* Trigger warnings* Death, pain, trauma, medical issues, health issues.
It's the middle of the night when it hits. I'm still awake, the darkness pressing around me, but I'm too exhausted to move, too worn out to even close my eyes. I can hear Miras breathing beside me, calm and steady, but every few seconds, I feel a tightness creeping up my chest, something unnatural and constricting, like my body doesn't belong to me anymore.
Then the pain starts.
It's sudden—sharp and relentless—and it bursts through my chest like a jagged line being drawn across my skin. I gasp, my body jerking involuntarily, and then the trembling starts. My limbs go cold, my muscles locking in place, and everything around me blurs as I try to catch my breath. It feels like everything inside me is seizing—like I'm being torn apart from the inside out.
"Miras," I gasp, my voice barely a whisper, and it feels like I'm choking on it. "Miras… please…"
He's awake instantly, sitting up, his hands finding my shoulders, his touch almost too much to bear. But then I realize it's not his fault. It's just me. It's my body. My mind. Nothing feels right.
He's trying to speak, trying to calm me down, but his voice is muffled, distant, like he's underwater too. "Cherish, what's wrong? Talk to me. Please…"
The pain flares again, and I flinch, my back arching off the bed, my hands digging into the sheets like I'm trying to hold onto something—anything. My nails dig into the fabric, into my own palms, and everything around me starts to feel... too much.
"Miras, I—" My breath stutters, and I can't get the words out. The pain is suffocating. Every movement, every breath, feels like it's tearing me apart. It's like my body has forgotten how to function without pain, like even the smallest touch is too much for me to handle.
Miras is frantic, trying to hold me steady, but his touch, no matter how gentle, sends shocks of agony through my system. "Cherish, I need you to breathe. Just breathe, okay? I need you to stay with me."
But I can't. I can't focus on anything but the pain that's tightening my chest, clawing at my insides, making it impossible to think. My body is a warzone, and no matter how much I want to be calm, to let him help me, I can't.
Imani bursts into the room, he's just as panicked as Miras. He doesn't even pause. "Cherish, stay with me, okay? What's happening? What can you feel?"
I try to speak, to tell him that it hurts, that everything hurts, but the words die in my throat as another wave of pain rushes through me. My eyes water, my body shuddering under the strain.
"It's her nerves, isn't it?" Miras's voice cracks, his hand desperately brushing against my face, trying to make contact. "Isn't it? I don't know what to do…"
Imani looks helpless for a split second, his eyes flashing with uncertainty before he regains some of his composure. "I know, but I don't have an answer for this. We need to calm her nervous system down, but everything we do might make it worse. Her body is rejecting everything right now."
I can't even process what they're saying. I just want it to stop. I want to breathe without feeling like I'm drowning. I need the pain to end.
"Cherish," Imani says, his voice low, trying to steady me, trying to control the situation, but I can hear the strain behind it. "I know this hurts. But we need you to stay still, okay? Just breathe. In, out. Slow."
I try, but it's impossible. Every breath I take feels like it's slicing me open. Every movement, even the tiniest shift of my body, feels like it's amplifying the pain. I can't do it. I can't bear it.
Miras is whispering to me, trying to calm me down, but his words are just background noise to the chaos in my body. I can feel him trembling, his own panic slipping into his voice, but there's nothing I can do to reassure him. Not when I can't even reassure myself.
"I'm sorry," I whisper hoarsely, my voice breaking between each word. "I'm so sorry…"
Imani's eyes flash with something dark—something he's trying to hide—but it's there, just beneath the surface. "Don't apologize, Cherish," he says, his tone quieter, more controlled. "We just need to get you through this. We'll figure it out."
But the words don't feel real. Nothing feels real. My body is a foreign landscape, and I'm just trying to survive in it.
And yet, despite the pain, despite the terror that's flooding every inch of my being, Miras is there. His voice steady and broken as he holds me close, his hands moving over me in desperate attempts to soothe, even though he can't. He can't fix this. None of us can.
"I'm here, Cherish," he whispers into my ear, his words breaking. "I'm here. I won't leave you. I won't let go."
It should help. It should mean something. But all I can feel is the pain, all I can hear is the chaotic pounding of my heart, and all I can think is that I'm breaking. I'm breaking, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop it.
I try to claw at the tube in my throat again, my hands shaking uncontrollably. But Miras's grip tightens on mine before I can reach it. "Don't—Cherish, no. You can't do that. You can't take it out. Please. You need to stay calm."
