Noah Langford - September 2120
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Finn asks, uncertainty pulling at the edges of his expression.
He's sitting on top of me where I've ended up on the floor. One of his hands traps both of mine above my head with surprising efficiency. The other braces against the floor beside me, keeping his weight steady. His grip is precise enough that I can't break it.
My pulse spikes anyway, too fast, too loud, and my chest tightens with shallow, rapid breaths that don't feel sufficient. A nod is all I can manage.
Finn exhales slowly, gaze flicking away for a moment as if reconsidering. Then he leans in, closer, his voice dropping to something quiet but firm.
"Fine. But don't complain later."
Finn shifts his weight slightly, not enough to free me, but enough that I can feel the deliberate control in the movement. He's doing this slowly on purpose, so I won't panic, so I can follow what's happening.
"This is exactly the kind of position you freeze in..." Finn says, his tone maddeningly calm. "...If someone gets you down like this, you can't rely on your brain to talk your way out of it."
I glare up at him, or at least I think I do. Judging by his faint smirk, the effect is probably less impressive than intended.
Since I had a bit of spare time, I asked Finn to run through some defence manoeuvres with me. He hesitated, of course. The last time he tried to teach me anything physical, I lost my patience at my own incompetence and walked out before he could finish the first lesson.
But with a little persuasion, with just the right pressure applied in the right places, he agreed.
I trust Finn to protect me. I always have. He's reliable in ways most people aren't. But that nagging thought from my episode in the bunker still lingers at the back of my mind. I know I wasn't thinking clearly then, that my brain had slipped somewhere dark and volatile, but the trigger was real enough.
My father and his threat. Finn wasn't there that time, and it made me realise how weak I am without him.
So… I want this. The ability to defend myself without relying on anyone else, not even Finn.
Even now that I'm stable again, the memory hasn't disappeared. It sits there, quiet but sharp.
"You need to use leverage," Finn continues. "Not strength. You're not going to out muscle anyone."
"That's insulting," I manage, though it comes out thinner than I'd prefer.
"It's also true." He adjusts his grip on my wrists, just slightly. "Now. First step. stop panicking."
"I'm not-"
"Noah," he says, and the single word shuts me up. He can read my breathing patterns like data points. "Focus. If your brain goes fuzzy, your body has to know what to do."
He shifts again, lowering his centre of gravity, tightening the hold just enough to demonstrate how easily someone else could control me. I can't move. Not a millimetre. The realisation sends a fresh, sharp jolt through my chest.
"Good," Finn says softly, misinterpreting or simply ignoring my reaction. "Now. You're going to trap my arm."
He moves my left leg with his knee, guiding it into position. "Hook it over mine. Right there."
I follow mechanically, trying to catalogue each step even though my thoughts are buzzing too loudly.
"You feel that?" he asks. "If you twist your hips at the same time, you can knock me off balance. Doesn't matter if you're weaker, physics does the work."
He's close enough that I can feel every shift of his weight, every breath. It's distracting.
"Try it," Finn instructs.
I hesitate.
His expression softens, only slightly, but enough that I notice.
"Noah," he says quietly. "You know I'm not going to hurt you. Just do it."
So I draw in the deepest breath I can manage, plant my foot, and brace myself to move.
I twist my hips and push, but the movement is off, too hesitant, too slow. Finn barely budges. He shifts his weight easily against mine, countering the motion before it even happens.
"No," Finn says immediately, the word clipped. "You hesitated again. You can't hesitate."
I grit my teeth. "I didn't hesitate."
He just raises an eyebrow. "You hesitated twice."
Before I can argue, he adjusts his position again, tightening the hold on my wrists to demonstrate how easily someone could shut me down if I second guess myself.
"You're thinking too much," he continues. "You're trying to calculate the perfect angle instead of just moving."
"That's how you avoid failure," I snap.
"Not this time. That's how you get pinned harder." His tone is frustratingly matter-of-fact. "Listen, this isn't a test. It's muscle memory. You won't have time to do maths on the floor."
