doesn't do mercy.
Alia would've killed to stay buried in her sheets, tangled in the regret of last night and the sour taste of everything she didn't say.
But no.
Vantaire didn't care if you were emotionally wrecked. Or spiritually hungover. Or existentially shattered.
So she dragged herself out of bed—hoodie too big, pants too loose, hair pulled into a half-hearted bun that looked more like a statement of rebellion than style. The hoodie was Ajax's. She hadn't asked. Just…taken it. Like a child stealing armor.
09:11 — Vantaire Simulation Lab
When she stepped into the Vantaire simulation room, Vos barely looked up from his console. Callum, however, glanced over his shoulder, one brow slightly raised, a ghost of a grin tugging at his lips.
"You look like hell," he said without saying it.
She flopped into the chair beside the main console, pulling her sleeves over her fingers.
"Run me through it," she muttered.
Callum tapped on a glowing screen, his expression sobering as streams of code and virtual scaffolding danced across the interface. "Today's simulation's not like the last. You're going deeper. This one tests long-range neural durability."
"English, please."
"You're going to be in there for hours," Vos cut in flatly. "It's psychological. Fabricated realities. You'll believe them. Feel them. They'll feel real."
Alia blinked slowly. "And that's…normal?"
Callum didn't answer.
The air went cold.
She sat up straighter. "What happens if I fail?"
Vos shrugged. "Just don't let your vitals spike over the threshold. Or you'll pass out."
"Cool. Totally fine. Emotional death? We love that," she deadpanned, climbing into the simulation seat. Her heart was already thudding.
Straps clicked in place around her wrists, her temples, her chest.
"Ready?" Callum asked, eyes unreadable.
No.
Not even close.
"Yeah," she said anyway.
---
The moment the simulation started, she was no longer in the room. She was in a house that smelled like vanilla and dust. A photo of a family sat on a mantel—one that she knew but had never seen. A childhood memory slipped through her fingers. Then another.
Carmen holding her hand in a hospital room.
Ajax hugging her and whispering, You were right. I'm proud of you.
Her father. Crying. Saying he was sorry.
Alia wept. Not because it was real.
But because it felt real.
Over and over again, the simulation warped and shifted. She watched people she loved leave. Get hurt. She failed missions. She was expelled. She forgot herself.
Each time, she got back up.
But it hurt.
At the 3-hour mark, her heart rate spiked so high Callum almost yanked her out. But Vos stopped him.
"She's close. Don't interrupt it," he said, gaze fixed on the vitals. He'd never seen anyone last this long with a lucid spike this consistent.
Then it happened.
Her body gave in. Eyes fluttered shut. Limbs slack.
Technically… she passed out.
But inside the simulation—her mind didn't. It stayed alert. Dreaming. Processing. Fighting back.
And when she opened her eyes back in the lab, Callum was standing over her, expression unreadable.
Her lips were pale. Her fingertips trembling.
She stared at the ceiling. "I… remembered things that never happened."
Vos simply said, "That's how we know it worked."
Alia blinked up at him, throat raw. "Worked?"
Callum leaned down, finally speaking.
"You just unlocked part of your subconscious. Congratulations, Noctis girl," he said. "You're officially becoming Vantaire."
"Becoming?" Alia scoffed offended.
She didn't get to leave immediately. Her legs were jelly and her pupils weren't focusing properly—like she was stuck somewhere between dream and memory, and neither belonged to her.
Callum and Vos exchanged a few glances, none of them particularly comforting.
Then Callum reached for something on the wall: a small black adhesive patch with a thin glowing band pulsing faintly at the edges. He peeled it open and pressed it to the inside of her wrist.
"What's that?" Alia asked slowly.
"This is a NeuraCalm strip," he said. "It'll monitor and regulate your brain's serotonin and cortisol balance. You might feel twitchy for a bit, maybe foggy. If you start hearing colors, come back."
Vos added, "It'll also keep you from collapsing in public. So don't take it off unless you want to faint like a Victorian duchess."
"So… just vibes, then?" She blinked slowly.
"Expensive vibes," Callum muttered, already turning back to his console.
They told her she was free to go.
She didn't say a word.
---
12:45 — Northwest Girls' Housing, Room 314
Alia crashed back into her room like she'd just escaped captivity (which, to be fair, wasn't entirely untrue).
Still wearing Ajax's hoodie, sleeves pulled halfway over her hands, she went straight to the mini-fridge, yanked out the emergency pizza box they'd been ignoring since Thursday, and dropped it on the floor.
No plate. No grace. No thoughts.
Just her and three slices of leftover mushroom and cheese as she sat cross-legged, shoulders hunched, eyes glassy, watching a YouTube ASMR video titled:
"7 Hours of Crispy Fried Chicken Being Chewed with Intense Mic Quality."
She didn't even like ASMR. But it was keeping her grounded.
The room was dim, her hoodie sleeves spotted with sauce, and she looked very much like someone trying to eat away existential trauma with gluten and grease.
