Trigger warnings *amnesia, mentions of suicide, hearing voices*
The process begins before I even have time to brace myself.
A sharp pressure grips my skull, deep and relentless, like hands digging into my brain, prying it apart piece by piece. My breath catches, my fingers twitch against the blankets, but I can't move. I can't stop it.
I feel it before I see it—
The unraveling.
My mind pulls at itself, tearing away the memories like loose threads. And then, suddenly—
I'm watching it happen.
Like standing at the edge of a storm, helpless as the wind tears through everything I've built.
The memories flicker in front of me, real and vivid, each one tugged from the depths of my mind and held before me for a fraction of a second before—
Gone.
I see Miras slipping the bracelet onto my wrist, his fingers brushing against my skin— it vanishes.
I see the Cube, feel its energy crawl up my arms, the moment it changed everything—it vanishes.
I see myself breaking, shattering under the weight of everything that happened after—it vanishes.
My training, my fights, my powers.
The underground, the running, the fear, the moments I thought I wouldn't survive.
The way Miras looked at me in the aftermath, the way he touched me like I was something he never wanted to lose.
The way he kissed me.
The way I loved him.
Gone.
Each memory collapses in on itself, fading into nothing, slipping through my fingers like sand. I try to hold onto them, try to grasp at something, but they dissolve before I can reach them.
The pressure in my head tightens, sharp and suffocating, pulling, stripping, removing—
Silence.
****
As the door clicks shut behind my father and Imani, the silence in the room settles thick and heavy.
But then—
A whisper.
Faint, distant, curling at the edges of my consciousness like smoke.
Cherish.
I freeze. My pulse jumps.
I know that voice.
But I don't.
I scan the room, my breath shallow. I'm alone. I should be alone.
And yet—
They lied to you.
A sharp pressure tugs at my skull, deep and twisting, and for a brief second—
The world flickers.
The walls around me shift, colors warping, reality bending—and suddenly, I'm not in my room.
I'm somewhere else.
Somewhere dark. Cold.
Somewhere I shouldn't be.
And in front of me—
A figure.
No—me.
A version of me, standing barefoot in the darkness, eyes glowing with something wrong.
The air crackles, thick with energy.
My breath stutters. "What—"
They ripped us apart, she whispers. Her voice is the whisper in my head, the one that never left. But we're still here. I'm still here.
A violent shudder crawls down my spine. "I don't understand."
You will. Her head tilts, a slow, unnatural movement. You think they saved you. But they only buried the truth.
The darkness shifts, writhes. And suddenly—
Memories slam into me.
Fleeting, fractured glimpses—of hands gripping my arms, of screaming, of a pain so deep I couldn't escape it.
Of Miras. His hands on my face. His voice—raw and desperate.
His promise.
"I'll make you remember."
I gasp, stumbling back, clutching my head as the pressure builds—
And just as quickly as it came—
It's gone.
The room snaps back into place. The darkness disappears.
I'm in my bed again.
Breathing hard.
Shaking.
Alone.
Except I'm not.
Because the whisper is still there.
Soft. Waiting.
You remember now, don't you?
My hands are trembling as I press them against my temples, my skin cold and clammy. The memory—no, the feeling—of something being ripped from me still lingers, like the ghost of a wound that should have killed me but somehow didn't.
They lied.
My father, Imani. They told me I only lost the pain. That I only forgot the bad parts.
But I know, I know, that's not the whole truth.
Something is missing.
And worse—
Something else is still here.
A static hum curls at the base of my skull, electric and wrong. I feel it in my bones, in the air around me—
Like I'm not alone in my own head.
I throw the blankets off and swing my legs over the side of the bed, barely feeling the cold floor beneath my feet. My body is unsteady, like I'm moving through water, but I don't stop.
I need to move.
I need to get out of here.
My mind is spinning, a violent clash between what I know and what I've been told. The memories are gone—but the echoes remain. The whispers coil through my veins, pressing against the walls of my mind, pushing against the boundaries they forced on me.
I press my hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing.
They lied to me.
My father. Imani. They ripped something out of me and left—what? A hollow space? A broken piece? Something else entirely?
I push myself toward the door, my legs still unsteady, my heart a frantic drum in my chest. My mind wants to race ahead, but there's still something off in my head—like I'm moving through a fog I don't remember stepping into.
As I reach for the doorknob, the whisper slides through me again, softer this time, almost gentle.
"You're making a mistake."
I freeze, fingers hovering over the handle.
My pulse skips.
It—it doesn't sound like me.
It sounds like something else.
I squeeze my eyes shut. "No." My voice is barely above a whisper. "You're not real."
A slow chuckle.
"Keep telling yourself that."
The hallway is quiet. Too quiet.
It feels wrong.
Like I've stepped into a place that remembers something I don't.
The walls seem taller, the shadows stretching just a little too far. I exhale, trying to steady myself, but the air feels thick—like I'm breathing in something invisible, something watching me.
I shake the feeling off and move forward, my steps slow but determined. I don't know exactly where Miras is, but my body moves like it does. Muscle memory, instinct—something deeper pulling me in the right direction.
