Tavrin had just come home after being away for two years, studying atmospheric engineering off-world. When she saw him walking down the town's market row, all boyish grin and engine grease, her heart caught in her throat. His curls were a wild mess, his clothes rumpled from travel—but his smile lit him up from the inside. He stopped first to see his mother, Lireya—a woman who smiled like sunrise, wrapping him in a fierce hug—and then made a beeline for Mia.

  She could already smell the tang of motor oil and herbs that always clung to him. His eyes crinkled with warmth when they meet hers, so full of love. Her breath hitched as he pulled her into his arms, lifting her right off her feet in a crushing embrace. For a moment, everything fell away—the worries over her parents' health, the endless tinkering, the uncertain future. There was just the solidity of him, the woodsy scent of his hair, the rumbling ugh that shook them both.

  She ughed, and they collided in a hug that pulled the breath from her lungs. His arms enveloped her, strong and warm, the scent of engine grease and soap clinging to his shirt. "You still working on that junk hauler?" he teased, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek with gentle affection.

  "It's not junk," she said, mock indignation in her tone. "It's vintage." Her eyes sparkled with mirth as she met his gaze, reveling in the easy camaraderie between them. So much had changed, but this—this connection, this understanding, remained a steadying constant in her turbulent world.

  They kissed then, soft and familiar, the kind of kiss that whispered of home and sanctuary. His lips molded to hers with practiced ease, a choreography as natural as breathing. For a brief, shining moment, the worries weighing on her slipped away, banished by his tender embrace.

  He followed her to her workshop then, the one carved into the very mountain itself, a sanctum of gears and grease. Poked around her workbench with a fond smile, taking in the scattered tools, the half-assembled contraptions, the pages of scribbled notes covered in her blocky scrawl. A pang of sadness tugged at his heart, for he knew deep down that no matter how he wished it, she could not—would not—join him at the university. Her path diverged from his, shaped by responsibilities and loyalties he could never fully grasp.

  Later that morning, Mia helped her mother gather vegetables, the heat settling on their shoulders, the ughter easy between them. Her mother handed her a full basket and asked her to run it into town, a simple errand that felt like a cherished ritual.

  The town itself—colorful, stacked, nestled in a sunbaked canyon—buzzed with quiet life. People moved between narrow streets and dusty market stalls, their footsteps kicking up little clouds of red dust. Vibrant banners danced in the wind, adding spshes of color to the adobe buildings.

  She passed the sheriff's office, where a painted wooden sign swung gently in the wind, creaking on rusted hinges. Kerron was probably sitting at the front desk, always watching, always steady. He took his new position as Deputy in training with the utmost seriousness, seeing it as a step towards becoming an actual sheriff one day.

  Across the way, the doctor's clinic gleamed in the sun, its sor panel roof catching the light just so. Her dad, Jeren, saw her walking past from his window and gave her a wave, to which she responded with a blown kiss. The air outside smelled faintly of spice and baked earth, and children's ughter echoed from a nearby alley, a familiar soundtrack of home.

  The town was alive, vibrant in that small-colony way—self-contained, familiar, a pce that felt untouchable. A pce that, for a moment, felt safe and secure, like nothing could ever disrupt the tranquil rhythm of their lives.

  She gave Lireya, Tav's mother, a bundle of vegetables, earning a kiss on her cheek and a knowing smile. "Good to see him back where he belongs," the older woman said, her eyes twinkling with affection.

  Mia grinned, cheeks flushed at the implication. Then she saw the mayor, Aldren Rusk, approaching. Thin and weathered, he always looked like he was wearing someone else's clothes, the fabric hanging loosely on his frame. His nod held no real warmth—just the weight of obligation. She returned it politely, masking her discomfort at his presence.

  There was Moozy, the town baker, setting up his fresh baked goods in the front window for passersby to see and catch the mouthwatering scent, hopefully enticing them to come in and buy. His rotund belly, covered by a dirty apron, jiggled as he worked, but upon seeing Mia, he gave her the sweetest smile. He used to hold her when she was an angry, crying baby, giving her parents some much-needed respite. He would knead bread one-handed while cradling her tiny form, his gentle humming lulling her to sleep.

