Anya greets me in the infirmary with a small nod. Her gloves are already on, her hair tied back without a strand out of place. But her eyes... her eyes follow me too carefully.
"Sit down," she says gently. "I have your results."
I climb onto the bed, the plastic sheet crinkling beneath me. My hands knot against my knees.
"Your hormone levels... they're unusual," she begins. "Not catastrophic, not alarming. But there are anomalies, values that don't line up. It could be a lot of things, but... I want to check. With an ultrasound. If you agree, of course."
She speaks calmly, evenly, like she's explaining a lesson. I nod. It sounds simple. Just a check, nothing more. I lie back.
The cold gel jolts me, and I bite back a shiver. The probe glides across my stomach, sliding, rising. The screen stays black for a few seconds before filling with blurred shades of grey. I squint, but I don't understand. I don't know what I'm supposed to see.
Anya, though, stares at the screen. Her brows knit. She changes angle, presses harder. I flinch.
"Sorry," she murmurs. "It can be a little uncomfortable."
Her voice is lower now. She's concentrating. I tense.
"Anya...?"
No answer right away. She moves the probe again, returns to the same spot. Her face tightens, like she's looking for something that should be there and isn't.
"You don't see anything," I say, and even my own voice sounds foreign.
She sets the probe down, switches off the machine. The silence that follows is immense. Only the buzzing of the neon light above.
"Mira," she says at last, "I need to be honest."
My fingers are already turning cold.
"Your uterus isn't there anymore."
The word detonates in my chest. My breath cuts off. I don't understand. Or I understand too well.
"What?"
Anya doesn't look away. She peels off her gloves slowly, as if trying to soften the violence of what she just said.
"They removed it. At the Loop. Not through an abdominal incision... you don't have any external scar. They must have gone internally. Most likely a vaginal hysterectomy."
The word hysterectomy slams through my skull like a blow. I shake my head, disbelieving.
"No... no, you... you're wrong. I didn't feel— I..."
I stop. Of course I did. The pain, the bleeding, the nauseous awakenings, the injections, the voices. I thought it was the drugs. I thought it was temporary.
"I'm sorry," Anya says again, her voice low, almost breaking. "I know how violent this is to hear. But... it's a fact."
I stare at my trembling hands. I can't feel my stomach. Or rather—I feel it too much. Like a hollow, like something caved in. My body... betrayed. Plundered.
"You mean... that I..."
I can't finish.
Anya shakes her head, sits beside me. She doesn't touch me—she waits. Her eyes shine, but her tone stays firm.
"You don't have any visible scar. That means they did it deliberately, so no mark would show outside. A 'clean' operation, as they'd call it. But it isn't clean. It's mutilation. And I'm sorry I'm the one who has to tell you."
I push up too quickly, my breath rushing. The sheet slips from my legs, my feet hit the cold floor. I stagger.
"Mira..."
"No. I... I need to leave."
My voice is strangled. I cling to the wall, the ground tilting under me. My whole body feels... foreign. A ruin where something has been torn out without my consent, without even my knowledge.
I stumble out of the infirmary. The neon crackles overhead. The sting of alcohol in the air makes me sick.
The hallway air slaps me, but I still can't breathe deep. I walk, trembling, arms locked around myself.
My stomach is empty. More than before. More than it's ever been.
And I have never been so afraid of my own body.
---
I walk too fast, almost running down the corridor. The neon lights buzz, each step smacks against the concrete. I don't know where I'm going, but my legs decide for me: the apartment. Refuge.
My brain, though, won't shut up.
They opened me. They searched. They took.
No scar. From the inside. On purpose. Like I was some lab animal, cut apart, stitched back together, shoved back in its cage.
I see myself again on a Loop cot. Sheets sticky. Needles. Cold metal. Voices using words I didn't understand. Maybe it was that day. Or another. How could I know? It all blurred. The drugs warped everything. Maybe I felt that pain already, but never named it.
Now it all clicks. Too perfectly.
I understand why the agents never had a flicker of doubt. Why their hands never shook. Girls like me... we were probably all sterilized. A "clean" procedure, so they wouldn't even need to worry about consequences. No trace, inside or out.
A shiver rips down my spine. I feel dirty, dirtier than back then. Like I've only just uncovered the last layer of what they stole.
My stomach knots. Empty. Too empty. Like a hollow chamber echoing.
I'll never...
The thought slams in. I cut it off, but it claws back harder. Never.
I shake. My palms are wet. My lungs won't fill. Two mechanics nod at me by a doorway, I drop my eyes and push past. I don't want them to see, to sense I'm breaking apart.
It feels like everyone could guess. That they know. That it's written across my face: stolen.
I wrap my arms around my belly, like I could protect it now. Ridiculous. Too late.
I think of Elijah. Could I tell him? He'll explode, want to burn everything down. I think of Ilya. Could I tell him? Would he... would he see me differently? I see his hands on my skin, the way he looks at me. I wonder if it... if it changes everything. If I've changed.
No. No, I'm not the same. What they took... it's not just flesh. It's a piece of me. A possibility. A future.
When I reach the apartment door, my hands shake so hard I can barely turn the knob. The air inside chills me.
Elijah is at the table, hunched over a dismantled rifle. His hands move steady, precise. But the moment his eyes meet mine, I know he sees.
I must look like a corpse.
"Mira?"
The cloth falls. The rifle too. He's up in a heartbeat, crossing the room. His hands close on my shoulders. Warm, heavy, steady.
"What happened?"
I try to speak, but my throat locks. The words pile, crash, refuse.
He lowers his head, eyes piercing mine.
"Hey. I'm here. You can tell me."
My eyes blur with tears.
"At the Loop..."
My voice cracks. I bite my lip.
"They removed... my uterus."
