It had been two weeks since the story had swept through, and Mia found herself in one of her many walks back from town, walking past the cemetery, and found herself pulled in.

  The cemetery was quiet, wind stirring the dust between the rows of graves. Mia moved carefully between them, each step deliberate. She stopped first at her parents' headstones—simple markers nestled beneath a twisted cypress tree. She touched the top of each stone, her fingertips lingering in a silent caress, as if trying to absorb the lingering essence of the souls they represented.

  Then she moved to the newer graves. Tavrin. Kerron. The two names carved into the stone seemed to echo in her mind, dredging up a well of emotions she had long sought to bury. She knelt before them, head bowed in silent reverence.

  A quiet moment stretched, the stillness enveloping her like a shroud.

  Until it wasn't.

  "You have some nerve!" The shrill voice cut through the air like a knife, shattering the solemn atmosphere.

  Mia stood quickly, blinking as Lireya Thorne stormed down the path, eyes burning with an intensity that could scorch the very earth. She had spotted Mia the moment she turned the corner, grief sharpening into rage like a whetstone against steel.

  "You don't get to stand there like you belong here! Not after what you did—what you cost us." Lireya's voice carried through the wind, slicing into the silence with each venomous word. It was a scream born of heartbreak, the sound of someone who had clutched grief for too long, until it curdled into something sharp and jagged, capable of inflicting wounds far deeper than any physical bde.

  "Tavrin followed you because he loved you! And now he's buried in the dirt while you're still breathing!"

  Mia didn't speak. Didn't flinch. Her expression remained impassive, a mask forged in the fires of her own suffering, shielding her from the barbs that sought to pierce her soul.

  Dane, who had been standing nearby, moved forward quickly, hands up in a pcating gesture to calm Lireya. "Enough, Lireya."

  But Lireya wasn't looking at him. Only Mia. Her eyes burned with a hatred so intense, it seemed to sear the air around her.

  A crowd was forming, drawn by the shouting, their faces a mix of morbid curiosity and trepidation.

  And that's when Commander Thane Val stepped forward, his movements eerily calm and deliberate.

  He didn't shout. He didn't say a word. He simply grabbed Mia by the front of her coat, his grip like iron, and smmed her back into the stone wall with terrifying strength, the impact reverberating through her bones. Before she could react, he wrapped his calloused hands around her throat, squeezing with a chilling determination.

  Mia's heels scrabbled against the stone, her boots kicking up puffs of dust. Her eyes widened in shock and panic, but still no sound escaped her lips. Her hands came up, grasping at his arms, nails digging into his flesh as she fought for air. Asrell surged with rage in her head, a maelstrom of fury and disbelief, but she couldn't spare him the energy, not with her lungs burning and her vision growing dim.

  Dane spun around, his face contorted in a mix of horror and confusion. "Thane!" He lunged forward, tackling the older man and ripping him off her with brute force, but the momentum was too much—Mia was thrown with them, colliding with a tombstone hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. She crumpled to the ground, unmoving, her body limp and lifeless.

  "Mia!" Dane was on his feet in an instant, furious and panicked, his eyes darting between the fallen woman and the man he had once trusted. Lireya had gone silent, her mouth agape, the fire in her eyes repced by a stunned disbelief. The entire crowd had fallen deathly quiet, the only sound the ragged gasps of the combatants.

  Thane y on the ground, restrained by Dane's knee and wrist-lock, but his voice came out cracked and hollow, a haunting whisper that sent a chill down Dane's spine.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes gzed and unfocused. "For Kerron. For losing him."

  Dane turned back to Mia—and saw blood trailing down her forehead. But she was already stirring, pushing herself up with a groan. Her head should've split. The bleeding should've continued. But the wound had stopped.

  Her eyes—just for a second—flickered blue. Dane blinked. Thought it was a trick of the light. "I'm fine," Mia rasped, shrugging him off. "I'm fine." He didn't believe her. She stood, steadied herself, and started walking away.

  "Mia," Dane called after her. "Wait—" But she didn't turn. She only said, voice carried on the wind, "Don't want to be a burden." Frustration welled up inside him as he clenched his jaw and swore, kicking his cruiser's tire hard enough to rock the vehicle.

