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Ziva

My boots scrape against the cracked floor, a sound that feels louder with each step, echoing in my skull.

I can’t keep still. My mind is spinning, and no matter how hard I try to ground myself, it’s like my thoughts are a thousand miles ahead, too far gone to reach.

What if Arden doesn’t come back? What if we’re too late?

I try to shove it down, but that suffocating thought won’t leave.

What if it’s over before we even start?

The smell of rust and dust clings to the air, making it harder to breathe. Every flicker of movement from the clock on the wall makes my stomach tighten further.

Myall sits on a crate, his posture straight, green eyes tracking my restless movements with unsettling calm. He looks calm, like he’s mastered the art of patience—but I can see the way his fingers flex, the slight tightness around his eyes. He’s as anxious as I am, just hiding it better.

“She’ll be fine,” he says, his voice steady, measured. It’s the kind of tone that could convince anyone of anything, but it doesn’t work on me.

“She’s late,” I snap, then soften. “It’s not like her. Something’s wrong.”

It’s been three weeks since Liora joined our group. Within this time, we have also successfully recruited Jarek, Jorel, and Tariq—increasing our numbers to nine with Elara included.

I have effectively deactivated the NeuroMods of all the new recruits, while making them seem like they are still operational in case Regent Colvin decides to interrogate us—which could be any day now.

Regent Colvin’s shadow hangs over everything we do.

His Enforcers have been dragging people off the streets, raiding houses in the dead of night, and making examples of anyone who dares to resist. The city’s fear has taken on a new weight under his reign.

We don’t just fear capture—we fear what he’ll do to us once we’re in his hands. Every move we make could be our last.

Our latest hideout is a forgotten storage room in the basement of an abandoned factory, deep in the belly of the city’s outskirts.

The walls are caked in grime, and the ceiling sags under the weight of years of neglect.

The air smells faintly of mildew and decay, and every time I inhale, it feels like the room is closing in on me.

We found this place by accident, a lucky stumble in our desperate search for somewhere safe after the tech lab became compromised. The dim light flickers above, casting long shadows over the rusted machinery that has long since ceased to work.

In the past few weeks, we’ve set up an encrypted communication system here.

It’s allowed us to screen and approach potential recruits without getting caught.

The work has been exhausting, but necessary.

Regent Colvin’s crackdown on dissent has made every move a gamble.

People are scared, and with good reason.

The Harmonization Authority isn’t playing around anymore.

I stop pacing and lean against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest. “Do you think it’s worth it? Going after new recruits when we can barely keep ourselves safe anymore?”

Myall takes a moment before answering, his deep green eyes thoughtful. “We need numbers, Ziva. Numbers equal strength. It’s what we all agreed on.”

Every new person we bring in is an informant or a traitor in the making. Trust is a luxury we can’t afford, yet we have to gamble on it anyway.

“Remember when it was just the two of us?” I say, almost wistfully. “It was simpler back then.”

“Lonelier,” he counters, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—perhaps a memory, perhaps a longing. I can’t tell, and I don’t dare ask.

Uncrossing my arms, I start pacing again. Myall and I have always had a complicated dynamic. We rely on each other, we care for each other, but there’s an unspoken tension that neither of us is willing to address.

“She has to be okay,” I say, more to myself than to him. Arden is fearless, almost recklessly so, but she’s also the heart of our little rebellion. Her bravado is infectious and without her, I don’t know if I could keep going.

Myall stands, his boots scraping the floor softly as he crosses the distance between us. I can feel his warmth before he touches me, and wonder if he feels the same pull. He places a hand on my shoulder—light, but it carries more weight than it should. It’s like a promise I’m not ready to face.

“Ziva, she’ll be fine. You know how resourceful Arden is.”

It should be comforting, but instead, it feels like a reminder of everything we’re trying to ignore. My heart stutters in my chest, the rush of it drowning out everything else for a moment.

I want to believe him. I need to believe him. But more than that, I want to lose myself in this moment, to let the tension between us break and wash over me like a wave. His hand slides down my arm, and I shiver. Every nerve in my body is on high alert, screaming for something I know I can’t have.

“We can’t lose her,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.

It’s not just about Arden. It’s about what she represents. She’s the heart of this rebellion, the one who makes us believe we have a chance. If we lose her, we lose everything we’ve worked for. I can’t let that happen.

He lets out a deep sigh. “She’ll be fine, Ziva. I promise.”

The door to the storage room slams open, its rusted hinges shrieking in protest. My body jerks, instinctively pulling away from Myall, as if the very air between us has caught fire.

A young man, no older than seventeen, bursts through the threshold, his face pale, eyes wide with fear.

His breath comes in ragged gasps, like he’s been running for his life, and for a split second, I wonder if he’s just brought more danger with him.

His name is Khynan, and he’s the potential recruit that Arden was meeting with.

The silence that follows is suffocating.

“They’ve got Arden.” His words hit like a blow. “Regent Colvin himself. She’s been taken to the Detention Center.”

A cold hand grips my heart and squeezes. The Detention Center is part of Regent Colvin’s latest crackdown—a place where the regime extracts more than just information. New Eden has never had it’s own detention center before but I suppose he wanted to bring something across from Elysium with him.

“Are you sure?” Myall asks, though we both know the boy wouldn’t risk coming here with news like this unless he was certain.

Khynan nods, breath ragged. “I saw it all. She didn’t resist. She told me where to find you… said not to worry. That she’d be alright.”