But it's too much. I can't calm down. I can't stop the flood of panic surging through my veins, drowning me in terror. I feel the tears slipping down my face, mixing with the sweat and the trembling. I can't escape the feeling of suffocating.
Then, just as quickly as it started, the world shifts again, and everything goes still. The pain doesn't lessen, but for a fleeting moment, I'm not sure where I am anymore. I'm so far gone that I can't even feel Miras's presence beside me, or the warmth of Imani's voice as he continues trying to calm me down.
I want to fight it. I want to scream, to tell them to make it stop, but my body won't let me. I'm trapped inside myself, powerless to escape.
"Cherish!" Miras's voice is louder now, more desperate. He's holding me tighter, his hands pressing into my arms, his breath shallow against my skin. "Stay with me, Cherish. I need you to stay with me!"
I barely hear him.
My body starts to seize. My fingers curl into fists, nails digging into my own palms, but I can barely feel it through the haze of panic and pain. The world seems to twist in on itself, my vision flickering in and out, the edges blurring.
"Cherish," Imani calls again, and there's no mistaking the edge of fear in his voice. "You need to breathe. We can't help you if you don't breathe. Please."
I can't. I can't do it.
I don't know how much longer I can last. I don't know how much more I can take before my body just gives up, before it breaks completely. Every second feels like an eternity, every breath a struggle.
And I'm terrified. Terrified that it won't stop, terrified that I won't survive this. Terrified that the pain will keep going until there's nothing left of me.
The world spins, warps, my body locked in a spiral of pain that refuses to release me. Every attempt to breathe feels like inhaling jagged shards of glass, my lungs burning with each shallow, desperate gasp. My fingers are numb, and I can't tell if they're still digging into my palms or if my whole body is trembling beyond control.
Miras's voice cuts through the chaos, low but insistent, a lifeline I'm barely hanging on to. "Cherish, stay with me. I know it's bad, I know it hurts, but I need you to focus on me. Focus on my voice."
His hands are on me again—on my arms, my shoulders—but it doesn't help. It only makes the fire inside me burn hotter, and my breath quickens with panic.
"I can't… I can't do this anymore," I gasp, my voice barely a whisper.
Miras's voice comes out far beyond broken…shattered. "Cherish you are not giving up! Don't you fucking dare give up! I'm not letting you give up!"
I feel the sharp sting of his words, but they don't reach me. Not in the way I need them to. They don't break through the fog, the overwhelming pain that's drowning me from the inside out. I try to follow his voice, to latch onto his words, but my body betrays me, thrumming with pain, with fear.
The darkness is overwhelming, consuming everything in its path. The pain is too much to bear, too sharp, too deep. It claws at my insides, twists and pulls until I feel like I'm unraveling.
I can't breathe. The sharp gasps of air only make it worse, like my lungs are trying to collapse in on themselves. My chest is tight—so tight that it feels like my ribs are being crushed under the weight of it.
I hear Miras calling my name, but it's distant, muffled, as if he's far away. His voice cuts through the haze for a moment, but it doesn't reach me. Nothing does. I'm slipping. Everything in me is screaming for relief, for release, and the only way out seems to be surrender—just to let it all go.
The pain is too much. The world is too much. I just want it to stop.
It's a split second decision, a fragile moment of surrender, and I stop fighting. The panic ebbs away, replaced by a strange calmness, like the world has slowed down around me. I let go, just for a second, letting everything slip away. I close my eyes, feeling my body drift.
But then, just as quickly as the calm settles, I feel a harsh grip—Miras's hands, strong and desperate, pulling me back. I feel him close, his voice suddenly clear, cutting through the fog.
"Cherish. No." His voice is a raw, desperate plea, and I feel his breath, warm against my ear. "You don't get to do this. Don't you dare leave me, Cherish."
His grip is on my arms, pulling me closer, his voice shaking as he says my name again. "Look at me. Please."
I try to shake my head, but everything feels heavy. I want to slip back into that dark void, where nothing hurts anymore, but Miras doesn't let me. His hands on my face, his body pressed against mine—he's like a lifeline, pulling me back from the edge.
"Please, Cherish," he whispers, his voice cracking. "You're not alone. I'm right here. Look at me."
And slowly, hesitantly, I open my eyes again. I see him, his face pale, his eyes wide with fear, but there's something else in them—something that breaks through the fog of my pain.
