*Trigger warnings angst*, abandoment, run away, betrayal, drugging.
The news hit me like a slap to the face.
I had been lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the constant ache in my body when my father walked in, followed closely by Miras. My father's expression was unreadable, a mask of cold calculation that I had come to expect from him, but there was something in his eyes, a flicker of hesitation, that made my stomach twist.
"Miras," my father began, his voice firm and steady, "has been assigned to a mission. It's non-negotiable."
I didn't even have to ask. The words sank in too fast, too heavy, and a sharp surge of panic shot through me before I could stop it. I turned to Miras, my throat tightening, but I couldn't bring myself to say his name—couldn't bring myself to look him in the eye.
"Wait—what?" I managed, my voice barely above a whisper, but it was enough to break through the tension in the room. I turned back to my father, anger rising quickly.
My father's jaw tightened, but his gaze didn't soften. "It's a necessary operation, Cherish. There are things I can't afford to leave in the hands of anyone else. Miras is the best option for this."
I felt my heart beat faster, and suddenly, I wasn't sure whether it was because of the pain in my body or the anger welling up inside me. I wanted to scream, to tell them both how unfair this was, how wrong it was.
Finally, Miras moved toward me, his face unreadable. "This mission won't take long, Cherish. I'll be back as soon as it's over. But right now, I need you to trust me. I'm not doing this because I want to leave you behind. I'm doing this because it's something I have to do. For all of us."
I opened my mouth to speak, my brain going into overdrive of all the combinations of insults I wanted to throw at him.
But none came.
"I'll wait outside so you two can say goodbye privately," said my father. "Talk to me before you leave, Miras."
"Yes sir."
My father's heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway as he left the room, his cold gaze lingering on us for just a moment before the door clicked shut behind him. The sudden emptiness in the room was palpable, and for a heartbeat, I felt like I could finally breathe again. But it was short-lived.
Miras didn't move at first. He just stood there, his expression unreadable, his gaze fixed on me as if trying to figure out what I was thinking. I didn't want him to. I didn't want anyone to see how much I was breaking. So, I pulled myself together, sitting up straighter, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. I couldn't let him see it. I wouldn't.
But the silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. Miras's eyes never left me, and the weight of his stare, the quiet concern, it made something inside of me unravel. I didn't want to break in front of him, didn't want to show him that all the bravado and anger were just a thin mask covering the fear and pain I couldn't hide.
"I don't need your pity," I said, my voice rougher than I wanted it to be. "You don't have to stay here and—"
"I'm not leaving, Cherish," Miras interrupted, his voice low and insistent. "Not like this."
I could feel the crack forming in my tough exterior, the first fissure in the walls I had built so carefully. I turned away from him, my breath hitching as I fought to keep it together. The weight of everything was crushing me. The pain in my body was nothing compared to the weight in my chest, the suffocating feeling of being helpless, of watching him walk away when I couldn't even stand.
Miras took a step closer, his voice softer this time, more cautious. "Cherish, you don't have to do this alone. You don't have to keep holding all this in."
I could feel the tears threatening to spill, hot and sharp behind my eyes, but I blinked them back, gritting my teeth. I wouldn't cry. Not in front of him. Not like this.
"I'm fine," I choked out, even though I knew it wasn't true. My chest tightened painfully with every breath, and the anger that had been my shield before was starting to crumble. "I don't need you here."
But I didn't believe it. Not for a second.
Miras didn't say anything. Instead, he sat down next to me, close but not too close, as if giving me space but still offering something I couldn't name. His presence was a comfort, even if I hated it. Even if it made everything feel so much more real than I wanted to admit.
" Hey, hey please, don't cry," he whispered, wiping the tears from my eyes.
The sound of his voice—his voice, filled with so much desperation—was the thing that finally undid me. I couldn't hold it in anymore. I didn't want to.
Tears welled up, spilling over before I could stop them. I wiped at my face furiously, but it only made it worse, the ache in my chest expanding as my breath came in quick, shaky gasps.
"I hate you," I whispered, my voice breaking, the words nothing but a lie. The anger that had kept me steady, the bitter defiance, was gone, and all that was left was the raw, painful truth that I couldn't hide anymore. "I hate that you're leaving. I hate that you think I'm not strong enough. I hate that you—" I couldn't finish the sentence. I couldn't even say the words without them choking me.
Miras didn't say anything for a long moment. Instead, he reached for my hand, his grip gentle but firm, grounding me in the way only he could.
"I never meant to hurt you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I never wanted you to feel like you're alone in this. And I swear, I swear to god Cherish, I'll come back. I will. Just... please, don't do this to yourself. Please don't push me away."
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to stop the flood of tears, but I couldn't. They just kept coming, one after another, as the weight of everything finally came crashing down on me.
"I'll forgive you," I whispered through the sobs, my voice barely audible, but the words felt like they were tearing through me. "If you come back... I'll forgive you. I'll forgive everything. But you have to come back."
Miras's hand tightened around mine, and I could feel the way his heart was pounding in his chest, how much he wanted to say something, anything, that would make it better. But there was nothing to say. Not really.
He leaned in, his lips pressing to my forehead, everything else in the world faded away. The pain, the fear, the anger—it all disappeared, leaving just the two of us in this fragile, broken moment.
"I swear, Cherish," he whispered, his breath warm against my skin. "I'll come back. And we'll get through this. Together."
The moment stretched between us, hanging heavy in the air like something fragile, something that had been waiting to be said, to be done. My heart pounded in my chest, the weight of everything—of everything I wanted to say, everything I couldn't—swarming in my head, clouding my thoughts. But there was only one thing I could focus on, one thing that felt urgent, desperate.
Miras was still there, his hand wrapped around mine, his touch steady and comforting, but there was a tension in his body, something coiled tight that told me he was waiting for me to speak, to give him a sign, a word, anything that would tell him how to fix this. But I didn't want him to fix it. Not anymore.
"I'm scared," I whispered, the words coming out shakier than I expected. The tears had mostly stopped, but the rawness of everything was still there, thick and heavy in the air between us. Miras didn't speak, just held my gaze with those dark eyes of his, his thumb gently brushing the back of my hand, like he was afraid to say anything wrong. Like he knew, deep down, that words weren't what I needed.
