Page 61

Myall

The workroom doors glide open, and a gust of cool air washes over me.

A thick scent of sweat and tears fills the air, mixing with the sterile antiseptic, making the whole scene feel like a grotesque dream.

The once-orderly workers are in various states of emotional turmoil, their faces contorted in expressions I’ve never seen before.

“What’s happening to me?” a woman sobs, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clutches her chest. Her body convulses, each sob shaking her as if the weight of all her suppressed emotions are breaking free, a floodgate finally giving way.

Her colleague stands frozen, eyes wide with what I can only assume is fear.

Ziva’s fingers quiver around my arm, her grip tight, carrying more than fear—a silent storm of unsaid things.

The grip on my arm tightens, her breath quickening. “Myall, they’re experiencing it all at once. It’s too much for them to handle.” The fear in her eyes mirrors the panic in her voice, and I feel a surge of protectiveness wash over me.

Nodding, I rub my free hand over hers to offer her comfort. With every step forward, triumph surges within me, but it’s swiftly tainted by a shadow of guilt. Images of the workers’ faces —now freed yet fractured—flash through my mind, stirring a turmoil I can hardly contain.

“We knew this might happen. They’ll adjust, but it won’t be easy for them in the beginning.”

As we navigate through the frenzy, I notice a man nearby laughing uncontrollably, his laughter erupting like a dam bursting.

He clutches his stomach, eyes glistening with tears of joy, while another worker slams his fist against the wall, his face twisted in a mask of rage, veins bulging at his temples.

“On second thought…should we stop to help them?” I ask, torn between our need to escape this hellhole and my innate desire to comfort those in distress.

Ziva shakes her head, her long hair swaying around her. “We can’t risk it. We need to get out of here before any remaining loyalists regroup.”

She’s right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch.

We push forward, our rebel group forming a tight formation around us.

The further we move through the workroom, the more varied the reactions become.

Some workers huddle together, seeking comfort in shared confusion, while others stand alone, overwhelmed by their newfound emotional freedom.

As we approach the main entrance, my heart rate increases. We’re so close to freedom, yet the weight of what we’ve done—what we’ve unleashed—threatens to crush me. I glance at Ziva, seeing her already smiling up at me.

“Ready?” I ask, my voice solem.

She nods, her eyes alight with the triumph of what we’ve accomplished today.

We push through the glass doors into the light, and the world suddenly feels alive—too alive, too loud.

The sun hits my skin like a blessing, but it’s almost too bright, too harsh after the artificial glow of the control room.

The city’s noise hits me all at once—laughter, shouting, clashing voices weaving into a chaotic symphony.

It’s messy—bordering on pandemonium—and yet, there’s something undeniably beautiful in it.

Without hesitation, I reach for Ziva’s hand, intertwining our fingers. The simple act sends a jolt through my body, and I can’t help but marvel at the fact that we’re doing this in public.

“We’re free,” I murmur, squeezing her hand. She grips mine back, wordless.

Ziva’s lips curve into a smile, radiant and alive, and in her eyes, I see a reflection of the hope we’ve sparked. “It’s just the beginning, Myall. Look around.” she whispers tenderly.

Warmth blooms in my chest, expanding with each beat, filling the spaces once reserved for fear and doubt. In this moment, surrounded by madness, our connection feels like an unbreakable tether, anchoring us together.

Laughter erupts from a group nearby, their faces crinkled with genuine mirth, a sight I never thought I’d witness.

Across the way, a woman sobs openly, her tears a testament to newfound freedom.

The air is alive with an energy I can’t quite name—hope, perhaps, or the intoxicating rush of possibility.

For once, I feel truly connected to the world around me.

“It’s… overwhelming,” I say, my eyes darting from scene to scene, trying to absorb it all.

Ziva’s hand tightens in mine. “That’s freedom, Myall. Messy, chaotic, beautiful freedom.

“What now?” I ask, my heart pounding in both excitement and dread. Though, as I gaze around at the joyous mayhem unfolding around me, I can’t help but wonder if this newfound freedom will ultimately lead to liberation or deeper unrest.

Ziva’s grip tightens on mine. “Now, we build a world where this”—she lifts our joined hands—“is the norm, not the exception.”

Our fellow rebels surge past us, bumping my shoulder in the process as they whoop and embrace.

Liora, her eyes shining, calls out, “I’m going to find my sister!

