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Supervisor Penn dismisses us back to our workstations to start the repairs, and we make our way back, Myall’s pace easily matching mine in our usual synchronized rhythm.

“What do you think this is all about?” he murmurs out of the corner of his mouth as we stand huddled back at my workstation, examining the small machine before us.

Neither of us has any clue about the function of this machine, and Supervisor Penn purposely kept us in the dark. This must mean that its use is something truly terrifying.

I shrug, keeping my voice low as well. “No idea.”

We fall into a seamless rhythm, our hands moving in tandem as we discuss possible approaches. Each word we exchange feels charged, a shared understanding that transcends our spoken technical language. It’s strange, working so closely with someone who can match my technical prowess step for step.

“If we reroute through here,” I suggest, tracing a path with my finger, “we might be able to bypass the damaged section entirely.”

Myall’s eyes light up. “Yeah. And if we couple that with a recursive feedback loop—”

“We could potentially boost the overall efficiency by at least 15%,” I finish, a hint of excitement filling my voice before it’s quickly suppressed.

We move with an unspoken rhythm, our thoughts and hands aligning effortlessly.

I catch Myall’s eye, a flicker of mischief sparking between us. “You know, I bet I could repair a NeuroMod faster than you,” I say, my tone flat but my eyes glinting with challenge. Myall began as a NeuroMod Technician—before he became a Compliance Monitor—so I know he will be a decent component.

Myall raises an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Is that so? Care to test that theory?”

“Why not?” I reply, clearing some space and reaching for two identical NeuroMods at my workstation. “First one to recalibrate and restore full functionality wins.”

We position ourselves at the workstation, tools at the ready. I am hyperaware of our coworkers’ eyes frequently darting towards us, but I tune them out.

“On three,” Myall says, his voice low. “One… two… three.”

Our hands move swiftly, deftly manipulating the delicate components. I steal glances at Myall, admiring the intensity of his focus, the precise movements of his fingers. My heart rate quickens, but the NeuroMod quickly dulls the edge of the feeling.

As I work, my mind wanders. What would this feel like without the dampening effects of the NeuroMod? Would my hands shake with excitement? Would I feel a rush of adrenaline?

I finish a fraction of a second before Myall, setting down my tools with a soft click.

“Done,” I announce, my voice betraying only a hint of satisfaction.

I catch Marcus’s eye from a few workstations away.

His lips curl into the hint of a smirk as he watches Myall and me.

My cheeks flush as I realize that he’s been observing us this whole time.

I pray that he won’t say anything to Supervisor Penn.

Turning my attention back to Myall, he glances up, his eyes meeting mine. “Well played,” he says, his tone warm despite its subdued nature. “You’re remarkable, Ziva.”

The compliment catches me off guard, a rush of warmth spreading through my chest. I lower my voice, leaning in slightly. “Do you ever wonder what it was like before? Before The Harmonization Authority I mean.”

I’m putting myself in danger by asking him a question like this, especially since anyone can overhear and report me to The Authority.

Myall’s expression shifts, his lips pursing in thought. “Sometimes,” he admits softly.

I give a silent nod, understanding the implications of his vague response and realizing I shouldn’t have asked him while we’re at work. But it’s a question I’ve been dying to ask someone for years now.

Before The Harmonization Authority, the world was chaotic, communities on edge, always afraid of losing control and causing fear and disorder.

But even with that knowledge, I can’t help but feel a pang of curiosity about what life was like before.

Now that I have Myall to talk to, it’s like I can’t help all these burning questions from slipping out.

“Do you think we were happier then?” I ask quietly, biting my lower lip.

This isn’t the time or place, stop pushing Ziva.

Myall’s gaze softens as he looks at me, an unspoken understanding passing between us. “It’s hard to say,” he replies thoughtfully. “There were certainly more… ups and downs. But happiness is a relative concept.”

We fall into comfortable silence once again, neither of us wanting to voice our true thoughts so openly with fear of being overheard.

My mind still lingers on Myall’s words though, wondering what it would be like to experience those ‘ups and downs’ moments without the dampening effects of the NeuroMods.

Redirecting my attention to my workstation, I zero in on the damaged machine scattered across the bench.

The cold metal feels familiar in my hands as I turn it over, studying its lifeless display.

Myall stands beside me, his presence both comforting and unnerving, the weight of Penn’s expectations pressing down on us both.

“We need to figure out what’s wrong with this thing,” I mutter, more to myself than to Myall. My fingers trace the edges of the machine, searching for any obvious defects.

He leans in closer, his warm breath tickling my ear and making the hairs on my neck prickle. “What if we approach it from a different angle?” he suggests softly.

I turn to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

He glances around furtively before continuing. “Instead of trying to fix it, what if we try to understand how it works at its core?”

My heart races at the implications of his words.

Is he suggesting what I think he is?

I force my voice to stay steady.“That’s… not exactly what Penn assigned us to do.”

And its way too fucking dangerous if Regent Colvin finds out.

Myall’s green eyes lock onto mine, filled with an intensity that makes my breath catch. “No, but it might be more valuable in the long run.”

Biting my lip, I consider. The rebellious part of me thrills at the idea, while the rational side warns of the dangers. But as I look down at the machine again, a new perspective occurs

If we want to start a rebellion, we need to actually start rebelling.

“You’re right,” I whisper. “If we can understand its inner workings, we could…”

I trail off, not daring to voice the rest of that thought aloud.

Myall nods, his mouth quirked with a small smile. “Exactly.”

Carefully, I pry open the casing of the machine’s circuitry, the sharp snap of the casing breaking the silence. I peel back the layers and am met with a confusing tangle of wires and components.

As I examine the machine’s innards, my fingers brush against a tiny component that went unnoticed before. It’s nestled behind the main circuitry, almost invisible to the naked eye.

“Myall,” I breathe. “Look at this.”

He leans in close, his warmth radiating against my skin. “What is it?”

“I’m not sure, but…” I squint, examining the minuscule component. “It looks like some kind of failsafe. Or maybe…”

My mind races with possibilities. Could this be the key to understanding how the NeuroMods truly function? Or better yet, how to disrupt them?

Myall’s voice drops to a whisper, a soft, urgent tone. “Is it a way to switch off our NeuroMods?” he asks, his shoulder brushing against mine as he peers closer.

I nod, heart pounding. “Possibly. If we could figure out how to manipulate this…”

The implications hang heavy in the air between us. Glancing around, I’m suddenly aware of how exposed we are in the workroom—but the thrill of this new discovery outweighs my caution. My NeuroMod vibrates in warning, quickly dampening my emotions.

“We need to be careful,” Myall murmurs, his eyes meeting mine with concern. “If anyone found out we were even looking into this…”

“I know,” I reply, my voice equally low. “But think of what this could mean, Myall. If we could find a way to exploit this…”

I can’t finish the sentence, but I don’t need to. The possibility of freedom, of genuine emotion, hangs unspoken between us.

As I carefully reassemble the machine, my mind is already formulating plans. This tiny component we found could be the first step towards dismantling the entire NeuroMod system. For the first time, I feel a surge of something I’d almost forgotten—hope.