I took a shaky breath, forcing myself to say it. "Before you go… kiss me."
His eyes widened, just for a second, as if the request caught him off guard. There was hesitation in the way he leaned closer, no doubt in the way his free hand reached to gently lift my chin, tilting my face toward him. But I didn't want him to hesitate. I didn't want this to be anything but what it was—something real, something that told me he wasn't leaving me behind. I needed to feel it, feel him close to me, before he was gone.
"Kiss me, Miras," I repeated, my voice softer this time, almost pleading, the desperation in my tone unmistakable.
He didn't speak again, just closed the small distance between us, his lips brushing mine softly at first, testing, asking for permission without words. I let out a shaky breath, and then I pulled him closer, my free hand threading through his hair, deepening the kiss, needing him, needing to feel something beyond the pain, beyond the uncertainty.
"Cherie…"
"Please," I urged again, my hands trembling as I reached up, pulling him closer. The air between us felt charged, as if the smallest touch would set everything on fire. And when I finally pressed my lips to his, it wasn't gentle. It was urgent, desperate.
Miras kissed me back immediately, his mouth crashing against mine in a way that made my head spin. His hand moved to the back of my neck, pulling me closer, his fingers threading into my hair as his lips parted, deepening the kiss. His tongue brushed against mine, slow at first, testing, but it didn't take long for that slow burn to turn into something hotter, something needy.
I could feel the heat building between us, the way our bodies pressed together, the tension in the air thick and electric. My hands roamed up to his chest, fingers curling into his shirt as if I needed him even closer. His lips moved with purpose, a silent promise in every kiss, in every breath that mingled between us.
I could feel the pulse of his heartbeat beneath my fingertips, matching the frantic rhythm of my own. His hands slid down my back, pulling me even closer, and for a moment, everything else faded away. The pain, the fear of him leaving—it all melted beneath the weight of his kiss, the heat, the rawness.
"I'll come back," he whispered hoarsely, his thumb brushing across my lips as if he were memorizing the feeling of them against his. "I swear, Cherish. I'll come back. And when I do, we'll... fix this." Miras pressed his forehead to mine, his breath coming fast, his eyes searching mine as if he was trying to find a way to make this okay.
"I almost forgot," he said, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes searching mine as if weighing every word. Slowly, he stepped back toward me, reaching into the pocket of his jacket.
"What is it?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, feeling the sudden weight of his presence still lingering in the air.
Miras didn't answer right away. Instead, he pulled out a small object, his fingers curling around it for a moment before he placed it gently in my hand. It was a small pendant—a simple, silver charm with intricate markings on it, something that looked like it had been carved with care.
"This," he said, his voice rough, "is for you. To hold onto while I'm gone. It was my mothers."
I stared at it, my fingers brushing over the smooth surface, and for a moment, I couldn't find the words. The charm felt significant, like a tether, a connection between us that he was giving me, something I could keep close even if he was miles away.
"You don't have to—" I started, but Miras shook his head, his hand hovering over mine for a moment as if he needed to make sure I understood.
"Just... hold onto it," he insisted softly, his voice steady but with an undercurrent of something I couldn't quite place. "It's nothing big. But I want you to know I'm always with you. No matter where I am."
I clutched the pendant tightly in my hand, my fingers curling around it instinctively, as if by doing so, I could hold onto him, to us, in some way. His gaze lingered on me, and I could feel his warmth, even though he was just a few feet away.
"I'll be back, Cherish," he whispered, his voice steady but laced with the same vulnerability I had seen in his eyes earlier. "And when I am, we'll get through this. I swear."
I nodded, my throat tight with emotion I couldn't quite release. The weight of the pendant in my palm felt like a promise, something real to hold onto while he was gone. It wasn't much, but it was enough. For now.
"Don't forget me," I whispered, my voice cracking slightly, though I hated how vulnerable it made me feel.
Miras's gaze softened, his expression a mixture of sadness and resolve. "Never."
And with that, he turned and left the room, leaving me alone with the pendant in my hand, the promise of his return, and the hope that somehow, this small piece of him would be enough to keep me from losing myself while he was gone.
*****
It had been days, but the silence in the room still felt like a thick, suffocating fog that refused to lift. Miras was gone. The words kept circling in my head like a broken record, repeating over and over, but I couldn't make them make sense. He was out there, on some mission that felt too dangerous, too far away for me to reach, and I was stuck here—alone.
I had never hated the quiet more than I did now.
I turned onto my side, the sheets tangled around me, but I couldn't get comfortable. The bed felt too wide, too empty without him beside me. Even though I was used to being on my own, it was different now. The space between us felt like an abyss I couldn't cross, a gulf that kept widening the longer I laid here.
I pulled the blanket tighter around me, as if it could somehow hold the chill at bay, but it didn't help. Nothing helped.
I reached for the pendant Miras had given me, the one he said to hold onto while he was gone. The cold metal pressed into my palm, but even its weight didn't ground me the way I needed it to.
I should be grateful for it, I thought. At least it's something. Something to remind me of him, even when he's so far away.
But the truth was, it felt like a poor substitute. His touch, his presence, the way his body had always seemed to fill the space around us—those things weren't something you could capture in an object, no matter how much you wanted to.
I closed my eyes, but the images of him were there, lingering just beyond my eyelids—his face, his smile, the warmth of his hand on mine. The way he had looked at me before he left, that quiet promise in his eyes. It wasn't enough.
It wasn't enough to ease the pit that had settled in my stomach, the gnawing fear that twisted at my insides every time I thought about the mission.
I wanted to be angry. I wanted to scream and shout, tell him he was an idiot for going without me, for putting himself at risk like this. But the truth was, I didn't have the energy for that anymore. The anger felt like a distant thing, something I could barely grasp, like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands.
The fear, though? That was easy to hold onto. It came without effort.
I shifted in the bed again, tossing the covers off this time, my feet cold against the floor. I stood up, walking slowly toward the window. The darkness outside was thick, impenetrable. I couldn't see anything beyond the glass, but I knew the night was swallowing the world whole.
Why did he have to leave?