  Next door to Moozy's bakery stood the tavern, owned by the rgest man Mia had ever met on this tiny moon. But her parents had always kept her away from the establishment, frowning and telling her that it was no pce for a young girl, even at nineteen.

  On her way back towards home, she passed Kerron, his deputy pin newly fixed to his colr, already looking like a small mountain among the buildings. He leaned outside the sheriff's office, freckled arms crossed, mug of coffee in hand. He grinned when he saw her. "You good?" he asked, his voice a deep rumble. "Yeah. Just a town run," she replied. He tipped his head down the road. "Tell Tavrin if he steps wrong, he answers to me." Mia smirked, knowing Kerron's protective streak extended to her as well. "He's been warned." Kerron's expression softened. "Always got your six," he said, warm and steady, a promise that she could count on him, no matter what.

  Time moved forward, the days warm and dry, but something was very wrong. Crops that once thrived in the sunbaked soil began to wither in strange, uneven patches. People in town started getting sick—different symptoms in different people, too scattered to trace easily. Rashes. Tremors. Fatigue. The kind of quiet illnesses that crept in and stayed. Her mother's hands began to shake more often, the tremors worsening week by week.

  Mia noticed. She always noticed. She began journaling everything meticulously, documenting every symptom, every failed crop, and every strange shift in behavior. Her father, once so sharp, started losing words—forgetting his own prescriptions, getting lost in his own clinic where he had worked for years.

  No one else seemed to recognize the pattern emerging, or perhaps they simply didn't want to acknowledge it. And then, one fateful afternoon, her mother colpsed without warning, crumpling to the ground in the middle of sorting seeds for the next pnting. Her father—her brilliant, calm, steady father—froze in shock, his mind going bnk as he temporarily forgot how to check her vitals. Mia had to step in and assess her mother's condition herself, her hands trembling.

  That night, she returned to her journals with shaking hands, poring over the meticulous records she had kept. She had written it all down, tracked it, mapped it, and compared the timelines. The one constant, undeniable factor? The water supply. SVC had done something to it, she was certain. Five years ago, Calder Veyron had arrived with a smile and grand promises of expansion, innovation, clean infrastructure and plentiful jobs.

  Her parents had hated him on sight, instinctively distrustful of his slick demeanor and overly polished appearance. But the town was desperate for hope, and Calder spoke its nguage fluently, his words like a siren's call.

  Calder and SVC built rge offices on the canyon ridge, next to the dam—structures that towered over the ndscape like arrogant monoliths. Overly rge, with modern, floor-to-ceiling windows and a sleek silver facade that cshed wildly with the warm orange and red sandstone hues. The wood-and-adobe aesthetic of the town y below, dwarfed by this intrusive, gleaming dispy of corporate dominance. It was as if they'd intended the very architecture to scream their presence—to remind everyone that this pce belonged to them now.

  Mia tried appealing to the mayor first, but he merely smiled at her condescendingly, dismissing her concerns as if she were a child who had scraped her knee. When she pushed harder, he simply retreated behind ptitudes. She then went to the sheriff, who patted her head patronizingly and said gently, though without a shred of actual sympathy, "People get sick. That's life out here." Even Kerron tried to help, bringing her notes and documentation to the deputies and raising concerns, but no one wanted to listen. No one wished to see the stark truth that was staring them in the face.

  Tav found her one night, huddled in a dimly lit corner of her workshop. Her hands were smeared with grease, her eyes red-rimmed from exhaustion, and her journals spread across her p like a battlefield after the st soldier fell. Tears streaked her cheeks, a silent testament to the fury burning in her bones.

  She had been poring over the pns of the SVC offices for weeks, searching for any weakness, any vulnerability she could exploit. Maybe if she could sneak in soon, while they were doing a remodel, she could find something – evidence, a clue, anything to unravel the web of lies that had ensnared her. And Tav, ever loyal, had agreed without hesitation, his voice a reassuring anchor in the storm of her thoughts. "Let's break in," he said, a determined glint in his eyes.

