Page 42

Ziva

A few days later, we meet in the storage room of the decrepit factory. The only light comes from a flickering bulb overhead, casting sharp shadows across the piles of forgotten equipment.

The floor is covered in dust, settled over years of neglect, while the table in the center looks untouched—except for the hand-drawn map spread across it. The edges are frayed, dotted with red-pen annotations.

Myall points to a large building at the map’s center. “This is The Authority’s detention center in New Eden.”

He taps the map again, but this time his hand lingers, his finger trembling just slightly, as if even he’s unsure of what’s next.

The rest of us lean in, the smell of the map’s old ink mingling with the faint scent of oil and rust in the air.

The tension in the room is palpable, each of us holding our breath as if the wrong word could shatter the fragile hope Myall is trying to build.

There are seven of us—Myall, Marcus, me, and the four others. Each of them looks worn but resolute, their faces a gallery of suppressed emotions. We’ve been meeting like this for days, ever since Arden was taken during the raid. Every session has ended in frustration, until now.

“The main entrance is too heavily guarded,” Liora says, her scowl deepening as her arms cross over her chest—a silent show of distrust. “We’d never make it past the checkpoints—”

“We’re not going through the main entrance,” Myall says. “We’re going in through the maintenance tunnels.”

Jarek, a stocky man with nervous eyes, asks, “Are you sure they’re not monitored?”

Myall nods. “The Authority doesn’t have the manpower to watch them all. We have a map of the tunnels and a key to the maintenance hatches thanks to Jorel. Once we’re inside, it’s a straight shot to the building’s sub-basement.”

My stomach tightens as I trace the route on the map again, fingers grazing the frayed edges. The weight of the plan presses on me, heavier than any physical burden. Part of me screams that something will go wrong, but I can’t show it. Not now. Not in front of Myall.

“What about once we’re inside?” I ask. “The building will be crawling with Authority Enforcers.”

“We create a diversion,” Myall says. “Something big enough to impact anyone else in the building.”

“Like what?” Liora asks, skepticism heavy in her voice.

“Like an emotional overload,” says Myall. The room goes silent. “From the device Ziva’s been working on,” he adds. “We set it off in the lobby and if it goes right the emotional overload should knock everyone in the building out.”

I glance at Myall. Given that there is no way to test this plan, we have no guarantee the device I’ve designed will function the way we’d hope. It’s a clever idea, but the kind of thing that can easily go wrong. The others exchange looks, weighing the new information.

“While they’re all knocked out or dealing with our diversion, that’s when we’ll go up and get Arden,” Myall continues. “We’ll have fake access card’s and uniforms to blend in.”

He looks at me, and I know what he’s going to say next. “Ziva and I will lead the extraction team.”

“Why you?” Jarek asks, not bothering to hide his suspicion.

“Because we’re the leaders of this rebellion,” Myall says. “And because we’re the ones who got the uniforms.”

I didn’t bring up the fact that Grandma Elara was the one who obtained the uniforms. She had kept all of the resources from our parents’ involvement in the resistance, neatly stored away in her attic.

The room is quiet for a moment, then Marcus speaks. “It’s a good plan,” he says, and I’m almost surprised to hear him concede. “But if it goes wrong—”

“It won’t,” Myall interrupts. “This is our best shot. We have to believe it will work.”

One by one, the others nod. It’s a reluctant agreement, but it’s enough. We disband with instructions to gather supplies and prepare for the infiltration. As the others file out, I stay behind.

“Myall,” I say. He stops and turns to me. “I don’t even know if the device can work the way you just described. At least, not to that extent.”

“I know,” he says softly.

I walk over to the map and run my fingers along the route again. “It’s a solid plan,” I say, “but it relies on too many variables. If even one thing goes wrong—”

“We’ll adapt,” he says, stepping closer. “The plan will work.”

“Will it?” I ask, looking up at him.

He doesn’t answer right away, and I can see the conflict in his eyes. “Ziva,” he says finally, “if you don’t want to do this—”

“I want to,” I interrupt. “She’d do the same for us.”

When Myall takes my hand, his fingers are warm, but his grip trembles—just enough to mirror the uncertainty in his eyes. I squeeze back, trying to reassure him, but inside, the same nervous knot twists deeper.

“We will get her back,” he says softly.

I squeeze his hand again. “I know.”

We stand like that for a moment, holding on to the fragile thing we’ve built. Then he pulls me into an embrace, and I let him. His arms are strong and sure, and for a brief moment, I feel safe.

When he pulls back, he looks into my eyes, searching for something. “Ziva,” he says, and his voice is softer now, almost pleading. “I need you to be careful tomorrow.”

I nod, but we both know that caution won’t be enough to save us if things go wrong.

Myall leans in, his breath warm against my lips. His kiss is soft at first, testing, before it deepens—a slow, deliberate promise. It’s more than a kiss. It’s an unspoken vow, a plea wrapped in a moment we know might be our last.

When our lips part, I can still feel the heat of his touch. We’re silent, knowing that anything we say now would only dilute the moment. He gives my hand one last squeeze, then turns and walks out the door.

As I watch him walk away, the echoes of his footsteps are too loud in the silence that follows.

My lips still tingle from his kiss, but it’s the quiet, gnawing doubt that lingers longer.

I know what we’re up against, and part of me wonders if this fragile plan, this hope, is enough to save Arden.

Or if it will crumble before we even get close.

I glance at the map one last time before rolling it up and tucking it under my arm. We have twenty-four hours. It’s not enough, but it’s all we’ve got.