I leaned my forehead against the cool windowpane, staring out into the nothingness, and for a moment, I let the tears come. Silent, unbidden, but they flowed nonetheless, soaking my cheeks.
I hadn't cried since the day he left. I hadn't wanted to show him how weak I felt, how terrified I was of losing him. I had wanted to be strong for him, to be the one person who didn't fall apart. But now, in the stillness of the night, with no one to see me, the weight of it all came crashing down.
What if something happens to him? What if he doesn't come back?
The thought lingered in the back of my mind like a poison, but I didn't want to acknowledge it. It felt like it would break me if I did.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, trying to shake the cold, creeping feeling of panic that threatened to overtake me. I couldn't afford to break, not yet. I had to hold on—for him. I needed him to come back. I needed him.
But no matter how tightly I clutched the pendant, no matter how hard I tried to steady my breathing, sleep wouldn't come. Every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was him—hurt, distant, or worse, gone.
I sighed, dragging my hand down my face, and forced myself to walk back to the bed. It wasn't like I could stay awake forever. Eventually, exhaustion would take over. But until then, I would lie there in the dark, holding onto the piece of him I had left.
I slid under the blankets again, curling into a tight ball, hugging my knees to my chest. The stillness was overwhelming, but I couldn't fight it anymore. The only thing that kept me tethered to reality was the feeling of the pendant in my hand, its cold surface a reminder that he would come back.
He had to.
The quiet was broken by the sound of a knock at the door. I hadn't heard anyone approach, not that I had been paying attention. My thoughts were swirling, tangled in the emptiness of the room. The silence had become oppressive, like a weight that sat heavily on my chest.
I didn't respond at first. I wasn't sure I had the energy to speak, to pretend that I wasn't just falling apart. The door creaked open slowly, and I didn't have to look to know who it was. The light from the hallway spilled in, casting a faint glow over the shadows in the room.
Imani.
I hadn't seen him in a while. Not since the last time he had tried to help, tried to do something, when all I really wanted was for Miras to come back to me.
"Are you awake?" Imani's voice was soft, but there was an edge of concern in it, one that I couldn't ignore. I didn't answer, but I felt him step into the room, his presence filling the space as he crossed the threshold.
He paused at the foot of the bed, his gaze falling on me, but I didn't meet his eyes. I couldn't. The weight of everything that had happened—everything that still felt like it was unraveling—was too much.
Imani's tone softened as he spoke again. "Cherish, you've been through too much. I know it feels impossible, but you need to start putting the pieces back together."
I clenched my fists, feeling the familiar twinge of anger, the same bitter edge I had felt earlier when I realized Miras had left. Start putting the pieces back together? It sounded so simple, like it was something I could just… do. As if my world hadn't already been shattered.
"I'm fine," I muttered, my voice sounding more strained than I wanted it to. "I'm fine, I just… need some time."
Imani didn't respond right away. He moved to the side of the bed, and I could feel his gaze on me, intense and patient. He was giving me the space to say whatever I needed to say, but I wasn't sure I wanted to say anything at all. The words wouldn't come. Not with him looking at me like that—like he wanted to fix me.
"You don't need time to sit in this," he said softly, sitting down next to me on the bed. "Miras would want you to move. To keep fighting."
I hated how weak I felt.
Every step was unsteady, my legs trembling like I had just learned how to walk. Imani hovered beside me, not touching me, but close enough that I could feel his presence—waiting, just in case I fell. I wanted to snap at him, tell him I didn't need his help, but the truth was humiliating. I did need his help. My body was barely holding itself together, and every muscle ached from disuse.
But I refused to sit back down.
I clenched my jaw and took another step forward. My knees wobbled. My breath hitched. Imani hummed in approval, like I had just done something impressive.
"That's it," he said, his voice easy, too damn patient. "One foot in front of the other."
I shot him a glare. "You sound like a kindergarten teacher."
"And you sound like someone who hasn't eaten in days." His smirk was almost smug. "Which is why I have an offer you can't refuse."
I narrowed my eyes. "I don't like the sound of that."
His grin widened, " I'll get you cheesecake factory. Technically not ideal healthy heart food, but if you walk with me to the car, it's all yours."
I froze. My stomach twisted—not just with hunger, but something deeper. I hadn't even thought about food. Not really.
My throat closed up. The memory was sudden, visceral. The way my body had been force-fed nutrients through a tube. The way my stomach churned, rejecting whatever they put in me. I swallowed hard. Not now. Not here.
"I'm not hungry," I muttered.
Imani crossed his arms. "Liar."
I glared at him. "I said—"
"You haven't eaten, Cherish," he interrupted, his voice softer but firm. "You can barely stand. You need real food."
I hated how right he was. I hated that he was using cheesecake—my cheesecake—against me.
"What kind?" I asked, my voice barely above a mumble.
Imani's smirk was immediate. "I knew that would get you."
I rolled my eyes, but I could feel the corner of my lips twitch, like I was almost smiling despite myself.
"Any kind you want," he said. "Strawberry? Oreo? That weird caramel one you never let me try?"
I sighed heavily, like this was the biggest inconvenience in the world and not exactly what I needed. "If they have the caramel pecan turtle cheesecake," I muttered, "then maybe I'll go."
Imani chuckled. "Deal. Get dressed kid, it's time to see the outside world again."
My stomach churned at that too the outside world. I hadn't even seen my own bedroom in weeks and now Imani wanted to take me outside? Where the public could see me with a NG tube down my noise. Yeah, great idea Imani.
But I had already somewhat agreed, and I knew he wasn't going to let me take it back.
Imani helped me to my feet, and the world tilted violently. My legs felt like they weren't mine, like I was balancing on stilts made of paper. His hand tightened around my arm, steadying me before I could embarrass myself by crumpling to the floor.
"Easy," he murmured. "Just one step at a time, alright?"
I nodded, but my throat tightened around the lump of frustration building there. My body should know how to do this. Walking shouldn't be this hard. I gritted my teeth and forced my right foot forward, my grip white-knuckled on his sleeve.
Every step felt like wading through wet sand. The tile was too smooth, the air too thick, the hallway stretching impossibly long. By the time we reached the front door, my lungs burned, and I was already exhausted.