  Lireya had sunk to her knees, one hand on her son's tombstone. Silent now after her earlier outburst. Commander Val didn't resist as Dane cuffed him and hauled him back to the cruiser. He sat in the back, silent tears cutting tracks through the grime on his face. Dane handed him a bottle of water and a folded cloth through the window.

  Back at the station, he opened the cell, guided the broken man in gently, and locked the door behind him. "Want me to call the doc?" Dane asked, but Thane just shook his head.

  "No," he said quietly. And Dane didn't press further, leaving him alone with his grief.

  Dane left him there, a sad, broken man. Gavin came rushing in not long after, his expression drawn and breath short. "What happened?" he asked, concern etched on his weathered features.

  Dane expined quickly, voice low and taut. He told Gavin about the chaotic scene at the cemetery, about Lireya's anguished screaming and Thane's sudden, violent attack on Mia. Dane's words were clipped, the memories still fresh and jarring.

  "Stay with him," Dane ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Make sure he doesn't do anything else." His gaze flickered to the cell where Thane sat, a shell of the man he once knew.

  Then Dane walked across the street to the clinic, his boots kicking up small puffs of dust with each step. Elian was inside, taking inventory, clipboard in hand. When he looked up and saw Dane at the door, his whole face softened, lines of concern melting away.

  Dane walked in, crossed the room, and hugged Elian from behind, drawing strength from his embrace. He leaned against the desk, arms crossed, and told him in a low murmur what had happened at the cemetery, the ugliness of grief unleashed.

  Elian's face shifted from calm to arm as Dane recounted the events. "Is she okay?" he asked, worry creasing his brow.

  "She took a bad fall. Clipped her head on a tombstone. Was out for a few seconds, bleeding, but when I got to her, she was already standing. Talking. Waving me off like it was nothing. But there was blood, Elian. There had to be a wound."

  Elian frowned deeply, lips pressed into a grim line. He knew better than to doubt Dane's assessment of the situation. Mia's stubbornness was no surprise, but head injuries were not to be taken lightly.

  "I'll go check on her," Elian said, already reaching for his medical bag.

  "We both will," Dane insisted. "But after we check on Thane."

  They returned to the station, the air thick with unspoken tension. Thane hadn't moved. He sat in the cell, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor as if the answers to his anguish might be found there.

  Elian gave him a full once-over, taking vitals and checking for signs of trauma with a gentle professionalism. Physically, Thane was fine. Just... hollow, a husk of the man he used to be.

  "I wish I could call in a psychiatrist," Elian muttered, quiet as a sigh, knowing the futility of such a wish. "But that's like wishing for a new water line."

  Dane nodded, his expression grim. There were some wounds that even the most skilled healer could not mend. And then they left, turning their attention to Mia and the new troubles that awaited.

  As they drove out to the Virelli property, they tripped the outer perimeter sensor. Mia was already waiting by the ruins, calm as ever, her arms crossed. She looked completely uninjured, not a scratch or bruise marring her features.

  Dane frowned, his brow furrowing deeply. "Your head. You were bleeding." His voice carried an accusatory edge, as if he suspected deception.

  Mia shrugged nonchantly, her expression betraying no hint of concern. "It was minor."

  "I saw it," he insisted, unwilling to let the matter drop so easily. The image of her crumpled form and the crimson stain on the tombstone was seared into his mind.

  Elian stepped forward, his gentle demeanor belying the firm resolve in his eyes. "Mia, come by the clinic for a follow-up. Just to be safe." His tone left no room for argument, though he phrased it as a request.

  She offered a nonchant nod, her body nguage dismissive. "Maybe." The word hung in the air, a noncommittal response that did little to ease their concerns.

  Elian didn't push further, recognizing the futility of pressing the issue. But his gaze lingered on her, a sadness and understanding etched into his features that caught Dane's attention.

  Dane noticed Elian's expression, the emotions flickering across his face. The sadness is there. The understanding. It made Dane frown harder, his confusion deepening.

