Page 37

Myall

I stand outside Grandma Elara’s house, the familiar sight doing little to calm the storm raging inside me. Forcing my breath to steady, my fingers twitch, betraying the panic I can’t shake.

The door swings open before I can knock. I step inside, the dim light and the scent of cinnamon wrapping around me like an old, familiar blanket. Ziva’s sharp gaze pulls me back to the present, her voice sharp but tinged with something softer I can’t quite place.

“Thought you’d bailed,” she says, the sarcasm in her voice failing to hide her real concern.

“Traffic,” I lie, my voice steady enough despite the tension. The living room wraps around me, a brief haven of comfort as I step further inside.

Marcus and Arden are already seated at the old oak table in the kitchen, a relic from a time when families supposedly gathered for meals and conversations.

Marcus nods, his usually stern face softening for a moment.

Arden just grins, her enthusiasm always a bit out of place.

Grandma Elara sits in her favorite chair by the window, a soft smile on her wrinkled face as she watches us.

“Glad you made it,” Marcus says, nodding. “We were about to start without you.”

I sit beside Grandma Elara, the hard wood pressing through my thin jacket. She gently pats my hand in greeting. “You know I wouldn’t miss this.”

Ziva leans against the counter, arms crossed. “So, how’d it go with Colvin yesterday?”

All eyes turn to me. I can see the tension in their faces. They’re scared. Colvin’s been interviewing everyone, sniffing out dissent like a bloodhound. I was the last of us to sit in his hot seat, well, aside from Arden that is.

I swallow hard, the memory of Colvin’s piercing gaze still fresh. My hands, despite my best efforts, tremble again, and I clench them into fists at my sides.

“He’s suspicious, but I think he bought my story. For now.”

Arden’s grin falters. “For now?”

I shrug. “We’re all on his radar. He’s not stupid. But he has no proof.”

Yet.

Marcus sighs, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. “We need to be more careful. If one of us goes down—”

“None of us are going down,” Ziva interrupts, her voice like steel. “We’ve come too far to back out now.”

The room falls silent. Ziva’s right, but it’s never felt more dangerous.

I glance around at the faces I’ve come to trust—Marcus, his brow furrowed in cautious resolve, Arden, her eyes burning with fierce energy, Elara, her wrinkled hands resting on the table with a tenderness that feels like a balm.

In this room, amid the tension and fear, they’re not just rebels.

They’re my family, and nothing The Authority does will ever change that.

Grandma Elara leans toward me, placing a hand on my shoulder and I feel a rush of warmth and worry. Her skin is paper-thin, yet her grip is firm. The worry in her eyes, the slight tremble of her hand, tells me all I need to know—she knows the danger, perhaps more than any of us.

“Myall, you need to be careful dear,” she says, her voice soft but unyielding.

“I know, Grandma,” I reply, meeting her gaze. They’re the same deep green as mine, and they shine with the kind of emotion the rest of the world has forgotten. “We all do.”

She squeezes my shoulder, then turns to the rest of the group. “You’re always welcome here, but remember, the most important thing is to stay safe.”

Ziva uncrosses her arms, her usual defiance giving way, just for a moment, to Elara’s concern. “Thanks, Elara. We know the risks.”

Do we?

Every day it feels like we’re playing a game where the rules keep changing, and the stakes get higher and higher.

“Grandma, I need to tell you something,” I say, breaking the silence that has settled among the group. Elara pauses, her back half-turned as she gazes out the window. She turns her attention back towards me, her movements slow and deliberate.

With a quick glance, I signal to the others that I need a moment alone with my grandmother and they quietly exit the kitchen. Ziva catches my eye and gives me one of her faint, encouraging smiles.

“The information we stole from The Authority the other night…” I hesitate, the weight of it making my chest tighten. “It’s worse than we could have imagined.”

Elara’s face pales, and I can almost feel her heart race beneath her frail chest. Her eyes search mine, the concern in them growing. “What did you find?”

“They’re planning to introduce new NeuroMods,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Ones that will be implanted in our necks. They won’t just monitor emotions—they’ll control them directly.”

Elara’s hand goes to her throat, her fingers trembling. “This… This is monstrous.”

“They’ve also got files on the origins of the NeuroMod system,” I continue.

“It shows how they gradually took control, how they manipulated people into believing it was for their own good. It’s all there, Grandma.

