Page 65

Myall

Standing before the floor-to-ceiling glass window of our resistance headquarters, I overlook the remnants of the old Compliance Monitoring Division.

Below, the city sprawls, a patchwork of gleaming towers and vibrant streets.

The sun hangs low, casting long shadows over the park where children play.

Their carefree laughter rises up to me—a sound that would have been unthinkable just six months ago.

The door slides open with a soft hiss behind me. I turn to see Ziva step inside, her movements sure and purposeful.

Her hazel eyes meet mine. “Ready for today’s meeting?

” she asks. Her voice is warm, steady, like sunlight streaming through the glass.

She wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me close.

The simple gesture is enough to steady my racing thoughts, the scent of citrus and something faintly floral filling the air.

I nod, though a tightness in my chest lingers, my thoughts swirling around the decision. Sending operatives into isolated communities… It’s a huge leap. My fingers clench at my sides as the weight of the decision presses down on me.

“Are we sure we’re ready for this, Ziva? The consequences… they’re enormous.” A cold tension settles into my limbs as I speak.

Ziva’s gaze locks onto mine, unwavering and determined. “We have to be, Myall. It’s the only way to truly dismantle the system.”

Ziva’s fingers—warm, firm—press against my forearm, and a sense of calm washes over me.

It’s as if her touch slices through the fog of my thoughts, a reminder that I’m not alone in this.

The warmth of her hand spreads up my arm, rooting me in the present, grounding me when everything inside feels like it’s about to spiral.

Stepping out from her embrace, I run a hand through my hair, the familiar gesture a balm for my racing thoughts.

“These communities…” I begin, the words tasting bitter in my mouth, “They’ve been shackled under emotional control for decades. They aren’t governed by the NeuroMod system The Authority instilled. What right do we have to upend their entire way of life?”

“The right of every human to feel,” Ziva counters, her voice laced with passion. “We’re not conquering, we’re liberating.”

Nodding slowly, I weigh her words. “And the risks if Arden’s caught?”

“Then we’ll have tried,” she says softly, stepping closer and gently placing her hand on my forearm once more. “Isn’t that worth something?”

Her nearness sends a familiar jolt through me, a reminder of what we’re fighting for.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. “You’re right. We have to try. I just don’t like the thought of something happening to Arden.”

Ziva’s expression mirrors my concern. “She knows the stakes, Myall. You trust her, don’t you?”

The thought of our friend stepping into harm’s way dredges up memories of close calls and near losses. Each time we’ve stood on the brink of failure, the stakes feel more personal, more immediate.

“Ziva, if anything happens to her—”

“We’ll make sure she’s prepared,” Ziva assures me, reaching out to squeeze my hand. “We protect our own, remember?”

Looking into her eyes, I see my own worry mirrored there. In moments like these, when she understands not just my words but my fears, I feel even closer to her.

“Okay,” I concede, squeezing her hand back. “But we brief her thoroughly. And someone should be a point of contact for her to communicate with while she’s in there. I want no unnecessary risks.”

Ziva nods, a small smile playing on her lips. “Agreed. We’ll find someone who can remain on the outskirts of the community and remain in contact with Arden while she’s in there so if anything goes wrong, they’ll know and be able to contact us here.”

Hand in hand, I stand with Ziva, struck by the weight of it all. We’re not just changing our city anymore—we’re reaching out to change the world.

“Okay, that makes me feel better,” I murmur.

“I thought it might,” Ziva replies, her voice soft but filled with understanding. We’re both silent, drinking in the sight of the city spread out before us.

“Remember when we first started?” she asks, a hint of nostalgia in her voice. “We were just two people against an entire system. Now look at us.”

I chuckle, remembering fondly. “Yeah, we’ve come a long way from secret meetings and homemade communicators.”

Ziva’s eyes soften, the raw emotion taking my breath away. A small vibration on my wrist alerts me to an incoming message from Arden. I glance at the tiny holographic display as it appears, displaying her words.

“Are you two lovebirds going to join us for the meeting or not?”

Sighing, I cast a glance at Ziva. “Let’s see what’s waiting for us,” I murmur, gently pulling her away from the window toward the hallway.

Filing in after Ziva, the conference room buzzes with an undercurrent of nervous energy.

The walls, once sterile and impersonal, now pulse with the glow of maps, charts, and scattered data pads.

The faces around the table—some familiar, some new—are lit not with fear, but with a quiet resolve.

