*Trigger warnings* Dissociative Identify Disorder, near death experience, medical trauma, sad birthday.
The burning in my throat is the first thing I feel when I wake up. It's sharp, too sharp, like fire is crawling through my lungs. I try to inhale, but something in my chest is blocking it—something too thick to move.
I cough, the sound wrong, wet, and horrible. The moment it happens, blood spills into my mouth, filling my throat and choking me. My body convulses as I gasp for air, but it's not enough. I can't breathe.
No. No, please, not like this.
Miras' voice breaks through the suffocating fog. "Cherish—hold on!"
His hands are on me in an instant, gripping my shoulders, holding me upright. His words are frantic, barely coherent through his own panic.
"Cherish, stay with me. Breathe. Just breathe—"
I try, but I can't. The blood fills my mouth, spilling over my chin, choking me, drowning me.
I can't breathe.
I hear footsteps, fast and heavy, and then the door slams open.
"What happened?" Aunt Nayley's voice cracks, filled with immediate fear as she hurries to my side.
"Miras, what the hell is going on?"
Miras doesn't answer. He can't. His eyes are wide, terrified, his grip on my arm shaking with desperation.
I feel him move—his voice barely a whisper. "I need help—someone get Imani!"
Aunt Nayley nods quickly, her eyes scanning me with fear. She tries to help, but it's clear she's as helpless as Miras. She holds my hand in both of hers, squeezing, but the blood keeps coming, choking me, drowning me.
Imani bursts into the room, his face tight with controlled urgency. He assesses the situation in a heartbeat, immediately grabbing his medical kit, pulling out a scanner and several syringes. But as he approaches, his eyes flick to Miras, who is still trying to keep me sitting upright.
"We need to get her to the hospital," Imani says, his voice quiet but firm, as if he's already made up his mind.
I shake my head, weakly, unable to even speak, but the blood keeps spilling out of my mouth. "No—no," I gasp. "I can't..."
Aunt Nayley's hand grips mine tighter. "Cherish, please don't do this. Don't leave us, sweetheart."
Imani moves closer, checking the readings on the scanner, his expression becoming more serious with each passing second. "She's losing too much blood. Her lungs can't keep up. We need to stop this hemorrhaging, or—"
"No." Miras' voice is a growl, low and filled with panic. He holds me tighter, his hands shaking as they rest on my shoulders, his forehead pressing against mine. "No. You fix her, Imani. You do whatever it takes."
Imani glances at Miras, his face hardening. "I'm doing everything I can, Miras." He injects a syringe into my IV line, but his movements are methodical, calm. Detached, even.
Aunt Nayley wipes her eyes, refusing to let the tears fall freely. She presses her palm to my forehead, brushing my hair back gently. "Please, Cherish, stay with us."
I feel the drug hit my system almost immediately, a strange numbness spreading through my body, calming the frantic fluttering of my heart. But it's not enough. It's only a temporary fix. The blood in my throat still clogs my airways, and my mind still feels like it's slipping away, fading.
The door creaks open, and I hear my father's voice, calm and collected, despite the panic in his tone. "What's happening?"
I can feel him before I see him, and for a moment, the only thing that registers is the cold rush of his presence. His eyes scan the room, moving over Miras, Aunt Nayley, and then Imani, finally landing on me. His expression is unreadable, but there's something deeper in his gaze—something sharp, something that knows this is dangerous.
"Her lungs are filling with blood," Miras says, voice rough with the kind of fear he's never shown before. "She's not breathing right, and nothing's stopping it."
My father's face hardens, and for a moment, I see something flash in his eyes—something cold, calculating. He steps toward me, his presence commanding, even in this moment of chaos. "Imani."
Imani doesn't look up from his work, his voice steady. "She's stabilizing, but just barely. Her brain is rejecting the sedatives. The trauma is too much. Her body isn't processing everything properly. We need to keep her calm."
My father's gaze flicks to Miras, his voice soft but firm. "I want more scans of her brain. If this is neurological, we need to know how deep the damage goes."
