Page 51

Myall

I stare at my reflection in the small, foggy mirror, watching the beads of steam form and disappear on the glass as my fingers fumble with the buttons of my gray uniform.

The collar digs into my throat, suffocating, a reminder of everything I can’t escape.

I finish the last button, the metal clicking with a finality that makes my chest tighten.

I hate the way it conforms to my body, a constant reminder of who I am—and who I must pretend to be.

The events of yesterday flash through my mind like fragments of a vivid dream—breaking into the detention center to rescue Arden, Dr. Vance joining our ranks, and then…Ziva.

For a moment, I close my eyes, savoring the image of her in the abandoned theater, the heat of her body pressed against mine, her breath warm in my ear as we whispered in the dark.

My hands tremble, remembering her touch, the way her body responded to mine, the way it felt…

real. But reality crashes back as I open my eyes, met with the harsh light of the room and my own troubled gaze in the mirror.

“Stop thinking about it,” I mutter to myself, straightening my collar as a flush creeps up my neck.

Grabbing my ID badge, my palms sweat, and I swipe a shaky hand through my hair, trying to steady my breath.

The door handle is slick beneath my fingers.

I pause, almost paralyzed by the weight of it all.

We’ve crossed a line that can’t be uncrossed—a line that hangs between us like a blade ready to drop.

With a deep breath, I step out into the hallway and make my way towards the lift, my mind returning to Ziva once more.

“Morning, Hansen,” a neighbor calls out, his voice flat and emotionless as he holds the lobby door.

Nodding, I force a neutral expression. “Morning.”

I brush past my neighbor and step outside, the enormity of our situation hitting me full force. The Harmonization Authority’s reach is vast, its control nearly absolute. And after yesterday’s rescue, we’ve made ourselves their prime targets.

We’re in too deep. There’s no going back now, and I can’t let anything happen to her.

My eyes scan the streets for any sign of increased surveillance, noting the usual flow of early morning commuters, their faces expressionless.

A nearby propaganda screen flickers to life as I walk down the street, Regent Colvin’s stern face filling the display, his eyes unblinking and accusatory.

The sound of his voice cuts through the still morning air, harsh and authoritative, like nails scraping against metal.

My stomach churns, my muscles tightening as if his words are physically pressing in on me.

The cold breeze does nothing to ease the sweat gathering at the base of my neck.

His face on the screen looms over me, suffocating.

“Citizens, remain vigilant. Report any suspicious activity immediately. The harmony of our society depends on your compliance.”

I clench my fists, a mix of fear and determination coursing through me with each step. This is what we’re up against—not just an oppressive system, but the very fabric of society itself.

Joining the steady stream of workers heading towards the maglev station, my resolve strengthens. Yes, the risks are enormous. Yes, the odds are stacked against us. But the possible future that Ziva and I’ve been imagining for weeks now, that’s worth fighting for.

The maglev approaches, its sleek form a symbol of the progress and order The Authority prizes so highly.

I board, blending in with the sea of gray uniforms, scanning the car, looking for any signs of suspicion or surveillance, my heart racing with every glance but the faces around me remain blank, their eyes soulless.

My mind spins, replaying the feel of her lips against mine, the softness of her skin under my fingertips. The memory is almost too real, a moment so vivid I can almost taste it again, as if the distance between us is nothing more than an illusion.

After I’d returned to my apartment late last night, I lay awake in bed replaying those stolen moments with Ziva on a loop.

“Approaching Central Station,” the automated voice announces. “Please prepare for disembarkation.”

I join the throng of blank-faced workers exiting the maglev, my feet carrying me towards the imposing steel and glass structure. The anticipation of seeing Ziva building with each step.

At the security checkpoint, I present my ID card. “Hansen, Myall. Compliance Monitor, Level 3,” I state, keeping my voice steady.

The guard’s eyes flick to his screen. “Proceed,” he nods.

Passing through the biometric scanner, I will my heartbeat to slow, taking a few deep breaths for good measure.

It’s just another day. Act normal.

Inside, I head to my workstation, scanning the workroom for a glimpse of Ziva. My palms are slick as I log into my terminal.

“Morning, Mr. Hansen,” Tara mumbles as she passes, her gaze downcast.

I nod, unable to trust my voice, my eyes flicking to each footstep, hoping to see her. The anticipation is nearly unbearable.

I try to focus on the screen, but her smile lingers in my mind, the warmth of her touch, the softness of her lips whispering that she loves me.

I close my eyes for a second, seeing the intensity of her gaze—how it pierced through the walls I’ve built.

My skin still tingles with the echo of her presence, warmth lingering against the cold of the room.

The ache in my chest tightens, the distance between us a tangible pressure.

Shit. Get it together, Myall.

But God, how I long to see her face again, to meet her gaze across the room, to see that smile that makes everything feel right. I sigh, forcing my focus back to the work in front of me, but my senses are still tuned to the door, waiting for her to walk through.

Approaching footsteps becomes audible, and my heart leaps into my throat.

Ziva glides into the room, her eyes immediately finding mine across the space.

For a split second, her face lights up with a radiance that takes my breath away.