  They drove off, leaving her standing alone amidst the ruins, her solitary figure cutting a stark contrast against the desote ndscape.

  Back in the truck, Dane was quiet, his eyes fixed on the horizon as he repyed the events in his mind. "I saw her hit that stone," he muttered, his voice low and tinged with disbelief. "I heard it. I saw the blood."

  And Elian didn't argue, didn't offer any reassurances or expnations. Because he believed Dane's account, having witnessed the violence firsthand.

  But he also knew about Asrell, the symbiotic entity bonded with Mia, and that kind of wound Asrell would have easily fixed, erasing any traces of injury with an efficiency that defied human comprehension.

  The door smmed shut behind her with a final, metallic click. Mia leaned against it for a moment, letting the silence of the shelter settle around her like a weighted bnket. It was quiet. Too quiet. The stillness felt oppressive, as if the very air was holding its breath.

  She moved into the workshop, hands already moving on autopilot—sketching, adjusting wires, tightening bolts on a loose panel. But the familiar motions of tinkering provided no soce. The work didn't hold her focus.

  She wasn't focusing.

  The memory of Thane's hands on her throat. Lireya's words are like knives. Tavrin's grave. The crowd. The look in Dane's eyes. It all swirled in her mind, a maelstrom of anguish and anger that she couldn't escape.

  Asrell stirred, quietly monitoring her emotional state. But even he couldn't brace for the spike that came next, the sudden surge of fury that washed over her like a tidal wave.

  Her fury surged, molten and instant. Too fast for him to consume, too fast for her to control. The rage burned through her veins, searing and unstoppable.

  She grabbed a hammer, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the handle with all her strength.

  And she smmed it into the project on her table—once, twice, over and over until it was nothing but shattered pieces and warped metal. The sound of metal crunching and gss shattering echoed through the shelter, a cacophony of destruction that mirrored the chaos within her.

  Asrell reeled back in her mind, overwhelmed by the flood of emotion. Yes, he fed on her emotions, but this wasn't fuel. It was fire, an inferno of pain and fury that threatened to consume them both.

  This wasn't the Mia he knew. Not like this. This was a side of her he had never witnessed, a depth of anguish he could scarcely comprehend.

  She set the hammer down carefully. Calmly. As if none of it had happened. As if she hadn't just unleashed a torrent of violence upon her own creation.

  She washed her hands, scrubbing away the residue of her outburst. She washed her face, the cool water doing little to soothe the burning in her chest. Changed clothes, as if she could shed the weight of her emotions as easily as shedding a garment.

  Crawled into her bed and stared at the ceiling, unmoving. A statue of stillness, betraying none of the turmoil that raged within.

  Asrell didn't speak. Not at first. The echoes in her mind felt so familiar—too familiar. When she'd told him what they'd done to her. What she'd lost.

  He couldn't name the emotion that gripped her so fiercely. But he knew it broke her, shattering something deep within her soul. And in that moment, he felt powerless to help, a mere spectator to her unraveling.

  So he started talking.

  He told her about the younger stages of his kind, of how they were trained, not born, but formed. That technically there kind are never children. But they had growth. Learning. Trial. Failure. His voice took on a wistful, almost nostalgic tone as he described the process, as if revisiting faded memories.

  He told her how bad he was at all of it, a hint of self-deprecating humor slipping into his words.

  She didn't ugh at first, her brow furrowed as she listened intently. But then a soft chuckle escaped her lips, quiet and unexpected.

  "Don't give yourself enough credit," she murmured. he felt a glimmer of warmth through their connection.

  Emboldened by her reaction, he continued, telling her about the small creatures of his world—the Vassrellians that never became true symbiotes. Sentient, small, service-oriented. Helpers. They cleaned, maintained, and protected. Peaceful. He painted a vivid picture with his words, describing their gentle mannerisms and unwavering dedication.

  Her heart, cracked as it was, softened with each detail he shared. A tenderness seeped into her expression, her guard lowering ever so slightly.

  And slowly, gently, the fire faded from her eyes.

  Not gone.

  But banked, like glowing embers waiting to be stoked again.