He takes my leg again with his knee, guiding it into the right position. "Here. Hook properly, not halfway. You're not going to break me."
I do as he says, this time forcing the motion instead of analysing it. Finn nods.
"Better," he says smiling. "Now, hips first, not shoulders. You keep trying to use your upper body, which is useless from down here. The power needs to comes from your core."
He demonstrates by pressing his weight down a little harder. I feel completely immobilised again, and the sensation sends a sharp spike through my chest, panic trying to claw its way up.
Finn sees it instantly. Of course he does.
"Hey," he says, voice dropping low. "Don't fight the feeling. You need to use it. Channel it into movement."
"That's not how my brain works."
"Then we're going to teach it." He shifts his weight just enough for me to try again. "When I say go, you twist hard. Commit to it. Even if you fail."
"That seems inefficient."
"Noah," he sighs, "stop arguing with physics and throw me."
He waits until my breathing settles, only for a fraction and then...
"Go."
This time I move without thinking. And for the first time, I feel him tilt. Not much, but enough to register that it worked.
Finn grins down at me, breath warm, eyes bright.
"See? You can do it. Now do it again, properly."
I try the movement again, forcing my hips to twist the way Finn showed me, but my body gives a weak, uncooperative jolt instead. Finn barely shifts, if anything, he seems more stable than before, which is irritating.
"That's it," I mutter, breath catching. "I'm done. I am tired, Finn."
He raises an eyebrow, still straddling me like this is the most ordinary position in the world. "You're tired?"
"Yes," I snap, or attempt to, though it comes out more strained than sharp. "We've been doing this for hours. My arms feel like lead, my lungs feel compromised, and your knee has been in my ribcage for at least half the lesson."
Finn tilts his head, unconvinced. "You're exaggerating."
"I assure you, I'm not. I am experiencing what medically qualifies as fatigue."
"Medically qualifies," he repeats, fighting a smile. "Right."
"Also," I add pointedly, "this position is ridiculous, undignified, and completely unnecessary."
"It's literally the point of the exercise."
"Then the exercise is ridiculous and undignified."
"You said you wouldn't complain this time" he huffs.
"Well, I change my mind"
Finn breathes out a laugh, tired, fond, and slightly annoyed. Then he shifts his weight off me just enough to free one hand. He checks his watch.
His eyebrows lift.
"Well, it's time for lunch"
I blink up at him, disoriented. "That can't be right."
"It's one o'clock." He shows me the watch face like I've personally offended physics. "We started at ten."
"That explains why my arms feel like disintegrating carbon."
Finn snorts. "Normal people just say they're sore."
My muscles complain immediately as I push upright, my wrists tingling from being pinned so long. Finn watches me with that half-worried, half-exasperated expression he seems to reserve specifically for my existence.
"We should eat," he says. "And then… maybe do something less likely to make you collapse."
"I'm not collapsing," I argue, trying to stand and nearly falling sideways.
Finn catches my arm instantly.
"Mm-hm," he says dryly. "Totally fine."
Finn steadies me until I'm fully upright, though he keeps a hand on my arm a second longer than necessary, probably checking that I'm not going to fall over again.
"I could have stood perfectly fine on my own," I say.
"You nearly introduced your face to the floor."
"Nearly is not actually."
"Yeah, sure." Finn's tone is warm, irritatingly patient. "Come on. Lunch."
We walk toward the kitchen, or rather, Finn walks normally while I walk like someone has replaced my legs with poorly-attached machinery. He pretends not to notice, which is infuriatingly considerate.
"What do you want to eat?" he asks, opening the fridge.
"Something that doesn't require me to move."
"So… sandwiches?"
"That sounds adequate."
Finn pulls out bread, vegetables, and leftover chicken, setting everything on the counter. He gestures to the kitchen stools. "Sit."
"I can stand."
"You look like you're about to dissolve."
"…Fine." I sit.