  So they did, enlisting Kerron's aid in their covert operation. But the breaking in was too easy – no guards, no security, no arms. The doors opened with a hush of air, and Mia felt it – a sinking sensation in her gut, a warning that something was terribly wrong in the way everything welcomed her with open arms. But she pushed forward, propelled by a desperate need for answers that had become an all-consuming obsession.

  Tav and Kerron had peeled off, heading for the control center. Kerron to check the logs, Tav to inspect the water regution software for any anomalies. Mia made for the offices, her footsteps echoing in the eerie silence. The doors weren't locked. Not one. No passwords, no retina scans. Just open, as if beckoning her to enter. For a fleeting moment, she dared to hope – maybe it was her lucky day, a cosmic alignment that would finally unveil the truth she had been seeking for so long.

  Calder Veyron's office was exactly what she expected: arrogant. Polished wood desk, dark and glossy, inid with gold not found on this moon. A massive painting of himself hung on the back wall—him mid-speech, smiling as if the colony's health depended on it. And there on the desk—a file. She shouldn't have touched it. Something in her knew that. But the temptation was too great, the need for answers too consuming.

  Her fingers trembled as she opened the folder, the beam of her fshlight dancing across the damning contents. The contamination in the water traced back two years. The filtration systems were compromised for years, maybe even from the first. SVC had allocated funds for the upgrade, but Calder siphoned half off to the mayor under "infrastructure smoothing," whatever that was supposed to mean. Worse, the reports buried the true extent of the crisis—especially the effects on Gen1 and Gen2 symbiotes. Those designed for war. Those like her parents'. Mia stood frozen, her fshlight trembling in her hand as the full weight of the deception crashed over her. How many had suffered? How many had died? Her own parents' faces flickered in her mind, and a cold rage began to burn in her chest.

  The door smmed shut behind her, the sound echoing through the empty chamber. Lights fred to life, bathing the cavernous room in harsh fluorescence. And there he was - Calder, cpping slowly with a twisted grin marring his handsome features. "You really are a smart one," he drawled, condescension dripping from every word. "I was hoping you'd come." His smile widened, all teeth and malice, as he drank in her surprise. This was a game to him, and he relished the chance to py cat and mouse once more.

  She barely had time to pivot before he closed the distance between them, his movements fluid and predatory. "Did you truly believe we were that gullible? That we'd leave everything id out like some child's fairytale? No cameras. No locked doors." His voice dripped with venomous sarcasm. "What a pitiful little fool you are."

  She retreated, but her efforts were in vain. He seized her, the force of his grip sending a jolt of pain through her arm. Like a vice, his fingers dug into her flesh, and he smmed her against the cold wooden table. The impact reverberated through her body, stealing her breath.

  His other hand twisted her head toward the wall-mounted screen, his fingers tangled in her hair. With a casual wave of his free hand, he activated the dispy. The sight that greeted her sent a chill down her spine.

  Tavrin and Kerron y unconscious on the bridge ptform, their bodies bound and limp. Blood streaked Tavrin's face, matting his curls and staining his shirt. Their eyes were closed, their chests rising and falling in shallow breaths. Fear gripped her heart, a vice cmping down on her chest.

  She couldn't tear her gaze away from the screen, the horror of the scene etched into her mind. The weight of responsibility bore down on her, crushing and inescapable. This was her fault. Her actions had led them here, to this moment of helplessness and despair.

  And Calder, the monster responsible for this nightmare, stood beside her, his breath hot on her neck as he savored her anguish. The cruel smile that twisted his lips only served to fuel the burning rage within her chest. She would not let him win. She would find a way to save them all, even if it cost her everything.

  "No!" she screamed, her voice raw and desperate as she thrashed against his grip.

  A sharp sp echoed through the room, silencing her protests. "Little girls shouldn't py at being adults," he sneered, his breath hot and rancid against her cheek. "But if you want to act like one... you'd better be ready to pay the price."