Then I saw the outside world.
The sunlight stabbed into my eyes, too bright after so many weeks trapped inside. The air was too open, too big, and the distant sound of cars and people sent a shiver down my spine. A whisper of nausea curled in my stomach. My pulse picked up, breath coming shallow and fast through my nose.
It had been so long.
Too long.
I stopped short, my fingers digging into Imani's arm. "I can't—"
"Yes, you can," he said, his voice calm, like he hadn't just watched me freeze up like a deer in headlights. "You already are."
I hated him for being right.
With a shaky breath, I took another step.
As soon as Imani helped me into the passenger seat, I all but collapsed against it, my muscles trembling from the short walk like I'd just run a marathon. My breathing was uneven, too fast, but I couldn't slow it down. My chest felt tight—whether from exertion or panic, I wasn't sure.
Imani crouched beside the open door, studying me like I was some fragile thing that might shatter if he moved too fast. "You good?"
I wanted to say yes, to brush it off like I always did. But I wasn't good. My skin felt too tight, like I didn't belong in my own body, and the outside world felt too big, too loud. My fingers clenched weakly in my lap, useless and aching.
I flinched before I could stop myself.
Imani caught it. "Cherish," he said gently.
I forced my shoulders to relax, or at least tried to. "Just drive," I muttered.
For once, he didn't argue. He shut the door softly and rounded the car, slipping into the driver's seat. The engine rumbled to life, and I clenched my jaw against the way the vibrations made my body feel even more disconnected.
As we pulled out of the parking lot, I stared out the window, trying to swallow the knot in my throat.
Everything looked normal.
Like the world hadn't stopped while I was locked away, while my body was being broken down piece by piece. Like I wasn't different now.
But I was.
And I had no idea how to exist in a world that had kept moving without me.
I was grateful for the tinted windows.
They softened the outside world, made it feel a little less sharp, a little less real. People passed by in blurs, unaware of me, and I could pretend, just for a second, that I wasn't here. That I wasn't this weak, hollowed-out version of myself sitting in the passenger seat, barely holding it together.
Imani didn't say anything for a while. He just drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear shift. The silence should've been comfortable—it had been before—but now it felt thick, pressing against my ribs.
I crossed my arms over my stomach, as if that could hold me together. My fingers brushed the plastic tubing taped to my face, and my stomach twisted.
"Where are we going?" I asked, just to break the quiet. My voice was hoarse, like I hadn't used it in days.
Imani glanced at me, then back at the road. "I told you. Cheesecake."
I let out a breathy, humorless laugh. "Right. Because dessert fixes everything."
"It fixes some things," he said easily. "And I figured you could use something good right now."
Something good.
My throat tightened.
I turned my gaze back to the window, watching as the city blurred past. It looked the same as I remembered—buildings, neon signs, people walking, talking, living. But I felt like a ghost passing through it, detached from all of it, like I didn't belong anymore.
Maybe I didn't.
I exhaled slowly, forcing the thought away. Imani wouldn't let me sink into it, anyway. He was annoyingly stubborn like that.
I shifted, wincing as my body reminded me just how weak I still was. "You didn't have to do this," I mumbled.
Imani made a noise in his throat, somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. "Yeah, I did."
I glanced at him, frowning. "Why?"
He didn't answer right away. His fingers flexed on the steering wheel. "Because you needed someone too, and because I owe you."
I swallowed hard and looked away.
I stared at Miras's name on my screen, my thumb hovering over the call button. My chest was already tight, my breath coming shallow, but I hit it anyway.
The line rang once. Twice.
My fingers curled around the phone.
Three times.
I shifted in my seat, suddenly too aware of how small the car felt, how my own pulse was thudding loud in my ears.
Four.
The robotic voice cut through the silence. Your call has been forwarded to voicemail. Please leave a message after the tone.
Then the beep.
I inhaled sharply, my throat closing up around words I hadn't planned. "Hey, it's me."
My voice sounded weird, unsteady. I swallowed, staring out the window at nothing.
"I—uh—I just wanted to check in. See how things are going." I hesitated, my free hand tightening into a weak fist in my lap. "I know you're probably in the middle of something, so just… call me when you can, okay?"
I bit my lip, my heart hammering against my ribs.
This wasn't enough. It wasn't what I actually wanted to say.
"My first time outside in weeks," I blurted. My fingers twitched where they rested against my thigh. "It—it felt weird. Too big. I don't know. But I made it. So…" I let out a breath, barely above a whisper. "That's something, right?"
I forced a weak chuckle, though it felt wrong. My throat was dry. "And, uh… be careful."
The car door opened, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
Imani slid into the driver's seat, setting two small takeout containers between us. His eyes flicked to me immediately, sharp, assessing. "What happened?"
I forced a smirk that didn't quite land. "Miras didn't pick up."
Imani didn't look convinced. He nudged one of the containers toward me. "He's fine, Cher."
The weight of the voicemail still pressed against my ribs, the silence from Miras louder than anything.
Imani was quiet as he ate, but he kept sneaking glances at me, like he was waiting for me to shatter. It was annoying. But also… not.
"I made it outside today," I said, more to myself than to him.
Imani hummed. "Yeah, you did."
"It felt…" I hesitated, trying to find the words. "Like everything was too big. Too loud. I thought it'd be freeing, but it just reminded me of how small I feel now."
Imani didn't jump in with some fake reassurance. He just let me sit with it.
I poked at my cheesecake with the plastic fork, cutting through the layers but not taking another bite. "I know I should be grateful. That I got out at all."
I could feel his eyes on me again, steady and unreadable.
"Not 'should,'" he said finally. "You feel how you feel. That's allowed."
A bitter laugh slipped out. "Yeah, well. Mostly I just feel like a mess."
He let out a breath, setting his container aside. "I—" He hesitated, then turned fully in his seat to face me. "I need to say something."
I blinked at him, thrown off by the seriousness in his tone. "Okay?"
His jaw tightened. "I know I already said this before, but… I'm sorry, Cherish."
The air in the car felt heavier. I gripped the edge of my container, suddenly uneasy. "For what?"