Then—
The door burst open.
Zuri and Tessa walked in fresh from errands, all chatty and loud. They paused at the sight: Alia sitting on the carpet, cheeks puffed with food, a slice in each hand, eyes glued to her screen.
Zuri squinted. "Isn't that the same hoodie from yesterday?"
They both slowly dropped their bags, slunk toward the open box like hyenas sensing a wounded gazelle.
Alia's eyes widened. "Don't even think about it—"
"Too late," Zuri said, already snatching a crust.
Tessa followed suit, plopping beside her and taking the last triangle.
Alia gaped at them, sauce staining the corner of her mouth. "You witches. That was my coping food."
"You left it in the fridge. That makes it community property," Zuri replied, already biting into hers.
"You're literally chewing my trauma."
Tessa patted her shoulder, cheeks stuffed. "You can scream about it if you want. We'll ASMR the echo."
Alia groaned and let her head fall back dramatically, grease-stained hoodie and all.
"You guys are the reason I need therapy."
"Oh dear, we're your therapy," Zuri chuckled, leaning her head on Alia's shoulder as the ASMR chicken continued to crunch in the background.
---
They were sprawled on the floor now, backs against the base of Alia's bed. Pizza crusts in the box, oil-stained tissues tossed in a pile. The ASMR had long ended, replaced by a mellow playlist humming from Alia's tablet.
Everyone was full. Emotionally, mentally, physically.
Then—out of nowhere—Tessa lifted her head off Zuri's shoulder and said, as casually as one might mention the weather:
"Did I tell you girls about the time I kissed Malik?"
Zuri turned slowly. Alia blinked.
The room fell into that specific silence where even the playlist seemed to dip in volume.
"You what?" Zuri asked with a face that screamed spill now.
"When??" Alia gave her a slow side-eye.
"Um... the night of the arcade party?" Tessa blinked innocently.
"THE ONE YOU LEFT ME AT??" Zuri flailed.
Alia leaned forward, already grinning. "You said you two just talked!"
"We did talk," Tessa defended, holding up her hands. "But also… lips may have been involved."
Zuri gasped, dramatic hand to chest. "You hussy."
---
FLASHBACK — After the Arcade Party
Somewhere near the edge of the campus gardens, under the soft hum of old streetlamps and moonlight dusted over the cobblestones like powdered sugar—
Tessa stumbled.
Just a little.
Not drunk. Not messy. Just… floaty. Soft around the edges.
Malik was right there beside her, steady like gravity with hands in his coat pockets and a calmness in his eyes that made the night feel like it was moving in slow motion.
"I'm fine," Tessa laughed, brushing her hair behind her ear as she tried to walk in a straight line. "That punch was just... stronger than it looked."
"It was literally spiked Kool-Aid," Malik muttered with a smile, catching her elbow as she nearly tripped again. "You're such a lightweight."
"Excuse me," she said, mock-offended, "I'm an Argentum girl. We are elegant. Refined. Not—hic—fragile."
"Mhm. Sure," he said, still holding her elbow like she might float off if he let go.
They wandered until they found one of the old garden benches tucked behind a row of trimmed hedges. The kind of place couples always disappeared into in old campus lore. Tessa didn't care. She plopped down first, tugging him down with her.
"You sure you don't want me to walk you back?" Malik asked, eyes still watching her like she might tip over sideways.
Tessa tilted her head and grinned.
"I'm sure. Unless you want to get rid of me?"
"Not even a little."
His voice was quiet. Gentle, even. Malik wasn't the flirty type—not the smirk-and-wink kind. He was quiet comfort. Cool presence. Still water that ran a little too deep.
Tessa's grin softened. Her shoulders relaxed. And before either of them knew it, she leaned in.
He met her halfway.
Their lips touched like it had been waiting to happen for days. And it wasn't awkward, not clumsy like first kisses in textbooks or shows—it was slow. Mutual. Warm.
Malik found her waist with one hand, careful and certain, like he didn't want to scare her off. Tessa responded by curling her arms around his neck, eyes closed, heart thudding so loud she swore he could feel it in his chest too.
When they pulled back, there was a beat of silence.
Then both of them laughed. Not out of embarrassment. But joy. Like they couldn't believe it had gone so well.
"That was... nice," she breathed.
"Yeah," Malik smiled, brushing a curl from her cheek. "Very."
Tessa didn't say anything else. Just gently curled up, shifting to lie across the bench with her head in his lap.
Malik blinked, clearly caught off guard—but not mad. He adjusted, draped his jacket over her, and slowly let his fingers stroke her hair.
"You know, I had a whole thing I was gonna say to impress you," he mumbled.
"Yeah?" she said with a sleepy smile. "What happened to it?"
"You showed up in that skirt and all my brain cells left."
Tessa giggled, eyes fluttering shut.
"You're cute," she whispered.
"You're drunk."
"Nope. Just... soft."
They didn't talk for a while after that. They didn't need to.
The garden was quiet. The lights were low. The world, for once, was gentle.