"I can't do this," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "It's too much. It hurts too much."
"I know," Miras says, his voice breaking. "But I need you to stay with me. You don't get to give up. Not like this. Not on me."
His hands move to my shoulders, gripping me tightly, forcing me to meet his gaze. There's desperation in his eyes now, something raw, something that makes my heart shudder.
"Please, Cherish. Don't you dare leave me," he pleads, his words choking out as he swipes a tear from my cheek. "I need you. We need you. You've fought this far. Don't stop now."
It's the last thing I hear clearly before the darkness starts to close in.
I feel my body faltering, my senses slipping away, until there's nothing left but the deep, suffocating blackness. I don't fight it anymore. It's easier to let go. Easier to sink into the void where there's no more pain, no more fear.
And then, in the darkness, a soft light flickers. It's warm and inviting, like the comfort of a memory long forgotten. Slowly, as if drawn by some invisible pull, I find myself drifting toward it.
And then I see her.
My mother.
She stands in front of me, bathed in that warm, golden light, her silhouette shimmering like a dream. Her dark hair falls in soft waves around her face, her features gentle, full of love. Her eyes—the ones I remember so clearly, the ones that used to make me feel safe—are looking at me, soft and understanding.
"Mom?" I whisper, my voice trembling.
Her smile is soft, tender, and her eyes crinkle at the corners like she's laughing at some unspoken joke. She steps toward me, her presence a comfort that fills the empty space in my chest. She looks just as I remember, youthful and warm, but there's a sadness there too—something I can't quite place.
"I've missed you, Cherish," she says, her voice like a lullaby, sweet and soothing.
I feel the flood of emotion hit me all at once. The warmth of her presence, the overwhelming loss, the ache of not having her here with me for so long. It's too much. I want to run to her, to wrap myself in her arms like I did when I was a child, to feel that love again, that protection.
But I don't move. I can't.
"Mom, I... I can't breathe. It hurts," I say, my voice small and fragile. "Everything hurts."
Her eyes soften even more, and she reaches out, but instead of holding me, she rests a hand gently against my cheek, her touch as light as a whisper.
"I know, sweet girl," she murmurs. "I know. But you're stronger than you think. You've always been. You've carried so much already. Don't be afraid."
I shake my head, the weight of her words heavy in my chest. "I don't know how much more I can take. I'm scared."
"You're not alone, Cherish," she says, her voice unwavering. "You never were. I've always been with you, and I always will be. Even when you feel lost, even when the darkness closes in, you're never truly alone."
Tears sting my eyes as I look at her. It's all I've ever wanted—to hear those words from her again, to feel that connection, that love that always made everything feel right when I was small. The void around me is still, but there's an unfamiliar sense of peace in her presence. The pain is there, lurking, but it feels distant in this moment. Like it's not real.
"But it's so hard, Mom," I say, my voice breaking. "I don't know how to keep going."
"You don't have to do it alone," she replies gently. "You never have. You have people who love you. Let them help you. Let them be there when you need them most."
I try to speak, but the words catch in my throat. There's something... something I need to understand. Something I haven't grasped yet.
"Cherish, you're not meant to carry everything by yourself," she continues, her voice soft, but filled with unshakable truth. "You have Miras. You have your father and Imani. Let them hold you when the weight gets too heavy. You don't have to fight it all alone."
I feel a flicker of warmth, of hope, even amidst the pain. The words sink into me, like a balm on a wound I didn't even realize was there. I wish I could hold onto her forever, but I feel the darkness calling me again. It feels like the ground beneath me is slipping away.
"Mom, I don't want to go," I whisper, feeling the pull, the weight of the pain, and the emptiness creeping back.
Her gaze softens, and she steps back slightly, her smile still tender. "You're not ready to come with me yet, sweet girl. You have so much more to live for. So much more to give. But remember, you are never alone. And you are so loved."
And then, as if the light itself is swallowing her whole, she begins to fade. I reach out, wanting to hold her just a little longer, but the void is pulling at me again. The darkness is overwhelming, but her words stay with me. I'm not alone.
I'm not alone.
"Mom, wait—" I call out, but the world slips away, and the vision blurs until I'm left with only the aching emptiness of the dark.
I hear Miras's voice again, distant at first, but growing stronger with each passing moment.