Imani's throat bobbed, and when he spoke, his voice was lower, rougher. "For everything I had to do to keep you alive." His eyes flickered over me, pausing at my NG tube, at my right hand curled in my lap. "For every choice I made that caused you pain."
My stomach twisted.
I had been angry at him. Furious, even. When I was barely conscious, in and out of the worst pain of my life, all I could think about was that it was him hurting me. Him forcing me to stay awake when I just wanted to slip away. Him making the calls that kept me in that unbearable place between life and death.
And even after, when I knew—really knew—that he had done it to save me, some part of me had still held onto that anger.
"I blamed you," I admitted quietly.
Imani didn't flinch. He just nodded. "I know."
My throat felt tight. I looked down at my lap, fingers clenching around my fork. "And that wasn't fair."
He exhaled through his nose, but there was no judgment in it. No I told you so. "It wasn't unfair either," he said. "I had to make impossible choices. But you're the one who had to live with them."
I shook my head, swallowing hard. "I still shouldn't have—shouldn't blame you. You did what you had to. I get that now."
He didn't say anything at first. Then, after a moment, he reached across the center console and gave my knee a light squeeze. "We're okay, then?"
I let out a slow breath. I wasn't sure I was ready to say I forgive you. Not yet. But I wasn't angry anymore, not in the way I had been.
I looked up at him and nodded. "Yeah. We're okay."
"Hey, kid," Imani pointed at my food with his fork. "You're eating."
I frowned at him. "Yeah, I mean, isn't that kind of the point of desert?"
He shook his head, tapping his fork against the edge of his container. "No, I mean you're actually eating. By yourself. No one coaxing you, no one watching your every bite, no IV pumps or feeding schedules. Just you, eating because you want to."
I blinked, glancing down at my half-finished slice like I was seeing it for the first time.
It was such a small thing. A normal thing. But the way he said it made my chest tighten.
I poked at the cheesecake, my voice quieter. "Didn't really think about it."
"That's the best part," Imani said. "Means it's starting to feel normal again."
Normal.
I wasn't sure I even knew what normal was anymore. But still, I was sitting here, eating. No one was hovering with a syringe full of liquid calories, no one telling me just one more bite, Cherish, please.
I took another forkful, slower this time. Really tasted it. The caramel, the pecans, the creamy filling.
It was good. And I had wanted it.
I swallowed, then muttered, "Guess that is something, huh?"
Imani smirked. "Told you cheesecake fixes things."
I snorted, rolling my eyes. "Don't push it." But the knot in my stomach had loosened just a little.
"I'm proud of you, Cherish."
"For eating cheesecake?" I smirked.
Imani shook his head, finishing his bite before speaking. "We both know this wasn't about Cheesecake."
I stared at him for a moment, my fork hovering midair. Something about the way he said it—quiet, steady, like it was the simplest truth in the world—made my chest ache.
I lowered my gaze to my half-eaten dessert, suddenly unsure what to do with the warmth creeping up my throat. Imani didn't just mean the cheesecake. He meant this—being outside, pushing through the nausea, getting in the car, making it this far after everything. I had loosened off my desperate need for control, only if just a little.
I swallowed hard, poking at the remaining pecans in my container. "Doesn't feel like much."
Imani's voice softened. "That's because you're the one carrying it."
I exhaled, shaking my head. "You make me sound like some kind of warrior."
He scoffed. "Cher, you fought your way out of hell and you're still here. If that's not a warrior, I don't know what is."
I pressed my lips together, biting back the sting behind my eyes.
"I love you, kid."
"Even after all the times I cussed you out?" I glanced up, and Imani just smirked, shaking his head.
"Especially after that."
A small breath of laughter slipped out of me before I could stop it.
For a second, I didn't know what to say. Not because I didn't feel it, but because feeling it—saying it—meant something real. Something permanent.
And after everything, permanence scared me.
But this? Imani? He'd been there when I needed him most. He had dragged me back from the edge when I was too weak to fight for myself. And even now, when I was still a mess of broken pieces, he was here.
So I cleared my throat, picking at the edge of my container. "Yeah," I mumbled, the words rough but honest. "Love you too."
The drive home was quiet. Imani didn't push me to talk, and I didn't feel the need to fill the silence. I just let the hum of the engine and the distant sound of the city pass over me. My stomach was still unsettled—too many emotions tangled up inside me—but at least the cheesecake was sitting okay. Small victories.
By the time we pulled into the driveway, the sun was dipping below the horizon, washing the house in soft golds and purples. I exhaled, steeling myself. I wasn't sure if I was ready to be back inside, to feel the walls close in again. But this was home. Or at least, it was supposed to be.
Imani helped me out of the car, steady but not hovering, and I let him. My legs ached, my body felt wrung out from the day, but I made it up the steps on my own.
Inside, the house smelled like coffee and something faintly herbal—probably the tea my dad drank when he was stressed.
He was in the kitchen when we walked in, his back to us, his fingers wrapped around a mug. I saw the tension in his shoulders the second he realized we were home.
"Cherish." He turned, his dark eyes sweeping over me like he was checking for damage.
I sighed. "I'm fine, Dad."
His gaze flicked to Imani, who gave him a small nod, then back to me. "Did you eat?"
"Yes, Dad," I muttered, kicking off my shoes and making my way to the couch. I sank into the cushions, exhausted.
Dad followed me, sitting down in his chair across from me, fingers laced together. "How was it? Going out?"
I hesitated, rubbing my hands over my knees. "Weird."
His brows lifted slightly. "Weird?"
I shrugged, trying to find the words. "Too big. Too loud. Like I was walking through someone else's life."
His face softened, and he nodded like he understood. Maybe he did.
A beat passed, and I felt the question sitting heavy on my tongue before I could stop it.
"Have you heard from Miras?"
Dad sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Not yet."
My stomach clenched. "What is this mission?"
I could tell from the way his jaw tightened that he did—and that he didn't like me asking.
"Why?"
"Because I want to know," I said, my voice sharper than I meant it to be. "Because I—" My fingers curled into the fabric of my sweatpants. "Because he didn't pick up."