The whisper curls at the edges of my mind, waiting, like it knows where I'm going.
Like it's amused.
I don't acknowledge it.
I reach the main living area, the faint glow of security lights casting long shadows across the room. And then—
Movement.
I stop, heart pounding.
Someone is sitting on the couch, head tilted back, one arm slung over the side in a way that looks both exhausted and effortlessly familiar.
Miras.
The sight of him hits me—deep in my chest, like a second heartbeat trying to sync with mine. I know him. I remember his face, the way he carries himself, the way he takes up space without trying.
But I don't remember—
Everything else.
The way he touched me. The way he looked at me when no one else was watching. The way his voice softened just for me.
I don't remember the love.
And I hate that I don't.
I take a step closer, and then another. My foot catches a loose floorboard, the faint creak slicing through the quiet.
Miras tenses. His eyes snap open—sharp, alert, already reaching for a weapon that isn't there.
Then he sees me.
And something in his expression breaks.
He sits up so fast it's like he forgot he was half-asleep. His eyes flicker over me, searching, scanning.
"Cherish?" His voice is rough, thick with something I don't have a name for.
I swallow. "Yeah."
He moves like he wants to stand, like he wants to reach for me—but stops himself. Hesitating. Watching me too closely, like he's trying to see something beneath my skin.
My stomach knots.
Because I know, in that moment, that he knows.
He knows I don't remember.
And it's killing him.
I open my mouth to say something—anything—but before I can, the whisper slithers through my mind again, curling around my ribs, teasing.
"Careful, Cherish. You don't want to break him too."
My breath catches. My fingers curl into fists at my sides.
I force the voice out of my head.
I focus on Miras.
"Miras," I say, voice steadier than I feel, "tell me the truth."
His jaw tightens. "About what?"
"About what really happened."
I see the pain in his eyes, the way he braces himself like he's preparing for a hit he can't dodge. Miras doesn't speak right away. His eyes search mine, desperate, cautious—like he's looking for something he wants to see but is too afraid to hope for.
Then, slowly, he shakes his head. "That's not possible."
His voice is barely above a whisper, but the words hit like a strike to the ribs.
I clench my fists. "Well, it is."
He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "No, Cherish, you don't understand—your memories were wiped. Completely. I watched it happen. You shouldn't remember anything."
I flinch at that.
I don't want to think about what watching it happen must have done to him.
But that doesn't change the truth.
I step forward. "I don't remember everything. But I know something's missing." My voice wavers, but I push through it. "And I know that whatever they did to me—it wasn't perfect. Because I still feel it, Miras." I press a hand to my chest, like I can reach for it. "I still feel you."
He freezes.
His hands curl into fists at his sides, his whole body going rigid, like he's trying to keep himself from—
I don't know.
Breaking?
Falling apart?
Reaching for me?
His voice is hoarse when he finally speaks. "You feel me?"
I swallow. "I don't know how else to describe it."
He lets out a short, unsteady laugh. It's not humor. It's disbelief. It's fear.
"Cherish," he says, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "If anyone finds out—"
"They won't." I cut him off, stepping closer. "Because you're not going to tell them."
He stiffens. "Cherish—"
"I mean it, Miras." My voice is low, urgent. "No one can know."
He stares at me, something warring in his expression—conflict, frustration, maybe even hope, but it's buried deep beneath the fear.
"This is dangerous," he says finally. "If they find out—"
I grab his wrist before I can stop myself. "Promise me."
His breath catches.
My fingers tighten around his wrist, desperate. "Miras. Promise me you won't tell them."
His pulse thrums beneath my fingers, quick and uneven. His body is tense, like he's fighting himself.
But then—
His shoulders drop. His jaw clenches.
And his fingers curl around mine.
"…I promise."
Miras is too quiet.
Too still.
The only sign that my words are affecting him is the way his jaw keeps clenching and unclenching, like he's trying to hold something back.
I don't understand why.
I shift, exhaling slowly, my hands balling into fists at my sides. "I remember something, Miras. I don't know how, but I do. Just—just pieces. Flashes. Feelings." I shake my head, frustrated. "I remember you. I remember—"
I hesitate, my throat tightening. The memory is faint, blurred at the edges like an old photograph, but it's there. A sensation rather than an image, a whisper of something warm and safe beneath my skin.
"I remember your hands," I say finally. "On my face. Your voice, telling me something—I don't know what, but I felt it." My voice dips, barely above a whisper. "I think you were saying goodbye."
Miras flinches.
And that—that—tells me I'm right.
My pulse quickens. "Miras, I know something happened between us. I know I cared about you—I can feel it, even if I don't remember why." I take a step closer, searching his face. "Please. Just tell me what I'm missing."
But instead of answering, he looks away. His whole body tenses like he's bracing for something.
Like he knew this conversation was coming and still isn't ready for it.
My stomach knots. "Why won't you tell me?"
Silence.
Miras drags a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose like he's trying to steady himself. Then, without looking at me, he says, "Because it's better this way."
A sharp sting of betrayal twists in my chest. "Better?"
His jaw tightens. "Yes."
I take another step, desperate now. "Miras, I don't want it to be better—I want the truth."