The darkness pulls away, and I am drawn back, the world slowly coming back into focus. At first, everything is blurry, disorienting. I try to open my eyes, but it feels like I'm wading through molasses, like every movement takes all my energy. The remnants of my mother's presence—warm, comforting, gentle—linger in the back of my mind, but it's already starting to fade, just like everything else.
Then, I hear it.
A sound that slices through the haze, sharp and raw.
It's a sob.
I blink, my vision still blurry, but then I see him. Miras.
He's sitting beside me, hunched forward, his hands clutching at his face as his shoulders shake violently. I can barely make out his features through the tears streaming down his cheeks, but the pain in his expression hits me harder than anything I've ever felt before.
His sobs tear through the silence of the room like something broken, a desperate, ragged sound that shakes my very core. The way he's crumpled in on himself, the rawness of his grief... It's more than I can process.
I try to speak, but my throat feels raw, tight. I can barely get a word out, but I don't need to. He hears me.
Miras doesn't look up, but the instant I shift, he freezes. His body goes still for a heartbeat, and then, as if he can't contain it anymore, he turns his face toward me. His eyes are wide, red-rimmed, like he's been crying for hours. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, but it doesn't stop the tears from falling.
"Cherish," he whispers hoarsely, his voice cracking like a shattered glass.
I want to say something, anything, to make him stop. To comfort him, but I can barely get my own words out, let alone the right ones.
I reach out, my hand trembling, but I can't touch him—my body feels too weak. The feeling in my chest isn't just the remnants of pain—it's guilt, too. All of a sudden, the weight of everything I've put him through crashes down on me.
Imani and my father rush over to me, frantically connecting me to a bunch of machines. To my surprise, Miras isn't moving. He's clutching the blanket, like he's physically holding himself back despite every urge telling him to run to me. But he doesn't.
"Welcome back, sweetheart," Imani's voice is the first one I hear. "We thought for sure we lost you."
Miras doesn't move, doesn't come any closer, and the silence between us stretches unbearably long. His hands are still gripping the blanket, his knuckles white, his shoulders shaking with each unsteady breath. He's holding himself back from coming to me, from rushing to my side the way I know he desperately wants to. But he doesn't.
Why?
The answer hovers between us, heavy and unspoken. The words are there, just out of reach, but I can see it in his eyes—the way he's fighting every instinct to hold me, to assure himself that I'm alive, that I'm here. He's afraid.
Afraid that if he lets go, if he gets too close, something will happen again. Something worse than before. Something that will break me beyond repair.
He doesn't trust that I'm really back. And I don't blame him. After everything that's happened, after seeing me slip away from him, how could he trust that I'm really here? How could he believe that this is real?
I feel it, too—the weight of what he's holding back. The distance he's keeping. And it cuts deeper than any physical pain I've ever known.
My throat tightens again, but this time it's not from the overwhelming panic or the aftershocks of the pain. It's something else—guilt, raw and suffocating. I didn't just hurt him physically. I broke something in him.
Imani notices the tension between us, the way Miras remains frozen, and he glances between us with a frown, as if trying to piece together what's happening in this fragile moment.
"She's okay, Miras," Imani says gently, but his voice isn't as comforting as I want it to be. I hear the quiet edge of fear still in his tone. "She's back with us."
That doesn't help. It's not enough. Not after everything.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Miras's gaze flickers toward me. His eyes—puffy and red from crying—are full of something I can't quite name. Relief? Horror? Fear? Or maybe all of it, tangled together, spinning in a way that makes him unable to reach me.
And I see it—what's holding him back. It's not just the fear of losing me physically. It's the emotional weight of the trauma we've both lived through. He's afraid that if he comes closer, if he lets himself touch me again, something else will break. And the thought of that—of hurting me more, of being the reason I slip away for good—is more than he can bear.
I want to reach out to him. I want to tell him it's okay, that I'm not going anywhere. But I can barely catch my breath, and the words feel so foreign in my mouth, like I'm speaking from somewhere far away.
Imani tilts my head away, moving my head so he can place an oxygen mask over my mouth.
"How….how long?" I don't elaborate, but he knows what I'm asking.
"More than five minutes. You've gotta stop flatlining kid, it's not good for you."
Once the oxygen mask was placed, I turned my head to look back over at Miras. He still hasn't moved. I'm not even sure he's breathing.
The oxygen mask presses against my face, the steady flow of air filling my lungs, but it doesn't make me feel any less weak. My limbs feel heavy, my body drained, but all I can think about is him.