Dad's expression barely shifted, but I caught the flicker of something in his eyes. Concern, maybe. Maybe something worse.
"I told you," he said, voice calm. "Miras can handle himself. He knows he's not supposed to be on his phone while on a mission."
I scoffed. "That's not an answer."
He exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. "Cherish—"
"If it were me on that mission, would you just sit back and wait?" I challenged, my pulse picking up.
Dad tensed. Just for a second. But I caught it.
"That's different."
"Is it?" I leaned forward, frustration burning in my chest. "Because it doesn't feel different."
For a moment, neither of us spoke. Imani stayed quiet too, but I could feel him watching.
Finally, Dad sighed, setting his mug down. "It's classified, Cherish."
I shook my head. "But you know." Something sharp twisted in my ribs. I swallowed hard. "Then tell me."
Dad held my gaze, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy, until finally, he sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"It's a retrieval mission," he said carefully.
My stomach twisted. "Retrieval of what?"
He hesitated, then exhaled. "Who."
A sharp prickle ran down my spine.
I swallowed hard. "Who?"
Dad's jaw tensed, his fingers lacing together like he was bracing for impact. "Amar."
The word hit me like a physical blow.
For a moment, I couldn't process it—couldn't even understand what he was saying. The name didn't belong here, in this house, in this conversation. It belonged in my nightmares, in cold steel rooms and suffocating dark, in places I never wanted to go back to.
My hands trembled against my lap. "That's not—" My voice cracked. "What the hell do you mean retrieval? He's downstairs!"
Dad ran a hand over his face. "I didn't want you to know."
"Ever?"
"As far as I'm concerned, he should be as far out of your life as possible."
"And that's why you keep him in the basement?"
"I was trying to protect you, Cherish."
"And you—" I sucked in a breath, barely holding myself together. "You sent Miras after him?"
Dad's expression darkened. "Miras volunteered."
Of course he did. Because Miras was—Miras was himself. He was reckless and protective and infuriating, and he would never let this go.
I suddenly felt sick. My chest squeezed like a fist had wrapped around my ribs. "He's not answering his phone."
Dad's silence told me everything.
I shoved up from the couch too fast, my vision swimming. My legs wobbled under me, and I barely caught myself against the armrest.
Imani was there in an instant, steadying me. "Cherish, breathe."
But I couldn't breathe.
Miras wasn't answering.
Because he was out there, hunting the man who had destroyed me.
Or worse—
What if Amar found him first?
What if—
I pushed against Imani's grip. "I need to go."
Dad's voice turned sharp. "No."
"You can't stop me—"
"You are not going on this mission." His voice was firm, unshakable, like he had already made up his mind.
I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw ached. "I'm not a child."
"No, you're not." Dad's eyes softened, but his voice stayed firm. "But you just made it outside for the first time in weeks. You're still recovering, Cherish. You cannot do this."
Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. "He's out there, Dad. He's hurting people. I can't just—just sit here while—"
Dad crossed the room, placing a hand on my shoulder, grounding me. "I know this is hard. But you have to trust that Miras knows what he's doing."
My throat closed up. "And if he doesn't come back?"
Dad's fingers tightened just slightly. "He will."
I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking, my breath ragged. I wanted to believe him. I needed to believe him. But deep down, something cold and awful whispered.
I opened my eyes, my vision blurry, my whole body tense like a wire stretched too thin. My pulse throbbed in my throat, in my wrists, in the hollow space behind my ribs. I had to go. Now.
I turned on my heel and headed for the hallway. My legs still felt weak, but I didn't care—I forced them forward, step after step, pushing past the exhaustion clawing at my muscles. If I could just make it to my room, grab my boots, a jacket, something to cover the damn feeding tube—
"Cherish."
The pain hit before I even made it out of the kitchen.
A tight, squeezing pressure wrapped around my chest, sharp and unrelenting. I clenched my jaw and gripped the banister, forcing my legs to keep moving, even as my breath turned shallow.
Not now. Not now.
I pressed a hand to my sternum, willing my body to cooperate. My lungs felt too small, my ribs too tight, and every inhale burned like I was breathing in smoke. I pushed forward anyway, making it to the bottom of the stairs, reaching for the door—
Then my legs buckled.
I crashed into the wall, my shoulder taking most of the impact. A choked gasp slipped past my lips as the force rattled through me, sending another wave of pain stabbing through my chest.
I sucked in a breath—too fast, too sharp. It wasn't enough. My vision wavered, dark spots creeping at the edges.
No.
I couldn't stop.
I braced my hand against the wall, forcing myself upright. My whole body screamed at me to sit down, to slow down, to breathe, but I shoved the weakness aside.
Miras was out there. Walking straight into hell.
"Cherish if you don't calm down we're going to have to pump you with another round of beta blockers," Imani's voice came from behind me as I crumbled into the corner. "We made so much progress today, don't give that up."
I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my forehead against the cool wall as my body trembled violently. My pulse hammered in my ears, a wild, frantic rhythm that refused to slow, no matter how hard I tried to breathe through it.
"I don't care," I rasped, my voice barely more than a whisper. My whole body ached, every inhale cutting like broken glass in my chest. My limbs felt weak, useless, but I still clawed at the floor like I could drag myself forward. Like I could make my body work through sheer force of will.
Footsteps approached—steady, measured.
"Cherish," Imani said, softer now. "You're not stable enough to do this."
I let out a harsh, ragged laugh. "And Miras is? You don't know what he's walking into." My head throbbed from the lack of oxygen, and I squeezed my arms around my ribs, trying to ground myself. "I have to go. I have to—"
A hand settled on my shoulder—firm but gentle.
"You're going to kill yourself trying," Imani murmured.
Tears burned at my eyes. I shook my head. "If I don't go, he could die anyway." My voice cracked. "And it'll be my fault."
Silence.
I could feel Imani watching me, weighing his words, his next move. I knew what was coming—another injection, more medication to slow my heart, to force my body into submission.
But I couldn't let them do it.
I couldn't let them keep me here.
I forced myself to lift my head, staring at him with every ounce of stubbornness I had left.
"Please." My voice broke on the word. "Don't stop me."
Something in his expression shifted. His jaw tightened, but there was something else there too—something raw, something like regret.