He finally looks at me then, and there's something wrecked in his expression.
"You think you want it," he says, voice rough, strained. "But you don't."
I freeze.
His eyes—God, his eyes. They're filled with something deep and pained, something raw enough to make my stomach drop.
"You don't understand, Cherish." His voice is barely above a whisper. "Some memories don't deserve to come back."
I shake my head, frustration bubbling up. "That's not your choice to make."
"No," he agrees. "It's not. But it's already been made."
I stare at him. "Miras—"
"Drop it."
He's not just refusing to tell me.
He's protecting me from it.
But from what?
"Are you serious right now?"
Imani's voice slices through the room like a blade, cutting straight between me and Miras.
I turn sharply, my heart still racing from the conversation, but Imani doesn't even look at Miras. His glare is locked entirely on me.
"You were supposed to be resting," he snaps, stepping toward me with that barely-contained fury of his. "Not wandering around the damn tower in the middle of the night like a ghost."
I cross my arms, irritation flaring despite the ache still lingering in my skull. "I'm fine, Imani."
"No. You're not." His hands are on his hips, and I can already see the argument forming in his head before he even opens his mouth. "You just had your brain forcefully reset, Cherish. Do you even understand what that means? Your neurons are unstable, your body is weak, and if you push yourself too hard, you could—"
He stops himself, pressing his lips into a thin line.
I narrow my eyes. "I could what?"
Imani exhales, dragging a hand down his face. "You could break again."
A shiver runs down my spine.
Not just at his words—
But at how much they make sense.
Because something inside me is broken. And no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise, I can feel it.
Miras shifts beside me, the tension rolling off of him in waves, but he doesn't say anything. His silence feels heavy, like he's holding something back, and I don't know if it's because of me or because of Imani.
But Imani notices.
His gaze flickers between us, sharp, assessing.
Then he zeroes in on me, suspicion darkening his expression. "Why were you even out of bed?"
I hesitate.
A second too long.
Imani's eyes narrow.
I scramble for something believable. "I just— I needed air."
Imani crosses his arms. "Bullshit."
I grind my teeth. "I swear—"
"Save it." He turns his glare on Miras now, his voice dropping into something more dangerous. "What did you two talk about?"
Miras stiffens. "Nothing important."
Imani doesn't buy it. Not even for a second.
His eyes dart back to me, and I know he can see it on my face—the lingering frustration, the ache of unfinished questions, the desperation to remember something I shouldn't.
I brace myself for another interrogation, but instead, Imani just scoffs.
"You know what? I don't even want to know." He pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing like I'm the biggest headache in his life. "Just—go back to bed. Both of you."
I want to argue.
But I know I won't win.
So I don't fight when he grabs my wrist, not roughly, but firmly enough that I know there's no point resisting.
As he pulls me away, I risk one last glance at Miras.
He's still watching me.
Still holding something in his expression—something quiet, something torn.
---
The wind howls around me, cold and sharp, but I don't move from the ledge.
The city sprawls beneath me, dark and endless, a sea of blinking lights and empty streets. I know I shouldn't be up here. Not alone. Not like this.
But I can't stay trapped in that room anymore.
Not with my mind cracking apart at the edges. Not with it still whispering inside me.
"They're hiding things from you."
I squeeze my eyes shut.
"They don't trust you. They fear you."
My fists tighten at my sides. "Shut up."
"Miras won't tell you the truth. Maurice erased your mind. Imani watches you like a bomb waiting to go off."
I grit my teeth. "Shut. Up."
The whisper curls around me, low and smooth. Amused.
"You already know I'm right."
I press my hands against my temples, trying to force the voice out, but it's inside me, part of me, threading through the empty spaces in my mind where memories should be.
I don't know if it's mine or something else.
But I do know one thing—
It's getting louder.
The wind howls against my skin, sharp and biting, but I barely feel it.
I'm standing on the ledge now, toes curled over the edge, looking down at the city sprawled beneath me. The world feels too big from up here, and I—
I feel small.
"You don't belong with them."
The voice coils around my thoughts, smooth and steady, its presence stronger than before.
"They took your memories because they're afraid of what you are."
I clench my fists, breathing hard. "Shut up."
"They don't trust you, Cherish. They never have."
The words slither into my bones, sinking deep, and I hate how much they sting.
Because there's a part of me—
A dark, twisting part—
That believes it.
"Look at you." The voice hums, amused. "You're not afraid to fall. You're afraid you'll survive it."
I squeeze my eyes shut, my body trembling.
I can feel it now.
Something wrong clawing beneath my skin, coiling at my fingertips, waiting to be unleashed. The tower beneath me shudders, as if it can feel it, too.
"Let go, Cherish."
A sharp, piercing pain shoots through my skull. I suck in a breath, gripping my head as the world around me warps and shakes.
"You are more than this body. More than this mind."
The city lights blur beneath me. The air grows thick with static, humming against my skin.
And then—
My reflection shifts in the glass of the rooftop door.
I know it's me.
But the eyes—
The eyes are wrong.
Darker. Sharper.
Not mine.
"Ah," the voice murmurs, almost fond. "There you are."