” before disappearing into the crowd. Others follow suit, scattering to reunite with loved ones long kept at arm’s length since The Authority.

I nod to the others as they pass to let them know we’ll catch up with them all later.

I better check on Elara later too.

Turning to Ziva, I’m suddenly unsure. “Where to now?” The weight of what we’ve accomplished—and what still lies ahead—plays on my mind.

She tilts her head, considering. Her hazel eyes, always so piercing, seem to look right through me. “Somewhere quiet,” she says finally. “Just us.”

I nod, grateful for her steady presence. “I know just the place,” I say, tugging gently on her hand.

We weave through the jubilant crowds and it’s like we’re standing on the precipice of something monumental.

The warmth of Ziva’s hand in mine is comforting as we navigate the bustling streets.

The city’s newfound vibrancy is intoxicating, just as it is to witness others fully express themselves for the first time.

“I never actually thought we’d make it this far,” I admit, my voice barely audible above the cacophony of unrestrained emotion surrounding us.

Ziva’s grip tightens as we walk. “There were moments I doubted too,” she admits, staring ahead. “Like when you had that gun pointed at your head.”

I shudder as I remember the paralyzing fear that flooded me when the gun was aimed at my head, or how my heart seized when it fired. “How could I forget? I thought we were done for.”

“But we weren’t,” Ziva replies, her voice gaining strength, yet I see the shadow of doubt lingering in her eyes. “We outsmarted Colvin, now it’s time to take on the rest of The Authority.”

Our footsteps echo on the pavement as silence falls between us.

“Do you think it was worth it?” I finally ask, my voice trembling under the weight of the unspoken fears hanging between us. Each word feels like it could unravel the fragile peace we’ve built. The silence stretches, thick with uncertainty, as I watch the flicker of doubt cross Ziva’s face.

“Colvin was adamant that uncontrolled emotions would result in chaos and destruction. What if he’s right?” I add. Ever since we left the control room, Colvin’s last words have been lingering in my thoughts.

Ziva stops abruptly, turning to face me. Her eyes blaze with an intensity I’ve never seen before. “Look around, Myall. People are laughing, crying, embracing without fear. We did that. We gave them back their humanity.”

I nod, a surge of emotion I can’t name rising inside me. “You’re right. It’s just… the magnitude of it all. We’ve changed everything.”

“I know,” she says softly.

We resume walking, the familiar shape of Ziva’s building coming into view.

As we step inside Ziva’s unit, the door clicking shut behind us feels like a barrier against the storm outside.

The muffled sounds of celebration fade, leaving only the echo of our breaths.

Ziva ducks into the bathroom to rinse the blood from her hands, before joining me in the living room once more.

Settling onto her worn sofa, her expression grows serious. “Once the celebrations die down, we’ll need to regroup and figure out how to tackle the other cities. And Regent Colvin… he’s still dangerous, even locked away.”

Reaching out, I take Ziva’s hand. The simple act still sends a thrill through me as I realize that I don’t have to hold her hand in secret anymore.

“Yeah, I know,” I say, taking a deep breath, “what we’ve done here… it’s more than just dismantling a system. We’ve sparked hope in people’s hearts. That spark is going to ignite, and eventually, those flames will burn away what’s left of The Authority and their system.”

She looks at me, her hazel eyes searching mine. I see hesitation in her gaze, the weight of responsibility settling in.

“But how can we stand against the rest of The Authority?” she asks, her grip tightening. “They’ll come for us, try to reclaim control.”

I lean in, cupping her cheek. “They might try, but look at what we’ve accomplished already. The citizens of this city have tasted freedom. They won’t give that up easily.”

Ziva’s lips quirk, a tentative smile, but the doubt in her eyes mirrors the unease in my chest. “You really believe that?” she asks, her voice soft but laced with something like hope.

I nod, more certain now as I look into her eyes.

“I do,” I say, the surge of conviction rising up like a fire in my belly.

For the first time in forever, I feel like I’m standing on solid ground.

“Think about it. Every person out there experiencing joy, anger, sorrow—they’re our allies now.

The Authority can’t fight an entire city of people who’ve rediscovered their humanity. ”

Hope blooms in Ziva’s eyes, replacing the doubt. She nods slowly, her brilliant mind no doubt running through scenarios.

“You’re right,” she says, her voice gaining strength. “We’ve given them something worth fighting for.”