Imani sighed heavily, rubbing a hand down his face. Then, after a long pause, he exhaled sharply through his nose.
"Dammit, kid," he muttered. "You really don't know when to quit." Imani ran his hand over his face, as if he couldn't believe himself what he was about to say. "If I let you see him—for an hour, will you drop it? If I take you to see him, so you can verify that he's ok, you have to agree to come back here, and drop it."
"Yes!" I agree desperately, trying to leave before he can change his mind. "If I see him, I'll let it go."
The motel was dimly lit, the kind of place that reeked of desperation. The flickering neon sign outside cast an eerie glow over everything, and the air inside smelled like stale carpet and cheap cleaning supplies. It wasn't a place anyone wanted to be, but it was the only place Miras had said would be safe for a meeting, and at that moment, safe was all that mattered.
I walked in cautiously, trying not to let the discomfort of the setting show. Miras was already there, sitting at the small, rickety table near the window, his back to me as if he were bracing himself for whatever was about to happen. His shoulders were tense, as though the very idea of being here was enough to set him on edge. Imani reluctantly waited outside the door, a gun strapped to his belt.
"As much as I'm relieved to see you out of the house," Miras said, not turning around, his voice low but sharp, like it was laced with warning. "You shouldn't be here."
I ignored the burn in my throat and walked closer, feeling the weight of the air between us, "I could argue the same thing."
Miras let out a short, frustrated breath, but finally turned to face me. His eyes—dark and full of something I couldn't quite place—locked onto mine. The lines on his face were sharper than I remembered, like the stress and exhaustion had carved into him in ways he couldn't hide anymore.
Miras's arms reached around me, placing a firm hand on my back and his chin on my shoulder. His hug was firm but gentle, making sure he didn't break me. I squeezed him with the same amount of force, the only difference is I was giving all I could offer.
We didn't say anything for a long time. He just watched me as if trying to figure out whether I was really here or if he was imagining it. Finally, his gaze flicked over to the door, like he was weighing the chances of someone bursting in, disrupting whatever fragile peace we were trying to carve out.
"Imani's outside," I whispered.
Miras hummed, low and thoughtful, but he didn't pull away. His chin rested against my shoulder for a second longer before he finally exhaled, a long, measured breath that I could feel against my skin.
"Doesn't trust me alone with you?"
I shook my head, feeling the slightest shift in his grip as I moved. "No. He just doesn't trust anything right now."
Miras huffed, and I felt his fingers twitch slightly against my back before he slowly let go. He lingered for a second longer than I expected, like he wasn't quite ready to sever the contact. Then he pulled away, the warmth of his presence fading as he took a step back.
His eyes flickered over my face, searching, assessing. I could tell he wanted to say something—maybe something sharp, something stubborn—but he held back. Instead, he against the ledge of the windowsill, pulling me into him. I swallowed hard, taking a space in between his legs. The motel room felt smaller now, the peeling wallpaper and dim lighting pressing in around us.
Miras brushed the hair out of my face. He rubbed a hand down his face before finally speaking. "You shouldn't have come," he said again, but this time, it wasn't an accusation. It was quieter. Almost resigned.
I met his gaze, refusing to back down. "I needed to see you."
His jaw tightened, and I could see the battle happening behind his eyes. He didn't want me here. Not because he didn't care, but because he did. Because letting me see him like this—tired, fraying at the edges—meant admitting that he wasn't invincible.
"Cherish," he started, his voice rough. "If you knew half of what I've been dealing with—"
"Then tell me." I leaned forward, my hands gripping the edge of the table. "I'm doing better, Miras. I can handle the truth."
His mouth pressed into a thin line. He looked away, his gaze flicking toward the door again, toward the presence of Imani just on the other side. A safety measure. A threat. Maybe both.
"I don't want you tangled up in this," he admitted, voice strained. "Not any more than you already are."
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. "It's too late for that."
Miras exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "Dammit, Cherie." But there was no bite to the words, just that same tired resignation. He looked back at me, and for the first time, he didn't try to hide how drained he was. How much this was costing him.
"Fine," he murmured, finally, finally letting me in. "You want the truth?"
I nodded, bracing myself.
"I killed him."
The words landed like a fist to my ribs. My breath caught, my pulse stuttering in my throat.
"What?" I whispered, barely able to get the word out.
Miras didn't look away. He wanted me to see it, to understand. "Dr. Amar," he said, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. "He's dead."
The room spun around me, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe.
I had imagined it a thousand times—Dr. Amar lying motionless, unable to hurt me, unable to hurt anyone ever again. I had dreamed of it, prayed for it in the darkest corners of my mind. But hearing it now, knowing it was real, knowing that Miras was the one who had done it—
I pressed a hand to my chest, my lungs tightening.
Miras's expression didn't change, but I saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled into his arms like he was holding himself together by force. "It wasn't clean," he admitted. "It wasn't quick."
My stomach churned.
"I needed him to know," Miras continued, his voice cold. "I needed him to understand what he'd done. What he'd taken from you. From me. From everyone."
I wanted to say something—I needed to say something—but my throat had closed up, and my hands were trembling against my lap.
Miras must've noticed because his expression softened, just a little. "I know you probably don't want to hear this," he murmured, leaning forward again, his elbows on the table. "But it's over, Cherish. He's gone. He can't hurt you anymore."
My breathing was uneven. My mind was racing, trying to process it all. The part of me that had lived in fear, the part that still woke up gasping from nightmares, wanted to believe him. But another part—something deep, something raw—wasn't sure how to let go of the weight I'd carried for so long.
Miras watched me carefully, his dark eyes unreadable. "Say something," he muttered.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again.
Because what was there to say?
I had wanted this. I had. And yet, standing in Miras's arm, I realized something I hadn't let myself consider before.
He hadn't just killed Dr. Amar. He had taken that weight onto himself. And I didn't know if it had broken him.
I forced myself to breathe, to push past the way my stomach twisted at his words. My hands clenched into fists against my lap, nails biting into my palms. Dr. Amar was dead. Miras had killed him.
Then why was he still here?
I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to steady. "If it's over," I whispered, "if he's dead… then why haven't you come back?"