The rooftop shakes. The sky crackles.
I stagger back from the ledge, gasping, my pulse slamming against my ribs.
I don't know what's happening.
I don't know if I want to know.
The city sprawls below, dark and endless, its lights blinking like stars swallowed by the abyss.
The wind howls around me, cold and sharp, but I barely feel it.
I don't move.
I don't breathe.
I just listen.
"You were never meant to stay caged, Cherish."
The voice slithers through my mind, smooth and patient, curling around my thoughts like a serpent.
"You feel it, don't you? The weight? The emptiness? They took something from you. They made you less."
My toes dangle over the edge.
My fingers twitch at my sides.
It wouldn't take much.
Just one step.
A single moment of surrender, and I'd be free.
"No more whispers behind your back. No more waiting for the truth they'll never tell you. No more being afraid."
I squeeze my eyes shut, my pulse thundering in my ears.
"Just let go."
The wind shifts. The rooftop shudders beneath my feet.
Then—
"CHERISH!"
A real voice.
A familiar voice.
I barely have time to register it before arms slam around me, yanking me back with so much force that my feet leave the ground.
I crash into warmth—something solid, something real.
The breath is knocked from my lungs, and for a moment, the world spins.
Then, I hear it.
The sharp, ragged inhale above me.
The way his hold shakes before he tightens his grip.
"Cherish," Miras breathes, his voice low, frantic.
My fingers clutch at his jacket before I even realize I'm doing it.
I try to speak. Try to tell him I'm fine, that I wasn't really going to—
But I don't know if that's true.
Because when I look past him—
I see the ledge.
I see the drop.
And I see how close I came to stepping into the void.
A violent tremor wracks through me.
Miras pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes scanning my face like he's trying to understand what the hell just happened. His hands don't leave my arms.
"Tell me you weren't about to do something stupid," he says, but his voice cracks at the end.
I swallow hard. "I—"
I don't know what to say.
Because I don't know.
"He doesn't understand."
The whisper curls around my mind, dark and poisonous.
"He never will."
I flinch.
Miras notices. His grip tightens.
"Cherish?" His voice drops lower, like he's afraid he might scare me away.
My stomach twists.
The voice is wrong. It has to be wrong.
Miras does understand—
Doesn't he?
"You know I'm right. He'll never trust you. He'll never look at you the same way again."
My chest tightens. I shake my head. "Shut up."
Miras tenses. "What?"
I can't do this.
I can't fight this voice and fight Miras at the same time.
I rip myself from his grip and stagger back, my hands pressed against my temples. "I can't— I can't do this right now—"
Miras watches me, his jaw clenched, his breathing unsteady. I can see the fear behind his eyes.
Not fear of me.
Fear for me.
And somehow, that makes it worse.
The voice laughs.
"You can run, Cherish. But you can't escape me."
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing out a shuddering breath.
I sit with my back against the rooftop wall, knees drawn to my chest. The wind still bites, but it's weaker now, settling into a low, restless whisper around us. Miras crouches a few feet away, elbows braced against his knees, watching me like I might disappear if he looks away.
I should say something.
I should tell him I'm fine.
But I'm not.
And I think we both know it.
For a long time, neither of us speaks. The silence stretches between us, tight and fraying at the edges.
Finally, I break it.
"There's a voice in my head," I say quietly. "And I don't think it's mine."
Miras' breath catches.
I risk a glance at him, expecting shock, maybe even fear.
But all I see is the way his jaw tightens. The way his hands slowly curl into fists.
He doesn't look surprised.
"…How long?" he asks.
I huff out a bitter laugh. "Since I woke up." I swallow hard, gripping my arms. "Maybe even before that. I don't know anymore."
Miras doesn't react right away, but I see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for me but doesn't know how.
"What does it say?" he finally asks. His voice is careful, controlled.
I squeeze my eyes shut. "It tells me things I don't want to hear. Twists everything. Makes me doubt myself. Doubt you." My throat tightens. "Makes me want to—"
I stop.
Miras' gaze sharpens. "Want to what?"
I look away. "Nothing."
"Cherish." His voice is firmer now, more demanding. "What does it make you want to do?"
I press my knuckles against my temple, fingers shaking. "It tells me to let go. That I'm better off without all of you." I swallow against the lump in my throat. "That you're better off without me."
Miras' expression darkens. "That's not true."
"I know that," I snap, then deflate just as fast. "At least… I think I do."
The voice laughs in the back of my mind, smug and satisfied.
"He'll say whatever it takes to keep you in line."
I shake my head, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. "I don't know what's real anymore."
Miras shifts closer, and when I look up, he's right there, eyes locked onto mine, searching. He doesn't speak right away, and for a second, I think he won't at all.
Then, finally—
"It's real when I tell you I'm not leaving," he says.
I blink, my breath catching. "What?"
"I'm not leaving, Cherish." His voice is steady, firm. "Not now. Not ever."
I want to believe him.
I do.
But the voice—
"Lies," it hisses.
I suck in a sharp breath, pressing a hand to my forehead.
Miras sees it. He doesn't hesitate this time.