Miras tenses. "I don't care about scans. I care about her living."
"This will keep her alive," my father snaps, his voice low, as though his command is absolute. "You want to fix this? Let me handle it. Let me fix her."
I feel the room spin. I can't focus on anything. The blood, the voices, the pressure in my chest—it's all too much. I'm not me anymore. I don't even know who I am anymore.
I'm not sure who's touching me anymore, who's holding my hand. I can barely see their faces, let alone understand the words they're saying.
"Imani," my father insists again, his voice sharper now, the authority in his tone undeniable. "Scan her brain. Now."
Imani doesn't argue this time. He moves quickly, adjusting the machines, his hands moving over the equipment in a blur. The cold steel of the scanner presses against my head, the hum of the machine filling my ears, but none of it matters.
The cold metal of the scanner presses against my head again, its hum buzzing in my ears. I should be used to it by now, but everything is out of focus. Every sensation feels detached, as though I'm floating outside my body.
I try to keep still, try to block out the voices, the noise inside my own head that never stops, but it's impossible. It's like the room is shifting, spinning in strange directions I can't control.
The scan is still running, but I can't stay in control for long. I can feel the shift—how one version of me fades, and another pushes through.
"Who do you think you're fooling?" the voice scoffs. "You think they can fix you? You think you can be saved?"
A flicker of panic—No. I try to fight it, but I can feel her—her—filling the space around me, taking over.
My eyes snap open, and I can hear the startled gasps around me. Imani is standing beside the scanner, his face drained of color. My father is at the edge of my vision, his jaw tight with concern, but there's something else there—something more pressing, like he's seeing a ghost.
"What's happening?" Miras asks, his voice panicked. He sounds so far away.
I try to answer, but when I open my mouth, the voice that comes out is not mine.
"Pathetic."
My father's gaze locks onto me, his lips pressing together as he takes a step forward. I can see the tension in his body, his fists clenched as if he wants to reach out but knows he can't.
"Imani," my father growls. "What the hell is going on?"
Imani doesn't respond right away. His eyes are glued to the scanner's readings, his fingers hovering over the controls but not moving. He's frozen in place, but I can hear him muttering under his breath. "No... no, this can't be right."
My body starts to tremble violently, my chest rising and falling erratically. It feels like something inside me is tearing apart, cracking open at the seams.
Another voice—my voice—starts to laugh. But it's wrong. It's too loud, too sharp.
"This is a joke, right? This whole thing?" It's a familiar, taunting laugh. One I know too well. But it's not me. Not anymore.
Imani's eyes flash over to my father. "It's—it's her brain. She's not just experiencing the personalities; they're... they're splitting her mind. The scan shows irregular activity in her cerebral cortex, but there's more. It's like her brain can't hold onto one personality at a time—it's literally splitting them, fighting each other for control."
My father's face pales, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. He steps closer to me, his voice low and commanding. "How do we fix it? Is there any way to stop this?"
But I can't focus on him. I can't focus on any of them. The voices keep rising, growing louder, and my body convulses as each personality breaks through one after another, tearing at my sanity.
"You can't fix it, Father," another voice purrs, soft and sickly sweet. "She's broken. Completely."
This time, the voice isn't just in my head—it's in my mouth. My lips move on their own, the words spilling out, not my own, but... someone else's.
"Why are you even bothering?" The words cut like a knife. "You can't save her from herself."
Imani's fingers fly over the buttons on the scanner, but it's too late. The readings spike, the machine beeping wildly. My body trembles with each shift, each new personality slipping in like an unwelcome guest.
"What the hell is this?" my father demands, voice thick with frustration and fear.
"Her brain is—splitting apart," Imani says, his voice quieter, resigned. "She's fighting for control. The stress is pushing her mind to extremes. Each personality is... overriding the other. It's like her brain can't reset itself."
"I'll fix it," my father says, his voice hard and unwavering, though it carries a layer of urgency that wasn't there before.
But as his hands hover over me, the next personality breaks through with a sudden, violent push.
The air is thick, suffocating. I can feel the presence of someone new taking over. It's darker, colder.