Miras tensed. Just for a second, but I caught it—the slight shift in his posture, the flicker of something dark crossing his expression. He ran a hand over his face, sighing through his nose before shaking his head.
"It's not that simple, Cherish."
I leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table. "It should be." My voice was sharper than I intended, but I couldn't stop it. "You said it yourself—he can't hurt me anymore. So why are you still out here? Why are we meeting in a place like this?" I gestured to the peeling wallpaper, the single buzzing light above us. "Why aren't you home?"
Miras let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "Home?" he repeated, shaking his head. "You think I can just walk back like nothing happened? Like I didn't—" He cut himself off, pressing his lips together, his fingers tapping once against the table.
I didn't let him stop. "Yes," I said firmly. "You can."
He scoffed, but it wasn't amusement. It was exhaustion. Frustration. Maybe even regret. "It doesn't work like that, Cherish."
I shook my head. "Then explain it to me, because I don't understand."
Miras exhaled slowly, like he was trying to hold something back. Then he looked at me, really looked at me, and whatever he saw in my face made his jaw tighten. His voice was quieter when he spoke again.
"I did more than just kill him."
The words sent a cold shiver down my spine. I didn't move, didn't breathe. Just waited.
Miras ran a hand through his hair. "When I found him, when I—" His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "I wasn't the only one there."
I frowned, my pulse quickening. "Who?"
Miras shook his head. "People who don't care about justice. Who don't care about what he did to you, to me, to anyone. They think I caused a disaster." He finally looked at me again, his dark eyes sharp with something I couldn't quite name. "And they think I know too much."
A chill ran through me.
"That's why you haven't come back," I realized, my voice barely above a whisper.
Miras nodded. "If I set foot near you, near Imani, near anyone who matters to me, they'll follow. And I'm not letting that happen."
The room felt smaller, suffocating.
I had spent so long worrying about whether it was safe, whether Dr. Amar would come back for me, haunt me, find a way to hurt me again. But Miras—he had been running too. Not from Amar. But from the people who had picked up the pieces of what he'd done.
I swallowed hard. "Then why meet me at all?"
Miras held my gaze, tucking in a piece of hair behind my ear. "Because you needed to know." His voice was quieter now, rough around the edges. "And because I needed to see you one last time."
A sharp ache bloomed in my chest. "One last time?"
Miras didn't answer. But the look in his eyes told me everything.
He wasn't coming back.
Miras's gaze flicked to the door. It was subtle—just a brief glance, a tightening of his jaw—but I knew what it meant.
"No." I shook my head, my heart slamming against my ribs. "Don't do this."
Miras didn't speak, but I saw it in the way his fingers curled into fists, in the way his shoulders set like he was forcing himself not to break.
A sharp knock echoed through the room.
"Cherish." Imani's voice was low, controlled—but I could hear the tension beneath it.
I turned, but Miras reached out, his fingers brushing my wrist—just enough to make me look at him.
"This isn't up for debate," he said quietly.
Anger flared hot in my chest. "You don't get to decide that."
Miras's lips pressed into a thin line. "I do when your life's on the line."
Before I could argue, the door creaked open. Imani stepped inside, his sharp eyes scanning the room, landing on Miras before settling on me. His hand rested near his belt, where I knew his gun was strapped.
"I love you, Cherie."
I turned back to Miras, desperation clawing its way up my throat. "You don't have to do this."
Miras just shook his head, something unreadable in his expression. "Yeah, I do."
I hated him in that moment. Hated how easily he could push me away, how easily he thought he could decide my fate.
But more than anything, I hated the fear in his eyes.
Because Miras wasn't afraid for himself. He was afraid for me.
Imani stepped forward, his presence solid and unyielding. "Come on, kid."
The moment Imani reached for me, I snapped.
"No!" I jerked back, shoving his arm away, my breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. My entire body was thrumming with anger, with frustration, with the unbearable ache of knowing that Miras was choosing to leave me behind.
Again.
"Cherish." Imani's voice was steady, but I could hear the warning beneath it. He reached for me again, more careful this time, but I twisted away, rounding on Miras instead.
"You don't get to do this," I spat, my hands trembling at my sides. "You don't get to make this decision for me!"
Miras let out a sharp breath through his nose, his eyes dark and unreadable. "I already have."
The words stung, like they had been aimed to cut.
I stepped closer, close enough that I could see the exhaustion lining his face, the tension in his jaw. "You think you're protecting me? By running? By leaving me in the dark?"
Miras didn't flinch. "Yes."
I wanted to hit him. I wanted to shake him until he understood that I didn't care about the danger, that I would take the risk if it meant not losing him.
Behind me, Imani sighed, and the air shifted just before I felt his hand grip my arm. Not rough, not forceful—yet—but firm enough that I knew what was coming.
I wrenched away, shoving him back with as much strength as my battered body could manage.
"Get off me!" My voice cracked, raw with the weight of everything crashing down on me at once.
Imani's jaw ticked, but he didn't let his frustration show. "We don't have time for this, kid."
I turned on Miras again, my hands clenched into fists. "You're making a mistake."
Miras's expression finally cracked, just a little. Just enough for me to see the guilt buried beneath his stubborn resolve. "I know."
That stopped me cold.
I blinked at him, my breath catching.
He knew.
Then why—
I barely had time to react before Imani moved.
He grabbed my arm again, tighter this time, and I fought him, twisting, pushing, anything to break free. "Let me go!"
Miras took a step forward—like he might stop Imani, like he wanted to—but then he froze, his hands flexing at his sides. He was struggling with it too. With leaving me.
But he didn't stop him.
Imani pulled, and this time, I stumbled, my weakened body betraying me.
"Dammit, Cherish—don't make me carry you out of here."
I thrashed against his grip, but he was stronger, and my breath was already coming too fast, my lungs burning from the effort.
Miras swallowed hard, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach for me but knew he couldn't.
"I'll find you," I choked out, locking eyes with him as Imani dragged me toward the door. "I don't care what it takes—I will find you, Miras."
His face twisted with something unreadable, something painful.
Then, softly—almost too soft for me to hear—he said,
"I hope you don't."