Her lips curve into a suppressed smile, her eyes dancing with barely contained joy.

Transfixed, I watch her glide to her workstation, her movements fluid and graceful, yet there’s a new energy in her step. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture so familiar yet suddenly intimate. My fingers itch to reach out and run my fingers through her hair, feeling it’s softness.

“Morning, Emerson,” I manage to say, relieved that my voice doesn’t betray the storm of emotions brewing inside me.

“Hansen,” she replies, her tone neutral but her gaze lingering on mine a heartbeat longer than necessary.

Turning back to my screen, my mind is far from the data scrolling before me. Instead, I’m acutely aware of Ziva’s presence, just a few meters away. The air between us seems charged with an invisible current, like two magnets drawn to each other.

I force myself through the motions of my work, mechanically reviewing compliance reports and flagging anomalies. But it’s agony, knowing Ziva is so close yet so untouchable. I ache to look at her, to cross the room and hold her.

A stern voice cuts through my reverie. “Hansen, your productivity seems to have dipped this morning.”

Snapping to attention, my heart rate increases as I meet my supervisors cold, gray eyes. She gazes down at me, clearly expecting an appropriate response.

“Apologies, ma’am,” I say, keeping my voice steady and respectful. “I’ll pick up the pace.”

As my supervisor moves on, Ziva’s concerned gaze lands on me.

Look away, Ziva. We can’t risk it, not with Colvin prowling around.

The hours crawl by, a torturous dance of stolen glances and carefully maintained distance. I never knew silence could be so deafening, or that simply existing in the same space as someone could be both heaven and hell.

The overhead speakers crackle to life, startling me. Regent Colvin’s voice, cold and authoritative, fills the room.

“Attention all personnel. Please proceed to the auditorium for a mandatory meeting, effective immediately.”

Ziva’s hazel eyes meet mine, a fleeting but meaningful exchange. In that moment, we both understand—the meeting is likely about Arden and Dr. Vance’s escape.

Unease twists in my stomach, but I push it down, rising from my workstation. With a shared nod, we fall into step alongside our colleagues, moving as one towards the auditorium.

The thrum of nervous energy pulsates through the crowd as we enter the cavernous space. My eyes automatically begin searching for an exit strategy, a plan forming in my mind should things take a turn for the worse.

Regent Colvin stands on the raised platform, his icy gaze scanning over the crowd as we file into the room. He’s dressed in his usual Navy blue uniform, his graying hair standing out harshly against the dark material.

Ziva joins me, her hand lightly brushing against mine in a way that could easily be overlooked as accidental. I know we probably shouldn’t be seen anywhere near each other but in this moment, I’m glad she’s right beside me.

“Last night, two highly dangerous criminals escaped from the detention center.” Regent Colvin addresses the room, his voice carrying with ease.

“These individuals pose a severe threat to our harmonious society as do the rebels who aided and abetted their escape. All citizens are required to report any suspicious activity immediately.”

As soon as Colvin reveals the information, whispers fill the expansive room. Every person exchanging hushed comments with their neighbor about what they just heard. Colvin observes us closely, keeping track of our reactions.

Although I anticipated this meeting would revolve around Arden and Dr. Vance, my stomach still tightens at his words. I fight to keep my expression guarded, even as my mind races.

Did we leave any traces? Could they have tracked us?

Colvin continues, his tone hardening. “Let me be clear. Anyone found to be aiding or harboring these fugitives will face the harshest penalties. We will not rest until these disruptors are back in custody, along with any rebel sympathizers.”

I risk a sidelong glance at Ziva. Her face is a mask of dutiful compliance, but the set of her shoulders betray her. We both know the stakes just got higher.

“Sir,” a sycophantic voice pipes up, “what should we be on the lookout for?”

Colvin’s lips curl into a cold smile. “Excellent question. We’re dealing with a young woman with pale skin and red hair, known for her cunning, and an older woman, a former scientist with blonde hair and glasses. Both are skilled manipulators and highly dangerous.”

Swallowing hard, I think of Arden’s telltale hair color.

We’ll need to be more careful, perhaps even figure out a way to change the color.

Elara will be able to disguise Arden’s red hair.

I remember the stories she used to share about the bold and vibrant hair colors she tried out during her rebellious teenage days.

“Remember,” Colvin’s voice drops to a menacing whisper, capturing my attention once more, “The Authority sees all. We will root out this infection, no matter the cost.”

As Colvin stalks off the stage, the air seems to thicken, heavy with fear and suspicion, every person in the room tense and on edge.

I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise, the oppressive heat of the room now amplified by the cold dread settling deep in my gut.

We’re all marked now, trapped in the same invisible net.

The audible sound of NeuroMods buzzing in warning before dosing their wearers makes me seethe with anger. The room falls silent as the mind-numbing effects of the emotionally suppressing drugs take effect.

I want nothing more than to reach out to Ziva, to reassure her, to feel the comfort of her touch. But I can’t. We’re surrounded by potential informants, our every move scrutinized.

So I turn and follow the crowd slowly exiting the room, my mind already plotting our next move.