I can almost taste the change in the air, the mix of hope and fear that we’re about to do the impossible.

Sitting down beside Ziva, Arden gives me a wink and a grin before turning back to her hushed conversation with Liora.

“Alright, let’s begin,” I say, my voice calm as I address those seated at the table around me. “We need to discuss our next steps in dismantling the emotional control system globally .”

Ziva leans forward, her long hair pulled back for once in a messy knot atop her head. “I’ve been analyzing the data from our operatives in Zion. It looks like The Authority is starting to crack down on any signs of emotional freedom there.”

I try to piece together a strategy in my mind. “We’ll need to adjust our approach there. Maybe focus on building a stronger underground network before we make any overt moves in that city.”

As the discussion deepens, a familiar sense of purpose settles over me. This is what I was meant to do—strategize, fight, lead.

“What about the southern region?” one of our members asks. “We’ve had some success there, but progress has been slow.”

I lean back in my worn leather chair, considering. “We need patience. Change doesn’t happen overnight. Let’s focus on education and gradual integration of emotional freedom concepts—less likely to provoke backlash.”

Ziva nods, and a warm rush of affection sweeps over me. Over the past two months, we’ve grown closer—we make a good team, balancing each other’s strengths and weaknesses. We still have our disagreements and debates, but it’s clear that we have each other’s backs no matter what.

What started as a spark has grown into a formidable force, with networks spanning cities. It’s dangerous work, but the thought of a world free from emotional control makes every risk worth it. Our next mission is to address the isolated communities.

“Ziva, is everything set with the NeuroMod disruptor device?” I ask.

She looks up from the dataport, meeting my gaze, eyes bright with determination.

“Good to go. These devices will be wearable under clothing, masking our operatives’ emotional signatures and making it seem like their NeuroMods are functioning normally.

Their devices should report correctly to any Sentinel system that nothing is amiss. ”

I nod, reassured by the fact that Ziva knows exactly what she’s doing and won’t send anyone in without the device working flawlessly.

“Arden,” I call out down the long conference table. “How’s the terrain mapping coming?”

She drums her fingers on the table. “All sorted. We’ve got detailed layouts of every community. Hidden entrances, blind spots, the works.”

A pang tightens in my chest. Her enthusiasm is infectious, but it only deepens my concern for her safety. “Good work. Just… remember, this first part is recon only. No heroics, okay?”

Arden rolls her eyes, but her smile softens. “Yes, dad. I’ll eat my vegetables too.”

Ziva snorts, breaking the tension in the room. “Alright, people. Final checks. We move out in an hour.”

* * *

The next sixty minutes fly by in a blur of last-minute preparations. Before I know it, we’re standing at the launch point, a hidden alcove on the outskirts of the city.

I pull Arden into a tight hug, the weight of her thin frame pressing into me.

Her heartbeat thuds steadily against my chest, a rhythm that calms the racing in my own veins.

The smell of her hair—damp with sweat from the preparations—clings to me, and I hold her a moment longer than I should, wishing I could somehow shield her from the dangers ahead.

In the press of her warmth, I feel both protective and powerless.

“Be careful out there,” I say, my throat suddenly thick, each word laden with the weight of unspoken fears.

She squeezes back. “Always am. Don’t worry so much, you’ll get wrinkles.”

As she steps back, Ziva embraces her next. “Remember, if anything feels off—”

“Abort and activate the emergency beacon,” Arden finishes. “I’ve got this, guys. Really.”

We watch as Arden slips into the shadows and I can’t help but feel a sense of unease settle in my stomach.

Despite her confident words, I know how dangerous this assignment is.

The communities we’re targeting are notoriously insular and suspicious of outsiders.

There’s no telling what kind of reception our operatives will receive.

But Arden is a natural at blending in and winning people over with her charm. That’s why we chose her for this mission, despite my reservations.

Ziva’s hand slips into mine, grounding me in a world that suddenly feels unsteady. Her fingers lace with mine, and despite the calm in her voice, I feel the tremor in her palm, the tension in the way she holds me.

“She’ll be fine,” she whispers, though the words carry more uncertainty than she intends. I squeeze her hand tighter, trying to convey all the strength I don’t feel.

Turning to her, I see the same storm of emotions in her eyes that I feel. “We’re really doing this, aren’t we?”

She nods, lips tugging into a smile. “Changing the world, one community at a time.”

As the operatives fade into the shadows, I hold Ziva close, drawing strength from her presence.

Whatever comes, we’ll face it together.