Miras doesn't let go of my wrist. Not yet. His thumb brushes against my pulse, slow and deliberate, like he's trying to anchor me.
I hate how much I need it.
"You have to tell them," he says. His voice is careful, but there's an edge to it—something raw, something desperate.
I tense. "No."
"Cherish—"
"I said no." I rip my wrist free, crossing my arms over my chest. "They already think I'm fragile enough as it is. You really think Imani wouldn't strap me to a hospital bed the second he found out I'm hearing things?"
Miras' jaw clenches. "This isn't just hearing things. This is something inside you trying to take control."
I flinch. Because I know he's right.
Because I can feel it.
Like something waiting beneath my skin, coiling around my ribs, waiting for the moment I let my guard down—
So it can take everything.
But telling my father? Telling Imani?
They'd lock me away. They'd decide I was too much of a risk.
I can't let that happen.
"I can handle this," I say, even though I don't believe it. "I just need time."
Miras looks at me like I've lost my mind. "Time for what, exactly? For it to get worse? For it to push you into something you can't come back from?"
"I won't let that happen."
Miras exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. "You almost fell off the goddamn roof, Cherish."
I open my mouth—
Then close it.
Because he's right.
Because if he hadn't shown up when he did, I don't know if I'd still be standing here.
But that doesn't change the fact that I can't tell them.
I shake my head. "They can't know. Not yet."
Miras watches me for a long, painful moment. His fingers twitch at his sides, like he wants to shake some sense into me. Miras sighs, long and heavy, like he already knows he's going to regret what he says next. He shifts so he's fully facing me, arms crossed over his chest, his stance set.
"Alright," he says slowly, like he's choosing his words very carefully. "If you won't talk to your father or Imani, then you need to talk to someone else."
I frown. "That's not happening."
"You didn't even let me finish."
"Because I know where this is going." I shake my head. "You want me to sit down with some therapist who's going to dissect my every thought? No thanks."
Miras scoffs. "Trust me, that's the last thing I want. I'm not trying to put you in a psych ward, Cherish. But you do need help."
I glare at him. "I don't need help. I need control."
"You say that, but you almost stepped off the roof five minutes ago."
I look away. My stomach twists.
Miras exhales sharply. "Okay. Fine. If you don't want to talk to Imani, and you don't want to talk to Maurice, then what about my aunt?"
I blink, caught off guard. "...Your aunt?"
"Yeah," he says, watching me closely. "You trust Aunt Nayley, don't you?"
I hesitate. I do trust her. She's one of the only people in my life who's never tried to manipulate me, never tried to force my choices.
Miras sees the war in my expression and pushes forward. "She won't tell them," he says, like he's reading my mind. "Not if we tell her not to."
I want to believe that.
And part of me does.
But I don't know if I can take that risk.
Miras leans in slightly. "Look, I get it. You're scared. You don't want anyone deciding things for you. But you're spiraling, Cherish. You need someone in your corner." Miras presses on. "Just talk to her. That's all I'm asking."
I swallow. I hate this.
But I also know I'm running out of options.
Finally, I huff out a breath. "Fine. But if she tells them—"
"She won't," Miras promises. "I'll make sure of it."
---
Miras and I move through the halls in near silence, the only sound the faint hum of the tower's security systems and the quiet shuffle of our steps against the floor. It's late—probably past any reasonable hour to be having this conversation—but I know if I wait until morning, I'll lose my nerve.
Miras must know it too. That's probably why he didn't give me the option to sleep on it.
He walks beside me, hands shoved into his pockets, his expression unreadable. He hasn't said much since I agreed to this. Maybe he thinks if he pushes too hard, I'll bolt. He wouldn't be wrong.
We stop in front of Aunt Nayley's door. Miras knocks twice, firm but quiet.
A few seconds pass. Then the soft click of the door unlocking.
Nayley cracks it open, blinking sleepily at us. She's in an oversized sweater, her hair in a loose bun, and for a moment, she just stares.
Then she sighs, rubbing her face.
"This better not be about a dead body," she mutters.
Miras snorts. "Not this time."
I don't laugh.
Nayley notices. Her expression sharpens immediately. She steps back, opening the door wider. "Come in."
Nayley sits in the armchair, watching me carefully. Miras leans against the wall, arms crossed. He's close, but not too close. Giving me space.
"So," Nayley starts, voice soft but expectant. "Tell me why you're both at my door at five in the morning instead of sleeping like normal people."
I take a breath. My hands press against my knees. My fingers twitch.
I can feel the words bubbling up in my throat, but they stick there, thick and heavy.
Miras notices. He shifts, then speaks for me.
"Cherish has been hearing a voice," he says. "Not just thoughts. A voice."
Nayley doesn't react right away.
She just looks at me.
I feel like I'm being examined.
I shift uncomfortably. "It's nothing," I say quickly. "Just—intrusive thoughts. That's all."
Miras scoffs. "You almost stepped off the roof because of 'intrusive thoughts.'"
Nayley's head snaps toward me. "Excuse me?"
I flinch. "It wasn't— I wasn't—" I shake my head. "I wasn't trying to jump. It was just... it was like I wasn't myself."