Finn starts preparing the food with quick, practiced movements. I watch him, my muscles slowly unclenching now that I'm not being manhandled into the floor. The kitchen is quiet in the way that feels safe, familiar. Finn doesn't fill the silence; he just works, humming under his breath.
"Are you okay?" he says eventually, not looking up.
"Yes," I admit, "apart from you making me fight you repeatedly."
"You asked me to teach you."
"I asked for instruction. Not repeated assassination attempts."
He laughs under his breath. "If I wanted to assassinate you, you'd know."
"I would not. You could absolutely kill me in my sleep."
Finn pauses mid-slice. "Noah. Why would I kill you in your sleep?"
"I don't know. You could have reasons."
"I don't."
"You could develop reasons."
Finn puts the knife down and looks at me like I'm the most exhausting puzzle he's ever been handed.
"Eat your food" he says simply. "And stop saying weird things."
He hands me the finished sandwich and I take a bite. It's good as always.
"You made it correctly," I say.
"Thank you," Finn replies, deadpan. "What high praise."
"It is high praise. I don't give compliments lightly."
"No," he mutters, "you give them like they cost money."
We finish eating, and Finn rinses the plates while I lean back in my chair, stretching my still-aching arms. My mind feels clearer than it has in weeks, no buzzing noise, no static, no edge of collapse hovering over my thoughts. Just calm, collected focus.
"Noah?" Finn says without turning around.
"Yes?"
This time, I know exactly what he's about to ask.
He shuts off the tap, dries his hands on a towel and faces me, arms loosely folded. He studies me with that quiet scrutiny he uses when he's trying not to worry.
"…Are you sure you are ready for the summit?"
Last month, the question would have made my pulse spike. Now, I simply straighten a little and meet his eyes.
"Of course I am."
Finn blinks. "That's a very quick answer."
"It's a very obvious answer," I reply. "My Nullifier is stable, semi-functional, and several iterations beyond anything they're expecting. The summit will be… manageable."
He raises an eyebrow. "Manageable? You've been up for weeks working on that thing. Barely sleeping. Barely talking. Walking around like a ghost."
"Yes. Because you know why." I say it plainly, not defensive, not fragile. Just fact.
"But I'm fine now," I continue. "Better than fine. I'm thinking clearly, I'm well rested, and…" I gesture at the remains of the sandwich. "I've even eaten something that isn't just caffeine."
Finn opens his mouth, then closes it again, a small frown forming. "You're… different today."
"Different?" I tilt my head. "Or back to normal?"
He hesitates, just a beat.
"…Back to normal," he admits.
"Exactly."
I stand, joints protesting slightly, but the fatigue doesn't shake me anymore. My mind is sharp and precise, each thought settling neatly into place. The way it should.
"You don't have to worry about me, Finn," I say, stepping past him to place my glass in the sink. "The summit is politics, strategy, and ego. Those are the easiest terrains to navigate, especially now my mind is clearer."
"Easy?" Finn echoes. "Noah, most people dread this kind of thing."
"I'm not most people."
"Yes," he mutters, "I'm painfully aware."
I smirk, not large, but unmistakably self-assured.
"You forget," I say lightly, "I excel in rooms full of powerful people who think they're smarter than everyone else."
Finn looks at me for a long second, really looks. Then something in his shoulders relaxes.
"There you are," he says quietly. "I was waiting for that."
"For what?"
"For you." He taps my forehead lightly. "The version who walks into a room and makes everyone nervous on purpose."
"That's not my fault," I say. "They choose to be nervous."
Finn breathes out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "You're trouble."
"I'm effective."
"Same thing," he says, but there's warmth in his voice.
"I'll handle the summit," I say. "And my father. And whatever political nonsense they try."
I can see how nervous Finn is about all of this, but I'm finally myself again. Clear-headed. Steady. Not slipping, not spiralling.
And this time, I won't let the Board, or my father gain the upper hand. Not again.
I know exactly what I'm capable of when I'm functioning properly, and I intend to use every bit of it.
I will complete my mission and none of them will stop me.