Page 31

The room quiets again, heavy with unspoken tension. They know I’m right, but it’s clear they’re not ready to face it. We’re a tightrope walker’s breath from disaster, and every new person we bring in is another step out onto the wire.

As my mind finally catches up to the situation, I realize that deactivating Arden’s NeuroMod should have been our first step. I berate myself for not considering it earlier.

“We should deactivate Arden’s NeuroMod before anything else,” I point out.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Arden grumbles in agreement, but her expression still shines with excitement despite the dampening effects of her device.

Ziva doesn’t hesitate, but there’s a tension in the air as she heads toward the workstation, each step measured, deliberate. The others follow her, quiet, focused. This is it. The first real step in the plan, and it could go wrong in so many ways.

Marcus and Ziva exchange a few hushed words, going over the blueprint again, double—checking everything.

Their eyes flick between the screens, scanning lines of code with the kind of concentration that feels almost too deliberate.

Time seems to stretch with every passing second.

I wish I could say something, offer reassurance—but I’m not even sure I believe the words myself.

As they finish, they turn to Arden. “Ready?” Ziva asks, her voice steady, but I can hear the hint of uncertainty beneath it.

Arden doesn’t respond immediately. She just stares at the screen, eyes wide, her breath catching slightly.

I can see the hesitation in her posture, the way she bites her lip as she considers the gravity of what she’s about to do.

She’s not the type to back down, but she can’t deny the weight of this moment.

Finally, she nods, voice trembling with the strain. “Let’s do it.”

“It won’t take long,” Ziva says, her voice steady with concentration as she deftly maneuvers Arden’s wrist into position. “Just need to recreate the exact sequence—”

I catch Arden’s glance, wide with a mix of fear and excitement. I want to reach out, to offer some comfort, knowing firsthand what she is about to experience—but I hold back.

“Got it,” Ziva murmurs, her voice a quiet victory. She leans back in her chair, eyes glued to the screen as a series of incomprehensible codes flash across the monitor, the machine beeping its approval.

I glance at Arden, who stands there, eyes wide, one hand twitching at her side. It’s almost like she’s bracing for something, but I can’t tell if she’s ready.

For a moment, everything stops. I see the muscles in Arden’s throat constrict, her face pale, eyes squeezed shut for just a second—like she’s preparing herself for the wave that’s about to crash over her.

Then, her eyes snap open, and her hand flies to her chest, like she’s suddenly suffocating. Her breath hitches in her throat, and she gasps, the air rattling out of her in sharp, frantic bursts.

“Holy shit,” she whispers, her voice barely above a breath.

Her chest rises and falls erratically. “I…I feel…all of it.” The words seem to come from some distant part of her, distant and jagged, like she’s not entirely herself right now.

She’s struggling to breathe, her chest heaving in sharp, uneven gasps as her eyes dart around the room.

I watch her face—emotions flickering like a storm, raw and unfiltered. Joy. Fear. Anger. Sadness. They flash one after another, too fast for anyone to follow. Her thoughts seem to collide, each one fighting for dominance. This is too much, too fast for any of us.

“You okay?” I say, my voice softer now, like I’m afraid she might break if I speak too loudly. She looks up at me, and I can see it in her eyes before she even speaks—the storm that’s brewing there. She’s not just overwhelmed by what she’s feeling now—she’s drowning in it.

“I…I don’t know,” she says, her voice unsteady, a thin tremor running through it.

It’s as if she’s trying to hold herself together, but her emotions are too big, too intense.

Her hands shake slightly as she reaches up to wipe at her eyes, though the gesture doesn’t really help.

The tears are already there, hovering just beneath the surface.

“Wow,” she breathes, her chest heaving in a mixture of wonder and fear.

“This is so overwhelming.” Her words don’t capture the chaos inside her.

What she’s experiencing goes beyond simple emotion.

It’s like she’s seeing the world for the first time, and she can’t decide if it’s beautiful or terrifying.

I step closer, unsure how to reassure her. The word ‘okay’ feels meaningless now. I place a hand on her shoulder, tentative, hoping it might offer some comfort.

A sudden tightness in my chest pulls me back to the moment when my own device was deactivated.

It felt like I was being pulled apart from the inside, like I was waking up from a dream I didn’t want to leave.

The emotions were too much, too real—like a flood breaking through a dam.

I see it in Arden’s face now, the rawness of it.

Her eyes widen, her breath catching as the weight of every repressed feeling breaks loose all at once.

I glance over at Marcus and see him watching Arden with a pitying expression.

“Take deep breaths,” I advise, not knowing what else to say to offer her comfort. “It’ll pass. You’ll adjust.”

Arden nods, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. When she opens them again, there’s a new fire burning in their depths.

“I feel alive,” she says, her voice filled with wonder. “For the first time in… I can’t even remember how long. I feel truly alive.”

A smile tugs at my lips, and I catch Ziva’s eye. She gives me a small nod, her own expression a mix of pride and relief.

“Welcome to the resistance,” I say softly, finally allowing myself to reach out and squeeze Arden’s hand. “The real fight starts now.”