The voice in my head laughs.
"Because you weren't."
I clench my jaw, pressing a hand to my temple. "It tells me things I don't want to hear. It twists things. And I don't know how to stop it."
For the first time, something flickers across Nayley's face.
Understanding.
Recognition.
She leans forward slightly, elbows on her knees. "Cherish," she says carefully. "Do you think this voice is you? Or something else?"
My stomach twists. "I—"
I don't know how to answer that.
Because I don't know.
"It feels like me," I admit. "But at the same time, it doesn't. Like it's—separate."
Miras stays quiet, but I can feel his gaze on me.
Nayley exhales through her nose. "Have you told your father? Imani?"
I shake my head. "They can't know."
Her lips press together. "Cherish—"
"Promise me." My voice is firmer than I expected. "Promise you won't tell them."
Nayley studies me for a long, quiet moment. Then—
"…Alright," she says. "For now."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
Miras shifts beside me. He looks relieved too, though I know him well enough to see he's still worried.
Nayley sighs, running a hand down her face. "Alright, kid. We'll figure this out. But you have to be honest with me. No more hiding it. Understood?"
I hesitate—
Then nod.
**********
Miras is still half-asleep when the door slams open.
"Seriously?"
Imani's voice is sharp, cutting through the morning silence like a damn blade.
I groan, rolling onto my side, dragging the blankets over my head. "Too early for whatever this is…"
Miras sits up sluggishly from where he's slouched in the chair by my bed, rubbing his face. "What—" His voice is rough, thick with sleep. "What the hell are you yelling about?"
Imani gestures wildly at him. "You. In here. Again."
Miras blinks at him, still processing. "Yeah?"
Imani crosses his arms. "Why?"
Miras leans back in the chair, stretching. "Because your brilliant solution to fixing Cherish's brain didn't come with a 'don't let her have a breakdown in the middle of the night' guarantee."
Imani's expression flatlines. "So you what—slept in her room like some kind of guard dog?"
Miras shrugs. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."
Imani scoffs, dragging a hand down his face. "I'm going to kill you."
I let out a muffled laugh from under the blankets.
Imani glares at me. "Not funny."
I lift the blanket just enough to peek out at him. "Oh, it's a little funny."
Imani pinches the bridge of his nose like he's resisting the urge to strangle both of us. "You are recovering from a brain reset, and your idea of self-care is sneaking around in the middle of the night and dragging Miras into whatever mess you're tangled up in?"
Miras raises an eyebrow. "She didn't drag me anywhere. I came willingly."
"Of course, you did," Imani mutters.
I sit up, rubbing my temples. "Look, can we not do this first thing in the morning?"
Imani levels me with a hard stare. "Not when you're making it incredibly easy to be concerned."
I roll my eyes, but guilt does tug at my chest. Imani isn't wrong. I am a mess. But admitting that would just give him more of a reason to hover.
Miras yawns, standing up and stretching. "Relax, Imani. I was just keeping an eye on her."
"That's my job."
Miras smirks. "Didn't see you here last night."
Imani's eye twitches. "Get out."
Miras salutes mockingly. "Yes, sir." He turns to me, his smirk softening just a little. "I'll be back later."
I nod. "Thanks."
Imani glares at him all the way to the door. Miras just winks at him before stepping out.
Once the door shuts, Imani exhales sharply and turns back to me. "This is why I don't leave you unsupervised."
I flop back onto my pillow with a dramatic groan. "You are so overbearing."
"And you are so reckless it worries me."
I peek at him from under the blankets again. His jaw is tight, his arms still crossed, but there's something else beneath all his exasperation.
---
"You remember what Imani meant by 'in here again'?" I ask.
Miras shifts beside me, hesitating just long enough for me to notice. "Yeah," he says, voice careful. "He was talking about the time he caught us sleeping after—" He stops, rubbing the back of his neck. "After one of your bad nights."
I frown. "Bad night?"
Miras exhales, sinking further into his seat. "You don't remember?"
"No." I search his expression for something—anything—to give me context. "I remember Imani saying it, but that's it."
Miras nods slowly, like he's trying to decide how much to say, "you came into my room one night and….stayed."
"Stayed?"
"Stayed."
A flicker of something—warmth, pressure, the sensation of blankets pulled over my head—pricks at the edges of my mind, but the memory won't fully take shape. I squeeze my eyes shut, grasping at the feeling, but it vanishes like smoke.
I shake my head. "What happened?"
"You–uh, spent the night."
The words send a pulse of familiarity through me, but it's distant, just out of reach. Like I'm standing at the edge of a conversation I once had, hearing echoes but not the words themselves. "And Imani found us in the morning?"
"Yeah." There's the slightest twitch at the corner of Miras's mouth. "He was pissed."
I try again—searching for the memory, for something tangible—but my mind stays blank. "I don't—" I cut myself off, frustration bubbling in my chest. I should remember this. It's my memory, my life, and yet it feels like trying to grab onto water. "Damn it."
Miras watches me, quiet. Then, softer, "It's okay."
It's not. But I don't say that. Instead, I press my fingertips to my temple and sigh. "He really tried to kill you?"