The lies, the coercion. We have the proof now, proof that The Authority’s way of life is wrong. ”

She leans back, her eyes closing for a moment as if the weight of this new knowledge is too much to bear.

“The stakes are higher than I thought.” She sighs softly.

Elara’s soft voice is the only thing holding me together, but even her calm cannot erase the panic brewing in my chest. I stand and start to pace, the energy in me too restless to sit still. The pressure in my chest tightens, as if someone’s squeezing my heart every time I pause to think.

Should we grow our ranks? Should we hold back?

Every time I think I’ve made a decision on our next steps, I hesitate. The cost of a single wrong step could be irreversible.

“I don’t know what to do but I do know we need to be smart about this. If we just release the information without a plan, it could backfire. The Authority will crack down even harder. We need to grow our numbers, gather more allies. People who are willing to take a stand.”

Elara opens her eyes and looks at me, and I see the years of struggle and hope etched into her face. “Myall, this is a dangerous path. You know that.”

“I do,” I say, stopping to face her. “But it’s the only path that leads to real change. We can’t just sit back anymore and hope things will get better on their own.”

She sighs, a long, deep exhalation that seems to come from the very core of her being. “You’re right,” she says, though her agreement offers no comfort. “But remember, revolutions are not won overnight. They are long, and they are costly.”

“I know,” I say, my voice hardening with the resolve I need to convince not just her, but myself. “That’s why we need to be strategic. We need to build a network, create a plan that has a chance of success. We can’t rush this.”

Elara rises slowly, the effort showing in her weary bones. She comes over and places a hand on my cheek, her touch as tender as a mother’s kiss. “I believe in you, Myall. Though the thought of losing you like I’ve lost your parents…just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I promise,” I say, and this time I want the words to be true. I need them to be true.

We regather around the worn kitchen table, its surface marked by years of decisions—some small, some irreversible.

Anxiety hangs in the air as we stare at the list Arden has compiled, each name a potential recruit—or a death sentence.

Arden is the first to break the silence, her voice crackling with the same energy that seems to animate her entire being.

“I’ve gone through The Authority’s files,” she states, tapping the names. “They’ve all made their stance clear—skipped Harmonization sessions, attended underground meetups, some even involved in sabotage. We can use that.”

I have to give her credit, she’s worked diligently to get through that massive amount of data in just one day.

“It’s too risky,” Marcus says, his frustration palpable. “Recruiting more people means more chances for infiltration, more eyes on us. Especially with Colvin here. I say we look to release the information we gathered first and gauge people’s reaction.”

I lean back in my chair, arms crossed. “We need the numbers, Marcus. We’re too small to keep this going alone.”

He glares at me, his dark eyes intense. “You’re not listening. Colvin has been sniffing around for rebels, that’s why he’s here. One wrong move and we’re all in a detention center—or worse.”

I know he’s right. Colvin’s presence in New Eden has put everyone on edge.

“We don’t have a choice,” I say. “If we don’t grow, we stagnate. And if we stagnate, we die.”

Marcus shakes his head, but I can see the conflict in him. He wants this as badly as I do, but he’s always been the cautious one.

“What if we take a different approach?” I offer. “Instead of mass recruiting, we identify individuals with specific skills or connections. People who can bring something unique to the table. That way, we minimize the risk and maximize the benefit.”

He considers this, his serious expression unchanging. “Like who?”

“Technicians who can sabotage NeuroMods without getting caught. Historians who have access to the archives. Maybe even someone within The Harmonization Authority who’s disillusioned with the regime. We start small, but we make every addition count.”

Marcus groans, rubbing his temples. “It’s still dangerous. Every person we bring in is a risk.”

“I know,” I say, leaning closer, my voice soft. “But it’s a gamble we have to take. We’ll be strategic. Precise.”

He looks up at me, and for a moment I see the flicker of hope in his eyes. “Alright,” he says slowly. “But we vet them thoroughly. No rushing.”

“Let’s hear the list,” I say, though a part of me dreads the discussion that’s about to unfold.

Arden flips her hair back and leans in, her eyes alight with purpose. “First up, Jarek Reyes. He’s a dockworker with a big mouth. He’s been stirring up trouble in the labor union for years.”

“Too hot-headed,” I automatically answer. “He’ll get us all killed before we even start.”