"You're all wasting your time," it says, but this time, the words come out in a voice I don't recognize at all—not even close. It's deep, guttural, something almost monstrous.
Imani looks at my father, his face pale with shock. "That's... different. That's not one of the previous personalities."
"No." My father's jaw clenches. "That's something new."
I can't even scream anymore. The words that I want to say aren't mine. They're all tangled up in the darkness, lost in a twisted mess of conflicting emotions, battling for control.
Imani grabs the scanner in a panic. "We need to do something—now. Her brain can't handle this!"
The voices keep fighting. They're louder now, pulling and screaming inside my mind. I can barely hear my father's voice, though I know he's shouting at Imani. But the words blur together.
Please, I think. But it doesn't matter.
Nothing matters.
I clench my fists, trying to ground myself, but the pressure inside my head is too much. It's like a warzone. The personalities are fighting each other, crashing against my consciousness, and I'm stuck in the middle of it, unable to stop it.
They're all going to leave me.
I open my eyes, barely able to focus.
Miras is standing beside me, his face a mask of frustration and fear. Aunt Nayley is at the foot of the bed, her hand resting on her face like she's about to break, and my father—he's there, too, watching me like I'm something that's already gone.
But I'm not gone.
Not yet.
"Miras," I whisper, my voice hoarse and weak. I can barely get the words out, but I need to say them—need to say them before I lose control again. "I'm sorry."
Miras jerks his head toward me, his eyes wide with surprise and something else—something softer.
"Cherish, don't—" He steps closer, but I pull back, the weight of it all crashing into me. The fear, the voices, the uncertainty—I can't hold onto this. I can't hold onto him.
"I'm so sorry," I repeat, my voice shaking. "I—I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't mean to drag you into all of this."
Miras doesn't speak at first. He just watches me, his face a mixture of disbelief and something that looks like regret.
"I—I'm broken, Miras," I whisper, my words barely above a breath. "I'm so broken."
"No," Miras says firmly, stepping forward. "You're not."
But it's too late.
The voices are louder now, drowning him out. I feel the shift happening, the change—it's not just a flicker this time. It's a storm.
I close my eyes, trying to block it out. Trying to focus on Miras, on his voice, the one that has always been my anchor. But it doesn't matter.
"Cherish," he says, his voice more urgent now. "Cherish, listen to me. You're not broken."
I shake my head, tears blurring my vision. "Yes, I am. I can feel it. I can feel myself breaking. I can't stop it. I can't stop them."
The personalities are here. I can feel them, pressing at the edges of my mind, waiting for their turn to take over. I'm so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of losing.
"Cherish, listen to me," Miras says again, his voice breaking, desperate. "You don't have to do this alone. I'm not going anywhere. We're not leaving you."
But even as he says it, the words feel hollow. The shift is happening, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.
The darkness is coming.
And the version of me that wants to fight is already gone.
I open my eyes again, and it's not me anymore.
It's her.
A cruel smirk spreads across my lips, and my voice comes out too smooth, too sweet. "Oh, Miras," I purr, my tone dripping with amusement. "I thought you'd figured it out by now. I'm not her. I never was."
Miras stares at me, his expression faltering for a moment. "Cherish, no—"
"Shut up," I snap, my voice hardening, colder now. "You can't save me, Miras. Not this time. Not ever."
His face falls, his hands trembling at his sides. "Please."
I laugh, but it's bitter, sharp. "You can't fix me. You can't fix any of this. We're beyond fixing, Miras."
The words feel real. But they aren't.
I can feel it—the shift is happening again.
But this time, it's not just a fight for control. It's the end.
I'm slipping. I know it.
And for a brief, fleeting moment, I feel something like peace.
And then—
It's gone.
I gasp, my body jerking, my mind unraveling as the last version of me pushes through, the one I don't want to face.
The one who can't hold on anymore.
Miras reaches for me, his face filled with panic, but I can't respond. I can't even focus on him anymore.
"I'm sorry," I whisper again, my voice breaking.