The word detonates. I swear I hear his breath catch. His jaw tightens, fists clench, veins swell. He's ready to scream, to destroy everything.
But he looks at me. Just me. And I realize he's holding it in—for me.
His voice is low, trembling:
"You want me to lose it for you? Or just listen?"
I collapse. My legs give. He catches me before I hit the ground, holds me tight, crushing, like I'm his anchor.
I sob against his chest. My fists clutch his shirt white-knuckled.
"I feel... incomplete," I choke. "Like... a piece is missing. Like I'm not me anymore."
He rocks me slowly. His hand cradles my neck, his lips press my temple. He shakes with rage—I feel it in his muscles—but he keeps me safe.
"Breathe... I'm here," he whispers.
I close my eyes. The silence stretches.
"And Ilya?" I whisper.
He blinks.
"What about him?"
"I don't know how to..."
I shake my head hard, stomach twisting.
"No. I can't. He'll see me differently."
Elijah exhales, shakes his head, eyes blazing.
"Mira... do you see him when he looks at you? He's insane about you. This isn't just a crush. This isn't just 'I like your sister.' That guy—he won't let you go."
"You don't know... I'm missing a piece..."
"Maybe," he cuts in. "But hell, Mira—your man's missing an arm. You think he gives a damn that you don't have your..."
He breaks off, searching words, but his eyes say the rest. A crooked smile.
"He loves you. And you love him. So you can tell him."
I shake my head, unable to imagine saying it aloud. But Elijah pulls me closer, presses his forehead to mine.
"And even if... you landed in the one-percent where he reacted badly," he murmurs, "I don't care. I'm here. Always. You don't lose me."
I sniff, gripping his back.
"Promise?"
His arms tighten more, his lips brush my hair.
"Promise. To the end."
---
I move through the hallway like an automaton. Each step echoes too loud, my breath jagged, but Elijah's voice loops in my head. You can tell him. He loves you. You can tell him.
I hold onto it. Otherwise I'd turn back.
The comms room glows blue from the screens. Ilya sits hunched, jaw clenched, eyes hard in the light. That look he wears when he drowns himself in numbers so he doesn't drown in the rest.
He lifts his head when I walk in. And instantly, his face changes. The mask shatters.
"Mira?"
I close the door behind me, lean back against it. My stomach twists. But I speak.
"Anya examined me this morning. I was sterilized at the Loop."
Silence unfurls, heavy.
His eyes widen, but he doesn't step back. Not an inch. He rises slowly, like the ground might crack, and crosses to me.
"Wait... say that again."
My voice shakes, but I keep my eyes on him.
"They removed my uterus. I had no memory of it, but... it explains too much."
He stops right in front of me. His breath is short, lips parted as if to speak, but no words come. His eyes are a storm.
I think he's going to explode. But no. He breathes, once, deep. His hands rise gently, frame my arms. His warmth folds around me.
"Fuck..." he whispers. "I'm so sorry."
I shake my head. I don't want pity. But my voice breaks:
"I feel... incomplete. Like... something's missing. Like I'm not me anymore."
My eyes drop. Shame burns.
"And I'll never have children."
His fingers grip tighter—not to trap me, but to tether me.
"Look at me," he says.
I lift my eyes. His stare blazes.
"I don't care," he says.
I blink, stunned.
"What?"
"I don't care if you can't have children. You think if I wanted the perfect family, house, garden, dog, I'd have signed up with the Resistance at eighteen? You think I'd be here, hacking a dictatorship, if that's what I wanted?"
I can't answer. My heart hammers.
He leans closer, a sad smile tugging his lips.
"It's you I want. Not some future in a picture frame. You. Just you."
My knees almost fold. A ragged laugh escapes.
"But I'm... incomplete."
He shakes his head, smile sharper now.
"Then we're a pair. I'm missing an arm. You're missing a uterus. Hell of a team, right?"
This time the laugh bursts out of me, shaken, almost painful, but real. I hide my face in my hand, dizzy with relief.
I stay pressed to him, fists gripping his shirt, his scent of soap and metal grounding me. When I finally lean back, my legs still tremble, but my mind... not as much. I feel like I'm walking a wire, but a wire stretched the right way.
I wipe my cheeks quickly, glance at him.
"What were you working on?" my voice still cracked.
He blinks, surprised, then his smile softens. He doesn't let go fully—one hand stays at my hip, steadying me.
"You really want to know?"
"Yes. Talk to me about... normal things. Or normal for here, at least."
He takes my hand, sits on the edge of the desk, drawing me close so I stand in front of him.
"Boris asked me to test something. See if I can break into the civilian TV feed. Not just our pirate radio, not our channels. Their TVs. Their living rooms. It's eating up hours."
I frown.
"For what?"
He shrugs.
"Bigger punch. Since Mikel's 'death,' public opinion flipped on us. Vlad took the round. Boris wants it back."
His tone is cool logic laced with irony, that blend I can't resist.
"By showing Mikel?" I ask.
He shakes his head.
"Don't know. Honestly, doubt it. Too dangerous—for him, for us. He's more useful hidden."
"Then what?"
His eyes sharpen, serious.
"I think Boris wants to air the truth. Everything about the Loop. About you. About what was done."
A shiver runs through me. I glance away, walls suddenly too close.
"You think people will listen?"
"If they see it during their evening news, spoon halfway to their mouth... yeah," he says, locking his eyes on mine. "I don't think they'll be able to look away."
His hand brushes mine, light.
"But if that's what he wants, he'll come to you and Elijah. It'll be your choice if you testify."
I look up. His gaze is steady, grave, but never pressing. He always leaves me the space.
And for the first time since leaving the infirmary, my mind edges away from the hollow inside me. Toward what I can still do. Toward what I can still change.