At first, she thought nothing had changed.
Jalen drank from the violet vial's infusion, and once again his smile blossomed, radiant and effortless. He laughed as though the weight had lifted from his chest, and for a moment, Mira felt relief so deep it almost hurt.
But then came the voice in her head. Quiet. Whispering.
He's pretending.
Mira blinked, startled. She glanced at Jalen, who was humming cheerfully as he washed their dishes. Pretending? No. That was impossible. She had seen his despair. She had seen the way the happiness had returned to him.
And yet, the thought dug into her ribs like a splinter. What if it isn't real? What if he's only smiling because he doesn't want you to worry?
She shook her head, trying to banish it. But the whisper lingered.
Over the next few days, she noticed small things.
When Jalen promised, "I'll take care of the chores tomorrow," Mira heard He won't.When he said, "You mean everything to me," she heard He's lying.When he laughed, she wondered if it was hollow.
Each word felt tainted, each promise cracked before it was even spoken.
Mira wanted to believe him. She tried. But something inside her was broken now, jagged. The Exchange had carved out her capacity for trust, and nothing she did could fill the hole.
One night, she lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. Jalen was asleep in the next room, his breaths soft and even. And still, her thoughts churned.
What if he's only pretending to sleep? What if he's waiting for you to close your eyes so he can leave? What if he doesn't need you anymore?
Her chest tightened. She pressed her hands over her ears, but the thoughts came from within, echoing against her skull.
By morning, she was exhausted, her eyes ringed with shadows.
Jalen noticed, of course.
"You're not sleeping," he said gently one morning, setting a bowl of porridge in front of her. His concern was genuine—she could see it in his face. And yet…
He's only saying that because he feels guilty.
Mira's spoon trembled in her hand. She wanted to scream at the voice, to claw it out of her head, but it was her own thought now.
"I'm fine," she lied.
Jalen frowned. "You don't look fine."
Her jaw clenched. "I said I'm fine."
The sharpness in her tone made him flinch. Guilt stabbed her immediately, but beneath it, another whisper stirred: He's offended because he doesn't care. He'll leave you, just like everyone else.
Mira pushed her bowl away.
As the days stretched on, Mira found herself watching Jalen differently. Every smile became suspicious, every touch questioned. She hated herself for it. She loved her brother more than anything—yet the bond between them felt like a glass thread, fragile and strained.
Once, she caught him laughing with a vendor in the market, and her stomach twisted. He's happier with them than with you.
Another time, he sat in silence for too long, staring at the wall. Her heart lurched. He's slipping again. Or maybe he never stopped. Maybe he's been lying this whole time.
She snapped at him then, words sharp and ugly. "If you're unhappy, just say it! Stop pretending!"
Jalen recoiled, confusion etched across his face. "Mira, I'm not—"
"Don't lie to me!" she shouted.
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Jalen lowered his gaze, hurt shadowing his features. "I would never lie to you," he whispered.
But the words rang hollow in her ears.
That night, she sat alone by the window, tears streaming down her face.
The cost was real now. The Exchange hadn't just taken her trust—it had poisoned her love.
She wanted to run to Jalen, to apologize, to throw her arms around him and confess everything. But what good would that do? Even if she did, she wouldn't believe his forgiveness. The Exchange had made sure of that.
So she sat in silence, watching the rain.
Her paranoia grew.
She began to check the locks on the door twice, then three times, convinced Jalen might slip out while she slept. She counted the coins in their drawer every night, certain he might spend them without telling her.
When he left for errands, she followed at a distance, her heart pounding with dread. She watched him laugh with strangers, accept a loaf of bread from a kind vendor, and each time the whisper came: He doesn't need you. He trusts them, not you.
The worst part was that she believed it.
One evening, Jalen confronted her.
"Mira," he said carefully, "why are you following me?"
Her chest tightened. "I wasn't."
"I saw you," he insisted. "At the market. You were watching me."
Her lips parted, but no words came. The silence stretched.
Finally, Jalen's shoulders sagged. "Why don't you trust me?"
Mira's heart shattered. She wanted to scream Because I can't! but the words stuck in her throat.
Instead, she whispered, "I'm sorry."
He nodded slowly, but his eyes were full of confusion, and worse—distance.
The glass thread between them frayed further.
At night, Mira dreamed of doors.
Each door bore Jalen's face, smiling, welcoming. But when she opened them, the rooms beyond were empty. She searched, calling his name, but all she found were shadows.
When she woke, the hollowness in her chest lingered.
The Exchange's price had been cruel, and Mira knew it was only the beginning.
She had given away trust, and with it, the foundation of her bond with Jalen. Every moment with him was now a balancing act, her love weighed against her paranoia.
And yet, despite the pain, she knew she would go back again.
Because already, Jalen's brightness was beginning to flicker.
And the thought of losing him entirely was worse than the cost of losing herself.