---
The sedative is slowly working its way through me, and for once, I don't resist it. The weight in my limbs, the heaviness in my head—it's a welcome escape from the constant tension, the constant fight for control. I can feel it pulling me under, but I don't mind. For once, it feels like I'm finally allowed to rest.
Miras is sitting next to me, his body close but not quite touching, like he's giving me the space I need, but I can feel the heat of him beside me, steady and grounding. The room feels quieter now. The voices, the constant storm in my mind, are distant, muffled like they're being drowned out by the calm.
I shift, my body heavy, like it doesn't quite belong to me, but I reach out instinctively, seeking something solid. Miras notices instantly, his hand gently falling on my back as I lean into him.
The moment I feel his warmth, I let go of the rest. I don't think about the chaos in my mind. I don't think about the personalities, the shifts, the cracks that tear me apart. For once, I don't think about the fact that my own brain doesn't feel like mine.
I just feel him.
His arm moves around me, pulling me closer, and for a moment, I'm not the girl who's been shattered into pieces, the girl whose mind is breaking apart. I'm just... me. The real me.
"Miras..." My voice is slow, thick from the sedative, but I can still hear the desperation in it.
"Shh." He brushes a lock of hair out of my face, his hand warm against my skin. "You don't have to talk. Just rest."
But I can't. I can't just rest, not without saying this.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, barely able to form the words as my body grows heavier, my eyelids fluttering. "I don't know... if I can do this anymore."
Miras's grip tightens, but he doesn't say anything right away. The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. I can feel him hesitating, like he's struggling with something.
"Cherish," he says quietly, his voice breaking, like it's the hardest thing he's ever had to say. "This isn't you. This... this isn't who you are. You're still in there. I know you are."
I want to tell him it's not that simple. I want to scream that I'm not me anymore, that I can't find the pieces of myself that feel real. But my mind is clouded, the sedative pulling me down, and I can't keep fighting.
But I feel him.
His arms around me, his breath in my hair, the quiet reassurance of his presence. I feel his heartbeat against my chest, steady and strong, and for a second, it's enough.
But I know something he doesn't.
This is the only time he gets to hold me like this. The only time he gets to be close to the real me. Not the fractured pieces that are constantly fighting for control, not the broken mess of a girl that keeps slipping through his fingers.
The sedative is the only way he gets to feel this—me—and it breaks my heart.
"Miras," I murmur again, my voice barely above a whisper, but I need him to hear me. "I'm sorry... this isn't... I'm not... me."
I feel his breath catch, and his body goes still for a moment, like he's holding his own breath. "I don't care about that, Cherish. I care about you."
But his words feel wrong. I'm not me. Not anymore. And even though I want to believe him, even though I want to hold on to the comfort of his arms around me, I know this is just another illusion. This moment—this peace—is just a brief escape.
"I know," I say softly, finally allowing myself to drift closer to him, my head resting on his chest, his warmth surrounding me. "But you don't get to have me like this."
Miras goes rigid, his breath catching again, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he holds me tighter, his grip almost desperate. "Cherish... please... don't say that."
The words hang between us, heavy and impossible.
But I can't fight the sadness that fills me, because I know the truth. The sedative might keep me still, keep the storm at bay for a moment, but it's a lie.
And Miras? He's holding onto a version of me that's slipping away, even as I'm lying here in his arms.
He doesn't know that, though. He's not supposed to know.
****
I don't even know what day it is until I overhear Dewey talking about it in the hall.
"Can't believe it's already Miras' birthday," he says casually, leaning against the doorframe of the lab where Imani is setting up another round of tests. "Feels like last week he was dragging Cherish out of that high school party."
Miras doesn't react, just keeps flipping through a folder Imani handed him, but I see the slight twitch in his jaw. He hates when people bring up his birthday. Hates the attention.
And normally, I wouldn't care. Normally, I'd roll my eyes and let him sulk.
But something about today makes me want to do something for him. Something normal. Something good.
If only I weren't—this. Whatever this is.
The first time I try, I don't even make it past the kitchen.