I want to reach for him. I want to tell him that it's okay, that I'm here, that I came back. But the words sit uselessly in my throat, and my arms feel too weak to lift.
Miras finally blinks. His shoulders rise and fall in one slow, uneven breath, but he still doesn't move toward me. He just stares, his expression unreadable, like he's seeing something that isn't even here anymore.
A part of me wonders if I am still here to him, or if he's already convinced himself that he lost me.
"Miras," Imani says, not unkindly, but firm enough to snap him out of whatever downward spiral he's falling into. "She needs rest. If you're gonna stay, pull yourself together."
Miras doesn't react at first. His eyes flicker over to Imani, then back to me, like he's struggling to process the words. But something in him shifts. I see it in the slight tremor in his hands, the way his breath comes just a little quicker, his body finally remembering how to move again.
His fingers twitch.
It's the first real sign of life he's shown since I woke up.
Slowly—painfully, hesitantly—he loosens his grip on the blanket. His fingers uncurl like it physically hurts to let go, like he's afraid that if he reaches for me, I'll slip away again.
I watch him as closely as I can, trying to show him that I'm still here. That I want him to come closer.
But still, he hesitates.
He shifts forward a fraction of an inch, then stops. His hands hover, shaking slightly, but he doesn't let them touch me.
The hesitation kills me.
He wants to. I can see it in his face, in the way his fingers twitch like they're desperate to grab onto me. But he's holding himself back.
I don't know how long the moment stretches on. It feels endless. Like he's stuck in a loop of second-guessing, fighting against his own instincts.
Then, finally, finally, after what feels like an eternity, he moves.
His hand lifts—slowly, cautiously, like he's still waiting for some unseen force to stop him. He hesitates once more, his fingers hovering barely an inch above mine.
And then, so softly I barely even feel it, he touches me.
Just the lightest brush of his fingertips against my wrist.
It's nothing. It's everything.
His breath shudders, like he's holding back another sob, and his fingers tighten ever so slightly. Not gripping, not pulling—just holding, as if to confirm to himself that I'm real.
That I'm still here.
I let out the softest breath I can manage, and his eyes snap up to mine.
The second our gazes lock, something in him breaks.
His fingers tighten around mine as he exhales shakily, like he's been drowning this entire time and only now let himself breathe. His shoulders collapse inward, his whole body shaking from the weight of it all.
And then, without a single word, he moves closer, finally allowing himself to lean against the side of the bed. He presses his forehead to my arm, his breath warm against my skin, and I feel the dampness of his tears as they fall.
"I thought I lost you," he whispers, his voice barely more than a breath. "I thought you weren't coming back."
I want to tell him that I'm sorry. That I never meant to make him go through this. But the words are stuck, tangled in my exhaustion and the rawness of the moment.
Instead, I do the only thing I can.
With the little strength I have left, I turn my hand over, just enough to thread my fingers through his.
Miras lets out a shaky breath, squeezing my hand just a little tighter, as if afraid to ever let go again.
The room is eerily quiet after everything that's happened. The beeping of the machines, the sound of my own breathing through the oxygen mask, the occasional rustle as Imani adjusts something beside me—it all blends into a numb, distant hum.
Miras hasn't let go of my hand. He's still leaning against the bed, his head low, his grip just tight enough that I can feel his warmth. It grounds me. Keeps me from spiraling into the same fear I see in his eyes whenever he looks at me.
Imani clears his throat, breaking the silence. "You need to know what happened." His voice is steady, but there's something strained beneath it.
I don't respond. I just blink up at him, waiting.
Imani exhales and runs a hand down his face. He looks exhausted. "Your nervous system is shot, Cherish. It's not just damage—it's chaos. Every nerve in your body is misfiring, sending the wrong signals. Your body interpreted everything—touch, temperature, even the air on your skin—as pain." He shakes his head. "It wasn't just your muscles cramping or your lungs struggling. Your whole body betrayed you."
The words settle over me like a weight. I already knew it was bad. I felt it. But hearing it spoken so plainly makes it so much more real.
I glance down at my hand, at where my fingers are still loosely intertwined with Miras's. The idea that even this—the one thing anchoring me right now—could have sent me into unbearable pain just moments ago makes my stomach twist.
Miras shifts beside me, his grip tightening just slightly. He hasn't said a word since I woke up.
Imani continues, his voice softer now. "We tried everything to help. We thought we were hurting you more every time we touched you, and we didn't know how to stop it." His jaw clenches. "I had to sedate you before it got worse."