I glance at Myall, whose jaw is set in a hard line. His promises dissolve in the harsh light of reality, and I feel the fragile hope he gave me shatter.

“Go,” I tell Khynan. “Get somewhere safe and lie low for a while.”

The boy hesitates, his wide eyes flicking between us and the door, as if searching for a way to make his words matter. But there’s nothing more to say. He bolts out the door, disappearing into the night like a shadow swallowed by the darkness.

“Fuck,” I say, turning back to Myall. He’s staring at the ground, lost in thought. When he looks up, the conflict in his eyes mirrors my own.

“Ziva,” he starts, but I cut him off.

“Don’t. We don’t have time. We have to figure out a way to get her out.”

I know what he’s going to say, and I can’t bear to hear it. We have to focus on Arden now, on the rebellion.

He takes a step back, and the space between us feels like a chasm. “You’re right. Let’s call the others.”

Nodding, I reach for the communicator, but my hands are shaking too much to hold it steady. Myall takes it from me gently, his fingers brushing mine, and for a moment I think I might break. But I don’t. I can’t afford to.

Myall speaks into the communicator, his tone calm and authoritative, summoning our small network. I sink into a chair, my mind spinning with visions of failure—Arden in the hands of the Enforcers, the rebellion scattered, everything we’ve fought for slipping away.

The sounds of our rebellion members fill the room from the communicator. Myall doesn’t waste a second.

“Arden’s been captured,” he announces. A murmur of shocked voices flow from the device. “We need to find out how it happened and, more importantly, how we’re going to get her out.”

One of the members, Jorell, speaks up. “Are we sure this isn’t just a temporary setback? Maybe she’s lying low somewhere.”

“A kid from her sector came to warn us,” Myall says. “He saw the Enforcers take her. This is very real.”

Myall takes charge, laying out the facts and delegating tasks.

He’s always been the reluctant leader, but in moments like this, his natural ability shines through.

It should comfort me, seeing him so composed, but instead, it deepens the pit in my stomach.

If we fail, it won’t just be Arden we lose—the rebellion will crumble, and so will we.

“Ziva,” Myall says, breaking into my thoughts. “Can you check the Sentinel logs for any spikes in emotional output? Maybe someone tipped the Enforcers off.”

I nod, though the last thing I want to do is leave the room and be alone with my thoughts. The old terminal in the corner hums softly as I access its interface. Myall continues to strategize with the others, his voice steady, unyielding.

The logs are a mess of data. I scan through them quickly, looking for anything that stands out. Emotional spikes can mean anything—an argument, a moment of illicit joy, fear. I’m looking for something unusual, something that would draw the Enforcers’ attention.

I glance back at Myall. He catches my eye, and for a brief second, I see the worry he’s hiding, the fear for Arden, for us. For me. I refocus on the terminal, my chest tight with the weight of what’s at stake.

“Got something,” I say, walking back to Myall and the others on the line. “There was a huge spike in her sector two hours ago. It looks like it could be one of Colvin’s surprise searches.”

“So, it wasn’t just her they were after,” says Liora. “They could’ve been cracking down on the whole sector and she got caught up in it.”

“Which means we don’t have much time,” Myall says. “We need to act before they try interrogating her.”

“How do we even get close?” asks Jorell. “The detention center would be a fortress of security measures and Arden’s the one who looked after that.”

“We’ll find a way,” I say, my voice stronger than I feel. “Arden would do the same for any of us.”

A flicker of something passes in Myall’s gaze—gratitude, maybe. Or hope. I can’t tell anymore.

“Alright,” he says. “Let’s map out the possible routes we could take and identify the weakest points in their security. We’ll need a diversion, something big enough to draw their resources away.”

The group starts to brainstorm, throwing out ideas and shooting them down just as quickly. To my surprise, it’s Marcus who is determined to do whatever it takes to rescue Arden. She must have really grown on him.

“Ziva,” Myall says softly. I look up, and the rest of the group falls silent on the line. “We need your expertise on this. Can you create a device to overload a NeuroMod? Something that would emotionally overload a large group?”

I hesitate. Overloading a NeuroMod is a gamble. It could kill the wearer. Could kill them all. But the risk isn’t just about getting Arden back—it’s about what we’re willing to sacrifice.

“It’s possible,” I say. “But It would definitely be a risk to those wearing the devices.”

“We’ll figure that out later,” Myall says, but we all know he’s already considering how to get around the problem of overloading a device without killing the wearer. “For now, we need to prepare and gather the resources. Ziva, can you start working on the device?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll need some old NeuroMods and a lot of wiring.”

Marcus offers to help find the supplies I’ll need. They sound more determined now, as if having a plan—no matter how tenuous—has given them something to hold onto.

“Lie low and stay safe everyone,” Myall says, ending the call.

The communicator goes dark, and the room feels colder, like a weight has settled in the air. I stand to leave, but Myall blocks the doorway.

“Ziva,” he says, and this time I let him continue. “I’m sorry. I never wanted to put you in this position.”

I know he means more than just the rebellion, more than just Arden. He means us, the thing growing between us that neither of us can afford to acknowledge.

He steps aside, and I walk out into the cold night air. The stars are hidden behind a blanket of clouds, and the city hums with its usual, dispassionate rhythm. I pull my jacket tighter around me and start to make my way home, but then I stop.

I can’t go back to my empty unit, not after tonight. I turn and head towards the old workshop we found last week, near our new base of operations. If I’m going to save Arden, if we’re going to have any chance at all, I need to start now.