I had a plan—sort of. I was going to make him something. Maybe coffee, maybe food, maybe something that made it look like I had my shit together.
But the moment I step into the kitchen, something shifts.
My hands tremble as I reach for a mug, and suddenly, it doesn't feel like me doing it. It feels like I'm watching someone else.
The air turns wrong. The walls feel closer. The cold tile under my feet sends a shock through my body, and suddenly I hate it. I hate everything—the smell, the light, the weight of my own skin.
I grab the edge of the counter, trying to breathe, but then my vision tunnels, and a voice—my voice—slips out, sharp and cruel.
"Why am I even doing this?"
Miras steps into the doorway at that exact moment. His brows knit together, eyes flicking from me to the half-finished cup of coffee like he's already bracing for another disaster.
"Cherish?"
I spin on him, my pulse roaring in my ears. "What?"
He hesitates. I see it. The flicker of something uncertain. He never used to be uncertain with me. But now? He never knows which me he's talking to.
And that realization twists in my stomach like a knife.
Miras steps closer, carefully, like I might break apart in front of him. "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong?" I repeat, a cold laugh breaking free. "Everything's wrong, Miras. But you knew that already, didn't you?"
His face hardens just slightly. "That's not you talking."
The words hit harder than I expect.
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to push back—to take control. But it's like shoving against a locked door, the handle just out of reach.
"I—" My voice is hoarse. I swallow, trying to push past the fog. "I wanted to do something for your birthday."
Miras exhales, dragging a hand down his face. He looks at me, and there's something raw in his expression—something tired.
"I know," he says quietly.
I blink slowly. "Did I... ruin it?"
Miras huffs out something that isn't quite a laugh, isn't quite anything. "You didn't ruin anything, Cherish."
A small, wry smile ghosts across my lips. "That's a lie."
Silence stretches between us.
Then—
"I don't care about my birthday," Miras finally mutters.
"I do."
The words come out softer than I expect, but they're true.
I do.
Even if I can't control what's happening to me. Even if I can't be who I used to be, I still care.
Miras watches me for a long moment. Then he sighs and leans back. "Then I guess you just owe me next year."
A bitter laugh slips out of me. "You really think I'll be around next year?"
Miras' jaw clenches. "Yes."
Aunt Nayley finds me sitting in my room a few hours later while Miras is helping my father with possible brain rehab strategies. I haven't moved much since waking up again—partly because I still feel off, partly because I don't trust myself to.
She leans against the doorway, arms crossed, watching me like she already knows what I'm going to say.
"You know," she starts, voice light, "you could help us set up for Miras' birthday dinner."
I stiffen slightly. I want to. I really do.
But the last time I tried to do anything for him today, I lost control.
I shake my head. "I don't think that's a good idea."
Aunt Nayley sighs and steps further into the room, settling onto the armrest of the couch beside me. "And why not?"
I pick at a loose thread on my sleeve. "Because I'll ruin it."
She studies me for a moment, and I can feel the weight of her gaze, steady and sharp in that way that makes it impossible to pretend I'm fine.
"Who told you that?" she asks finally.
I blink. "What?"
"That you'll ruin things. Who told you that?"
I frown, shifting uncomfortably. "I—no one had to tell me. It's just true."
She doesn't look convinced. "Miras doesn't seem to think so."
I let out a short, bitter laugh. "Miras just doesn't want me to feel guilty about anything. That's different."
Aunt Nayley tilts her head, considering me. "Or maybe you're just being too hard on yourself."
I don't answer.
She exhales through her nose, shaking her head. "Cherish, you don't have to be perfect for people to want you around."
I look away. "It's not about being perfect."
"Then what is it about?"
I clench my jaw. "I don't want to mess this up for him. I don't want him looking back on his birthday and remembering this—me being like this."
Aunt Nayley hums, thoughtful. Then, after a pause, she reaches over and nudges my foot. "Come help anyway."
I glance at her, wary. "Did you not hear anything I just said?"