Miras smirks. "Said he was going to."
"But why—"
Dewey, who's been half-listening while fiddling with something in his hands, suddenly perks up. "Oh! But wasn't that the night—"
Miras moves so fast it almost startles me. He reaches over and claps a hand over Dewey's mouth, cutting him off mid-sentence.
Dewey flails for a second, muffled protests spilling against Miras's palm. Miras just glares down at him, voice low and firm. "Nope."
Dewey pries Miras's hand off, scowling. "Dude."
Miras gives him a look that could probably make a grown man rethink his life choices. Dewey, unfortunately, is impervious to intimidation. He squints between us, then grins knowingly. "Ohhh. That's why you don't want her to remember."
"Remember what?" I glance between them, suspicion creeping in. "What aren't you telling me?"
"Nothing," Miras says immediately.
Dewey snickers. "That's a lie."
Miras elbows him, not so lightly. "Drop it."
I cross my arms, staring them down. The memory might be missing, but whatever Dewey almost let slip clearly wasn't about some vague sleep over.
He avoids my gaze, busying himself with rolling up his sleeves like that's suddenly the most important thing in the world. "It's not important."
Dewey grins wider. "Oh, it so is."
Miras sighs, looking like he regrets every decision that led to this moment. "Cherish, just—" He runs a hand through his hair, avoiding my eyes. "Let it go, okay?"
I hate that I probably will. Not because I want to, but because I don't have a choice. Because no matter how hard I try, the memory won't come back. And Miras knows that.
So I let out a slow breath and shake my head. "Fine. But I'm not forgetting that you're hiding something."
Dewey hums. "Bet you could make her remember."
Miras levels him with a look of pure warning. "I will throw you out a window."
Dewey grins. "Worth it."
I don't laugh, but I almost do. The frustration is still there, coiled in my chest, but at least now I know one thing for sure—Miras is keeping secrets.
*****
Dewey hums thoughtfully, tapping a finger against his chin. "Okay, so, technically, I followed the recipe."
Miras stares at the pan in front of him, his expression blank. I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to process the atrocity sitting on the stove.
The thing Dewey is calling a 'pancake' is not a pancake. It is, at best, a tragic science experiment. At worst, an insult to breakfast foods everywhere.
Miras crosses his arms. "You followed the recipe."
"Yep."
Miras gestures vaguely at the pan. "And this was… intentional?"
Dewey tilts his head, considering. "More of an unexpected outcome."
I lean in slightly, my stomach churning. "Why does it sparkle?"
"Uh." Dewey scratches the back of his neck. "Might've used baking powder and baking soda. And, uh, a little extra sugar."
Miras blinks. "Define 'a little.'"
"Like… triple the amount?"
Miras and I both groan at the same time.
Dewey huffs. "Look, cooking is just edible science, and science is about experimentation."
"Yeah?" I deadpan. "Then you eat the experiment."
Dewey hesitates, looking down at the pancake. "…I don't want to."
Miras snorts. "That bad?"
Dewey prods it with a spatula. It clinks.
I take a step back. "Dewey. That's not a pancake. That's a weapon."
He narrows his eyes at it. "Okay, but imagine if we threw it at someone."
Miras drags a hand down his face. "I hate that I'm considering this."
I sigh, shaking my head. "Just throw it away before it gains sentience."
Dewey grumbles but does as he's told, dropping the so-called pancake into the trash with a thud.
Miras pats my shoulder. "You're in charge of breakfast from now on."
I smirk. "Thought you were the responsible one."
"I am. That's why I'm delegating."
Dewey folds his arms. "I feel so unappreciated right now."
Dewey is still sulking about his failed pancake when the kitchen door swings open. I don't even have to turn around to know who it is—the sharp click of boots, the impatient exhale.
Imani.
"Cherish," he says, tone all business.
I groan dramatically, slumping against the counter. "What Imani?"
Miras raises an eyebrow. "Wow. No hesitation."
Imani ignores him. "You have a follow-up assessment. You knew this."
"I forgot this." I motion vaguely to my brain.
"Unfortunately," Dewey dips his fork into the pancake like he's about to take a bite, but quickly retracts. "Brain scans wait for no one—not even gourmet pancakes. Bon Voyage!"
"Yeah, whatever," I huff as I make my way toward where Imani is standing. "I hope that pancake gives you diarrhea."
---
The sterile hum of the machines fills the lab, the sound digging into my skull like an itch I can't scratch. Imani moves with practiced efficiency, setting up the equipment while I sit stiffly in the chair, my arms crossed.
I hate this.
The wires, the electrodes, the feeling of being observed—it all makes my skin crawl. I stare at the ceiling, trying not to react as Imani attaches sensors to my temples.
"Try to relax," he says.
I snort. "Yeah, sure. Super relaxing."
Imani sighs but doesn't argue. Instead, he steps back, double-checking the monitor. "We're testing for irregularities in brainwave activity. Looking for changes."
"Changes from what, exactly?"
His expression stays neutral. "From last time."
I glance at him, uneasy. "And?"
He doesn't answer right away, just presses a button. The machine hums louder.
