Page 22

“So,” I say, forcing myself to focus on why we’re really here.

I study Myall’s face, searching for signs of the emotional storm I know must be raging beneath the surface.

“I didn’t get the chance to ask you how you’re handling it?

” I say, my voice softening. “The full extent of your emotions, I mean. Now that your NeuroMod is offline.”

Myall’s shoulders tense, hand running through his hair. “It’s… a lot,” he admits, his measured tone cracking slightly. “At work today, I felt like I was going to burst. Every little frustration, every moment of anger—it all felt amplified.”

I give a tight lipped smile, understanding all too well. “You look like you managed to keep it hidden pretty well?”

“Barely,” he says with a wry smile. “I kept ducking into the supply closet to collect myself. Tara probably thinks I have some kind of stomach bug.”

We share a quiet laugh, but there’s an undercurrent of fear. If anyone had noticed, if Myall had slipped up even once…

“It’s terrifying,” I confess, voicing the thought we’re both avoiding as I lean against a workbench. “But also… exhilarating, isn’t it? To feel so much, after years of dampened emotions?”

Myall’s eyes meet mine, and I see a vulnerability there that makes my heart ache. “Yeah,” he whispers. “It is.”

The air between us thickens, heavy with unspoken words—a thread woven from fear, desire, and the weight of emotions we never dared to reach for. It feels as if the world outside has vanished, leaving only this moment suspended in time.

The urge to comfort him is overwhelming, but I hold back. Instead, I ask, “What’s the hardest part for you?”

Myall is quiet for a long moment. “The memories,” he finally says as he shifts from one foot to the other. “They come flooding back, all the losses, the pain my NeuroMod had buried. My parents…”

As he speaks, I see the vulnerability in his gaze, a mirror reflecting my own pain. There’s an intensity there that makes it hard to breathe and a lump rises in my throat.

“I know,” I say softly. “For me, it’s remembering the orphanage. The loneliness. I never realized how lonely I was until…until you.”

Without thinking, I reach out and take Myall’s hand, our fingers intertwining. His palm against mine sends a flutter through my stomach, an unfamiliar warmth that stirs something deep within. I find myself wanting to linger in this moment, to memorize the feel of his fingers intertwined with mine.

I open my mouth to say something, anything, but the words catch in my throat. Instead, I watch his eyes, hoping they’ll reveal what he’s thinking, what he wants.

“At least we’ve got each other now,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing my hand.

I’m suddenly aware of Myall’s gaze, intense and focused on me. Our breaths mingle, creating a heady atmosphere that makes my heart race. His gaze flickers to my lips, and I freeze, my breath catching. Our eyes lock, and for a heartbeat, the world narrows to just us.

Clearing my throat, I take a step back, letting go of his hand, my hands trembling slightly. “So, um, what do you think our next move should be?”

Myall blinks, as if coming out of a daze. He runs a hand through his hair, collecting himself. “Right. The rebellion.”

“We need more people,” I say, latching onto the safer topic. “But how do we bring others in without exposing ourselves?”

Myall’s brow furrows in concentration. “We could start small. Test the waters with subtle comments, gauge reactions.”

“What about Kellen? He’s always voicing his objections about Colvin.”

“Good eye,” Myall says, a hint of admiration in his voice. “We’ll need to be careful though. Kellan’s also got a loud mouth.”

Myall’s warning hits me full force. Are we insane to even consider this? I swallow hard, throat suddenly tight. “Myall, I’m… I’m scared. If we’re caught, it’s not just us who’ll suffer. Grandma Elara, Marcus—anyone we care about could be punished.”

Myall’s green eyes darken with understanding. “I know,” he says softly. “I lie awake at night thinking about it. The consequences—they’re unimaginable. I don’t know how either of our parents did this.”

I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the stuffy warmth of the lab. “Sometimes I wonder if we’re doing the right thing. Is emotional freedom worth the risk? Are we being selfish for wanting this?”

“Hey,” Myall says, his voice gentle. He reaches out, hesitating for a moment before taking my hand in his once more. His touch sends a jolt through me, and I find myself holding my breath. “We’re fighting for something real, Ziva. For the right to feel, to love. That’s always worth it.”

I look down at our joined hands, marveling at how such a simple gesture can feel so profound. Without thinking, I intertwine our fingers, savoring the warmth of his skin against mine.

“You’re right,” I whisper, meeting his gaze. My heart races, and for once, I don’t try to suppress it. “I just… I can’t bear the thought of losing you or losing any of this.”

Myall’s thumb traces small circles on the back of my hand, and I feel myself melting into the touch. “We’ll protect each other,” he promises. “Whatever happens next.”

I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. A sudden clang echoes through the lab. We spring apart, heart leaping into my throat as I worry Marcus has indeed come back. It’s just a fallen wrench, but it’s enough to snap us back to reality.

“Right,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “We need to stay focused. The NeuroMods are our only shot.”

Myall nods, his expression shifting from tender to determined. “You mentioned earlier needing two types?”

I pace the lab, my heart still racing. “Yeah, we need an unattached NeuroMod and one that’s still connected to someone so that I can recreate that glitch. It’s crucial for figuring out how to mass-produce the dismantling process.”

“Getting an unattached one shouldn’t be too hard,” Myall muses as he glances about the room, taking in the scattered, broken NeuroMods around the place. “But a working, attached one? That means we definitely need to bring someone else into this.”

Although we are both aware of Grandma Elara’s NeuroMod, neither of us suggest using it. The thought of getting her to leave the safety of her home and come to the lab is too much, and taking the equipment to her house is not an option.

I bite my lip, considering our options. “What if we ‘borrowed’ one during a routine check? I could claim it’s malfunctioning, take it for ‘repairs’…”

Myall’s eyes widen. “Ziva, that’s… that’s incredibly dangerous. If they catch you—”

“I know,” I cut him off, my voice tight. “But what choice do we have? Every day more people lose themselves to these things. We have to act.”

He runs a hand over his face, conflict evident in every line of his body. “You’re right. I just… I can’t stand the thought of you getting caught.”

His concern comforts me, though fear still claws at my chest. “We knew the risks when we started this,” I remind him, and myself.

Myall nods slowly. “Okay. But we plan this meticulously. Leave no room for error.”

My wrist tingles with the absence of my NeuroMod, the blank screen a reminder of what we’re risking. “It’s getting late,” I say reluctantly. “We should go, It’s well past curfew.”

Myall’s eyes meet mine, a storm of emotions swirling in their green depths. “Yeah,” he agrees, his voice rough. “We can’t risk staying too long.”

We stand, and I find myself drawn to him, wanting to prolong this moment. My fingers twitch, aching to reach out and touch him. Instead, I clench my fists at my sides.

“Ziva,” Myall says softly, taking a step closer. “Be careful out there. Please.”

I nod, my throat tight. “You too. Remember, act normal. Don’t let anyone see—”

“I know,” he interrupts gently. “I’ve gotten pretty good at sticking to the shadows.”

A sad smile tugs at my lips. “I wish we didn’t have to hide.”

Myall’s hand brushes mine, a fleeting touch that stirs something deep within me. “Someday, we won’t have to,” he promises.

I turn away, forcing myself to move towards the exit. Every step feels like I’m leaving a part of myself behind. At the door, I pause, looking back at Myall.

“See you tomorrow?” I ask, hating how hopeful I sound.

He nods. “Tomorrow.”

Just before I step out, I catch a glimpse of Myall’s lips parting as if he’s about to say something, but then it’s gone, leaving me with a rush of unspoken words hanging in the air.