  With a cruel grin, he shoved her forward, pinning her against the table, the wood cruelty digging into her hip. She begged, her voice trembling with fear and fury. Fought with every ounce of strength left in her battered body. Bit down hard on his hand, tasting blood and hatred. But it didn't matter.

  He was stronger, in control, and fueled by a sadistic delight that chilled her to the bone. With a brutal efficiency, he ripped her pants down and pushed her against the table, pinning her there with a force that stole her breath. He assaulted her mercilessly, each vicious thrust a testament to his power and her helplessness.

  His cruel smile never wavered as he reveled in her cries of pain and humiliation. He made sure her face was always facing the camera, those haunted eyes never leaving the sight of Tav and Kerron's bodies. And when he was finished, when he had taken everything from her, he smmed his hips against hers one final time before hitting a button on the console beside them.

  The dam exploded in a cataclysm of fire and water, the force of the bst sending shockwaves through the room. She saw the fmes before she heard the sound, a deafening roar that echoed in her skull and drowned out the screams trapped in her throat.

  Tav's body was lifted by the bst, his limp form spinning through the air like a broken doll. Kerron followed, the two of them twisted together in a macabre dance of death and destruction. And when it was over—when the fire had died down and the room was filled with nothing but the acrid scent of smoke and despair—she was left curled in the corner, bruised and broken, her body wracked with sobs that tore at her very soul.

  He crouched down beside her then, his voice low and amused as he surveyed the damage he had wrought. A cruel smile pyed across his lips as he took in her bruised and bloodied form. "Thanks for solving my problem," he murmured, his fingers tracing a mocking path over her battered cheek. The rough touch sent a shiver of revulsion down her spine. "You'll make the perfect terrorist." His cold eyes glinted with malice, savoring the way she flinched from his touch. In that moment, she knew true fear – not for herself, but for what twisted lies this man intended to unleash upon the world.

  Back to the present

  She sat curled, still, barely breathing. The bnket was pulled tight around her shoulders, but her skin felt cold. A chill had crept in—not from the room, but from memory. The weight of everything she had lost pressed down on her, suffocating her with its heaviness.

  Asrell's voice reached her mind—gentle for once. A quiet press of presence. Not demanding. Not insistent. Just there. "You are... cold," he said. He didn't mean temperature. He meant the way her mind had gone quiet. Still. Hollowed out by grief and rage.

  He tried again. A different phrase. "Do you require warmth?" Still wrong. He felt it. And she felt him trying. That mattered. She didn't speak for a long moment. Then, finally, she whispered aloud: "He won." Asrell stilled, sensing the bitterness that ced her words.

  "Calder won. I lost everything. My home. My parents. Kerron. Tav..." Her voice cracked, the memories cutting like shards of gss. "And he came out looking like the hero. Isn't that a twist? The vilin gets medals, and I get whipped and a hole in the ground." Her fists tightened around the bnket, knuckles whitening. Her voice hardened, low and bitter. "And if that doesn't piss me off..." The sentence trailed off, but the rage fred, deep and red-hot, like a forge stoked to life.

  Asrell said nothing. But the hum beneath her skin told her he felt it. And for once, he didn't try to soothe it away. He let her burn, let the fmes of her anger lick at the wounds left by loss and injustice. She stayed in that silence for a long time. Hours, maybe. Time blurred, lost meaning. Thinking. Hard. And he let her, a steady presence in the back of her mind.

  He remained still inside her mind, a quiet pulse of presence. He didn't press or prod or fill the silence. He simply waited, letting her work through the tangle of emotions at her own pace. Then, one day—she didn't mark how many had passed—she looked up from the console, bnket still wrapped around her shoulders, eyes sharp in a way they hadn't been since the pit. A new resolve burned there, hardening her gaze to steel. "I have a pn," she said, her voice low but certain. Asrell stirred, feeling the shift in her mood. She didn't tell him what it was. But he didn't ask. He said only one thing: "Yes." Because if she was willing to take the risk, to fight back against the injustice, then so was he. They were in this together, come what may.