Static creeps at the edges of my mind. The energy inside me shifts, restless.
"Close your eyes," Imani instructs.
I hesitate but comply. The room fades away, replaced by the weight of the scan pressing against my thoughts. I feel… watched.
A flicker.
Something deep, buried.
Static sharpens, twisting behind my eyes.
I flinch.
"Cherish?" Imani's voice is closer now.
I exhale, shaking it off. "I'm fine."
A lie. But he doesn't call me on it.
I open my eyes to find him frowning at the monitor. His fingers tighten around the edge of the table.
"What?" I ask.
He doesn't look at me.
"…We need to run it again."
My stomach twists.
Something's wrong.
The moment the machine shuts off, the voice disappears, like it was never there at all. But the weight of it lingers. The words coil tight in my chest, pressing against my ribs. Imani watches me too closely, his eyes sharp. "Something happened."
I shake my head immediately. "No."
His jaw tightens. "Cherish."
"I'm fine." I force myself to move, unclenching my fingers from the armrest, loosening the tension in my shoulders. "The scan was just—intense. That's all."
Imani doesn't look convinced. His gaze flicks to the monitor, then back to me, calculating. "Your brain activity spiked."
I shrug, forcing a lazy smirk. "Maybe I was just thinking really hard."
He doesn't laugh.
His fingers drum against the desk, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. "You reacted to something."
I lift an eyebrow. "And you always get the truth out of me?"
Imani exhales slowly, like he's really holding back from snapping. "I don't have time for this, Cherish."
Yeah, well, neither do I.
If I tell him what I heard, he'll make this a thing. He'll drag me through more tests, dig through my brain for answers I don't have, and in the end, he'll do what he always does—treat me like something that needs to be fixed. I can't give him this. I push myself up from the chair, my legs still a little unsteady. "Are we done?"
Imani straightens, arms crossing. "No. Sit back down."
I meet his glare head-on. "I'm not a lab rat, Imani."
His expression flickers, but only for a second. "You're also not fine."
I huff a laugh, shaking my head. "When am I ever?"
That gets him. Just a little.
His lips press into a thin line, but the fight in him shifts, cooling into something else. Concern, maybe.
I move toward the door. "Let it go."
Imani doesn't respond right away. I feel his stare burning into my back, but I don't turn around.
"…This isn't over," he says finally.
I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing my face into something neutral before glancing back at him. "It is for now."
The door shuts behind me with a quiet click. The air in the hallway feels heavier, pressing in around me.
And then—
"You lie so easily."
The voice slides through my mind like smoke, curling around my thoughts. My fingers twitch.
"He knows you're hiding something."
I don't react. I won't react.
I keep walking.
"You should've told him. It would've been easier that way."
I grit my teeth, forcing my pace to stay even.
"You're going to regret this."
My pulse jumps.
Silence.
I wait.
Nothing.
Dewey is waiting for me in the common area, stretched across the couch with a half-eaten granola bar in one hand and his tablet in the other. He barely looks up as I drop onto the opposite couch.
"So, how'd the brain scans go?" he asks through a mouthful of food.
"Fine."
Miras, sitting in the chair by the window, barely reacts. Doesn't even look up from where he's idly flipping a knife between his fingers. But I feel it.
That shift.
That moment of pause.
Dewey, oblivious, nods like that settles it. "Cool. Hey, do you think it'd be unethical to make a betting pool about—"
"I'll kill you," Miras mutters, still twirling the knife.
Dewey sighs dramatically. "You guys never let me have any fun."
I almost laugh. Almost. But my nerves are still wound too tight, my skin still buzzing from the voice that slithered through my mind like it belonged there.
Miras flips the knife one last time before catching it, pressing the blade flat against his knee.
Then, finally, he glances at me.
He doesn't ask. Doesn't push.
But his eyes say everything.
He doesn't believe me.
I hold his gaze, steady. "I said it went fine."
A beat.
Miras tilts his head slightly, like he's weighing whether or not to call me out. He doesn't. But he also doesn't look away.
The weight of his stare makes my fingers twitch.
Dewey, still blissfully unaware of the tension, groans and flops onto his side. "You guys are doing that thing again."
Miras finally looks away, leaning back in his chair. "What thing?"
"The silent, broody eye contact thing." Dewey waves his hand between us. "It's weird."
Miras shrugs, like he doesn't care. Maybe he doesn't.
But he knows.
The weight of Miras's stare lingers even after he looks away. He's still flipping the knife between his fingers, slow and deliberate now, the soft snick of metal against his skin the only sound between us.
Dewey, either oblivious or just choosing to ignore the tension, rolls onto his back, balancing his tablet on his chest. "So, when's the next scan?"
I stiffen before I can stop myself.
Miras notices.
I see it in the way his grip tightens on the knife, just slightly.
"Dunno," I say, keeping my tone light. "Imani hasn't said."
Dewey groans. "Ugh. That means you have to do more, though."
I force a shrug. "Probably."
Miras flips the knife again. Snick.
I don't look at him.
Dewey hums, scrolling through something on his screen. "Man, if I had to go through that many tests, I'd start faking results just to mess with Imani."