I nod faintly, but my focus drifts to Miras. He's still staring at our hands, his thumb brushing absently over my knuckles like he's making sure I won't disappear.
Then, finally, he speaks.
"…I didn't know what to do."
His voice is so quiet I barely catch it.
Imani and my father exchange a glance but say nothing. They know this isn't something they can fix.
Miras swallows hard, his body tense. "I—I wanted to help. I wanted to stop it. But I—" His breath shudders, and he shakes his head. "I didn't know how. I couldn't do anything."
His words are breaking apart, raw and unsteady.
Guilt.
It's thick in his voice, in the way his fingers tremble against mine. He's blaming himself.
"Miras—" I try, but my voice is weak.
"I thought I was making it worse." His voice cracks. "I did make it worse. I held you down, I touched you, I—" He cuts off, shaking his head. "I should've known. I should've realized sooner."
I squeeze his hand as hard as I can manage, but I barely have the strength. "You didn't know."
"I should have," he insists. His other hand grips his knee, his knuckles turning white. "You were screaming, and I—" His breath stutters, his chest rising and falling unevenly. "I was just—" He lets out a sharp, frustrated breath, like he's choking on the words. "I kept thinking, what if I just made it worse? What if I was hurting you the whole time?"
His voice breaks on the last word.
I want to sit up, to reach for him properly, but my body is too weak. Instead, I just grip his hand tighter, even though it's not nearly enough to hold him together.
Imani sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Miras, no one could've known how her body would react. None of us did." He gestures at me. "And look at her. She's still here. You didn't lose her."
Miras lets out a shuddering breath, but he doesn't look convinced.
I force myself to speak again. "Miras."
Slowly, hesitantly, he lifts his eyes to meet mine.
"You saved me." My voice is barely above a whisper, but I make sure he hears it.
His breath hitches. His fingers tighten in mine, like he's trying to believe me, trying to hold onto something solid.
For a long moment, he doesn't say anything. Then, with a quiet, broken whisper, he says, "I thought I was losing you."
His voice wavers, raw with the weight of everything we've been through.
I squeeze his hand again. "You didn't."
The quiet hum of the monitors fills the space between them, a hollow sound in the heavy air. I keep my breathing even, my body unmoving beneath the weight of the sedative. They think I'm asleep. They don't know that I'm listening.
"She's still not absorbing enough nutrients," Imani says, voice tight with frustration. "The NG tube isn't enough. Her body isn't responding to treatment the way it should. She's only getting worse."
I hear the scrape of a chair, the shift of movement.
"How much worse?" My father's voice is rough, controlled, but there's something beneath it—something even he can't keep out of his tone.
Imani exhales. "If she has one more attack like that, I don't think she's coming back from it."
The words sink like a stone in my chest.
Silence.
Then—Miras speaks. His voice is hoarse, ragged. "Then we fix it."
Imani lets out a bitter laugh. "You say that like we can."
Miras doesn't respond immediately. When he does, his voice is colder. "There's one way."
A beat of silence stretches before Imani speaks again, quieter this time. "You're serious."
Miras doesn't answer, but the silence is enough of a confirmation.
"You knew," Imani says, his voice a sharp whisper. "You knew he was here, and you didn't say anything?"
My father's voice cuts in, a warning edge to it. "Now isn't the time."
"No, it is the time," Imani snaps. "Because if she dies, and we didn't try everything—" He cuts himself off, his breathing uneven. "Talking to him might be our only option."
Dr. Amar.
They're talking about Dr. Amar.
I feel sick.
Miras's voice is quieter now, but no less sharp. "You think I don't know that?" There's an edge to his words, something frayed at the ends. "You think I don't know what it means to even consider this?"
"So you're willing to do it?" Imani presses.
Miras doesn't answer immediately.
I hear my father shift. "He's locked down. He's not a threat."
Imani scoffs. "I don't give a damn about him being a threat. I care about whether or not he has the answers we need to save her."
Another silence.
Then—
Miras speaks, barely above a whisper. "I'll do it."
It feels like the room tilts.
"We all will," my father corrects.
"No." Miras's voice is firm. "I'll do it."
There's a pause, and I imagine the looks they must be exchanging.
Then my father sighs. "Fine."
The air in the room shifts.
Miras is going to talk to Dr. Amar.
And I don't know what terrifies me more—the fact that they're considering it…Or the fact that Miras was willing to go alone.