The descent into the underground never grew easier.
Mira's feet carried her automatically through the maze of alleys, down the steps slick with damp, past doors marked only with strange chalk symbols that shifted under her gaze. She moved like a sleepwalker, compelled by a need larger than herself.
Every fiber of her being screamed to turn back, but Jalen's face haunted her—the pleading look in his eyes, the way his laughter had already dulled at the edges. He was slipping again, and if she didn't act soon, the darkness would reclaim him.
And so she returned.
The Exchange greeted her as it always did: with whispers that curled through the air like smoke, with shelves of glowing vials in colors more vivid than any natural hue, with the weight of eyes she could not see.
The pale-eyed woman stood waiting as though she had known Mira was coming. Her expression was neither surprised nor pleased, only inevitable, like the ticking of a clock.
"You've come again," she said softly.
Mira nodded, her throat dry. "I need another vial. He's fading."
The woman tilted her head, studying Mira the way a jeweler might appraise a flawed gem. "And what are you willing to give this time?"
Mira's hands clenched into fists. She remembered the laughter she had lost, the poetry she could no longer feel, the way flowers had looked dulled and muted. Each sacrifice carved something out of her, leaving her less than she had been.
And yet Jalen was smiling again. That had to mean something.
"I'll give whatever you ask," Mira whispered, hating how easily the words came.
The pale-eyed woman's smile was faint, almost pitying. "Be careful. That kind of surrender feeds the Exchange."
She beckoned Mira forward, touching a vial of deep, molten gold that shimmered like liquid dawn. "This will give him happiness again, perhaps stronger than before. But the price must match its brilliance."
Mira swallowed hard. "What is it?"
The woman's gaze was unblinking. "Your capacity for wonder."
Mira froze. "What do you mean?"
"You will no longer marvel. No more awe at a sunrise, no more astonishment at music, no more breath stolen by beauty. The world will be flat, predictable, ordinary. You will never feel that quickening of the heart when faced with something greater than yourself. That spark will be gone."
Mira's chest tightened. Wonder. She thought of Jalen's voice when he discovered a new book, the way his eyes widened at fireworks, the way he once dragged her to the cliffs just to watch the stars.
But then she thought of him now—pale, tired, clinging to the fragile joy she had bought him. If she refused, he would sink. She had no choice.
"Take it," she whispered.
The ritual was almost gentle this time. The woman placed a hand against Mira's chest, and Mira felt something unravel inside her, like threads pulled loose from a tapestry. A strange emptiness bloomed, not sharp but hollow, as though a window had been bricked over.
When the woman stepped back, Mira gasped. The golden vial glowed on the counter, waiting.
"It is done," the woman murmured. "You will never feel wonder again. But he will laugh, and for a time, that will be enough."
Mira's fingers trembled as she picked up the vial. It was warm against her skin, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.
She did not thank the woman. She could not. Words felt too small for what she had lost.
When Mira returned home, Jalen was waiting. His eyes lit up at the sight of her, and when she placed the vial in his hands, he nearly wept.
"You saved me again," he whispered.
She smiled, though the expression felt heavy. "Drink it."
He uncorked the vial and swallowed its contents. For a moment, nothing happened. Then his face transformed—color flooding back into his cheeks, his eyes brightening, his shoulders straightening. He laughed, a full-bodied laugh that shook the walls.
Mira watched, numb. She had expected relief, triumph, joy. Instead, she felt only a muted ache, as though she were watching from behind glass. His happiness filled the room, but it did not touch her.
When he hugged her tightly, whispering, "You're my miracle, Mira," she clung to him, hiding her tears in his shoulder.
Because she no longer knew what miracles felt like.
The next day, Jalen insisted they go to the cliffs overlooking the city. He spoke of how much he had missed the view, how the world looked brighter than ever. He leaned against the railing, eyes wide with awe as he pointed out the sprawl of lights below, the shimmer of the river winding through the city like a silver ribbon, the way the stars emerged one by one in the deepening sky.
"Isn't it incredible?" he asked breathlessly.
Mira looked. The city stretched before her, vast and glittering, the river reflecting moonlight like glass. She knew, logically, that it was beautiful. She could recall that once she might have been moved by it.
But inside, there was only stillness. Flat. Empty.
"Yes," she said softly, forcing a smile. "It's incredible."
But she felt nothing.
The weeks that followed blurred. Jalen thrived again, radiant and joyful. He took Mira to festivals, to markets, to concerts in the square, his laughter endless. People admired him, drawn to his light.
Mira trailed behind, a shadow.
Music no longer stirred her. Fireworks overhead burst into colors she knew should have awed her, but all she saw were patterns of light, meaningless and dull. Even when children danced in the streets, their joy spilling over, she felt nothing but weariness.
She told herself it was worth it. That her emptiness was a fair price for his fullness. That this was love.
And yet, in the quiet hours of night, she lay awake staring at the ceiling, wondering how many more times she could do this before there was nothing left.
The pale-eyed woman's words echoed in her mind: The Exchange always demands more.
And Mira knew, deep down, that this was only the beginning.