The apartment no longer felt like home.
Once, its walls had been warm with Jalen's laughter and Mira's quiet presence, the kind of simple comfort she had clung to through years of loss. But now, every corner felt brittle, as though the whole place were made of glass that might shatter with the wrong breath.
Mira traced her fingers along the windowsill, her gaze flicking to Jalen across the room. He was sketching idly on a scrap of paper, humming a tune she didn't recognize. His shoulders looked lighter, his eyes brighter. He was supposed to be safe now.
So why did she feel like she was losing him?
Trust had been taken from her, but it wasn't just suspicion that haunted her now. It was emptiness. A yawning gulf where her faith in Jalen should have been.
Every time he smiled, she wondered if it was genuine. Every time he promised her he was fine, she heard the whisper: He isn't. You've failed him.
And then, in darker moments: Or perhaps you've already lost him. Perhaps your sacrifices were never enough.
One evening, she returned from the market late, arms heavy with supplies. She opened the door to find Jalen waiting.
"You're gone a lot lately," he said softly.
Her chest tightened. "I just… needed fresh air."
His eyes searched hers. "You're hiding something."
The words cut too close. Mira's hands trembled as she set the basket down. "Jalen, I—"
But what could she say? That she had carved pieces of herself away in the Exchange's vaults, one by one, to buy the fragile smile he wore now? That every vial of joy he swallowed was distilled from her own marrow?
The truth hovered on her lips, but fear silenced it.
Because if she told him, what then? Would he hate her for it? Would he refuse the happiness she'd bled for?
She whispered, "It doesn't matter."
Jalen's jaw tightened. "It matters to me."
Mira looked away.
That night, she dreamed again.
In the dream, she stood in the Exchange's hall of mirrors, each pane reflecting her face. But as she moved closer, she saw the mirrors weren't hers—they were Jalen's. A thousand versions of him, all smiling, all bright.
When she reached out, the reflections shattered, and behind them, she saw herself: hollow-eyed, gray, a shadow of a woman.
She woke with a scream lodged in her throat.
The next day, she found herself wandering toward the Exchange again.
Her footsteps dragged, as though some part of her resisted, but still she moved. The pale-eyed woman's voice echoed in her skull: The Exchange always demands more.
Inside, the air was cool and sterile, heavy with the scent of iron and parchment.
The woman was waiting, as if she had known Mira would return.
"You've come back," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "Of course you have. They always do."
Mira's throat tightened. "He's still happy. But it's… it's slipping. I can see it. I need more."
The woman's smile curved like a blade. "And what will you offer this time?"
Mira's chest ached. She had already given laughter, poetry, wonder, trust. What remained that she could lose and still function?
The woman leaned forward. "Perhaps your hope. Or your compassion. Or…" She tilted her head, her pale eyes glinting. "…your love for him. Imagine it: he would still shine, and you would still serve him, but without the ache of attachment. Easier, isn't it? To save someone when you no longer feel the pain of caring?"
Mira's blood turned to ice.
"No," she whispered. "Not that. Never that."
The woman chuckled softly. "They all say that, at first."
Mira fled the Exchange before she could answer, her heart hammering in her chest.
The city's streets swirled around her, blurred with noise and color, but she felt apart from it all, floating in a haze.
Give up her love? How could she? It was the only reason she kept breathing, the only reason she endured the hollowing.
But the temptation gnawed at her. The Exchange had planted the seed, and now the thought echoed whenever Jalen smiled: Wouldn't it be easier if you couldn't feel the cost? If you could save him without pain?
She pressed her fists to her temples, fighting it.
At home, Jalen greeted her with a smile. "You've been gone a while. Everything okay?"
Mira forced herself to nod. "Yes. Just errands."
But her hands shook as she set her bag down.
For the first time, she realized she was afraid of herself—afraid of what she might choose if desperation grew too sharp.
The Exchange wasn't just hollowing her out piece by piece. It was offering her the blade to sever her last tether.
And Mira knew, deep down, that the moment might come when she would be forced to decide: love him and burn, or cut the cord and save him without feeling a thing.
The thought terrified her more than anything.