She grins. "Loud and clear. But I think you need to hear this: Miras wants you there. He's not even going to try and celebrate with you sitting here. If you keep pushing yourself away, you're the only one making yourself miss out."
I don't respond right away. I want to argue, want to tell her that it's not that simple—but something in her expression makes me hesitate.
Aunt Nayley leans forward slightly, voice gentler now. "You don't have to do much. Just help me put up some lights. If it gets to be too much, you can step back. But at least try, Cherish."
I find Imani in the lab, standing over a mess of wires and monitors, his usual air of exhaustion heavier than normal. He barely glances up when I step inside, too preoccupied with whatever data he's pulling up on the screen.
"I need something," I say, cutting straight to the point.
Imani finally looks at me, one brow arching. "What kind of something?"
I shift my weight, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. "Something to keep the switches in check. Just for tonight."
That gets his full attention. He turns to face me completely, eyes narrowing. "Cherish—"
"I want to be there," I cut in quickly, before he can start lecturing me. "I want to help. I want to sit at the table without everyone wondering which version of me they're going to get next. I just need something to keep me steady for a few hours."
Imani exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I already have you on a mild sedative to keep the worst of the shifts from spiraling out of control. If I increase the dosage—"
"I don't want to be sedated," I snap, frustration creeping into my voice. "I just want to be me. Not—" I gesture vaguely, hating the way my throat tightens. "Not whatever else is in my head."
Imani watches me carefully. "And what happens when it wears off?"
I press my lips together, avoiding his gaze. "I'll deal with that when it happens."
He sighs, rubbing his temples. "Cherish, you're already dealing with so much. Overmedicating you isn't the answer. You could crash harder than you realize—physically, mentally—"
"I don't care." The words slip out before I can stop them, raw and too honest. "I just need to get through tonight."
Imani studies me, and I can feel the hesitation rolling off him. I know he doesn't want to do this. I know he's worried.
But I also know he sees the desperation in my eyes.
After a long moment, he exhales through his nose, turning to the shelf where he keeps the locked cases of medications. He pulls one out, carefully measuring a small dose into a vial.
"This won't block them completely," he warns, voice tight. "But it should slow the shifting down."
I reach for the vial, but he doesn't hand it over right away. Instead, he looks me dead in the eye. "If anything feels off—if you start feeling worse—you tell me immediately."
I nod, taking the vial from his hand. "I will."
Imani doesn't look convinced. But after another beat, he sighs, muttering under his breath, "Miras is going to kill me."
I don't respond to that. I just clutch the vial tightly and turn to leave.
I have a birthday to help set up.
I tuck the vial into my pocket and make my way to the dining area, where Aunt Nayley and Dewey are already deep in setup mode. The room is a mess of half-unpacked decorations, tangled string lights, and a lopsided stack of plates on the table. Dewey is sitting cross-legged on the floor, untangling a bundle of wires with the kind of intense focus usually reserved for hacking into encrypted networks.
"You're late," he says without looking up. "We almost gave up on you."
I roll my eyes, stepping further inside. "Yeah, well, I had to make sure I wasn't going to ruin everything the second I walked in."
Aunt Nayley glances up from where she's adjusting the tablecloth, her expression unreadable. "You wouldn't have ruined anything, Cherish."
I don't respond to that. Instead, I scan the room. "What do you need me to do?"
Dewey waves a tangled bundle of lights at me. "You could start by dealing with this disaster."
I take the lights from him, holding them up with a skeptical frown. "How did you even manage this?"
"Listen," Dewey says, dead serious. "Some things just happen. There is no rhyme or reason."
Aunt Nayley sighs. "He dropped the whole roll on the way in."
Dewey gasps, scandalized. "Why would you expose me like that?"
I snort, shaking my head as I kneel to start working on the knots. "Okay, well, if we want these up before Miras walks in, we should probably focus."
Dewey huffs but doesn't argue, going back to setting up small battery-operated candles along the windowsills. Aunt Nayley hums as she arranges the centerpieces, her movements calm and practiced.
As I work, my fingers tremble slightly, but I focus on the task—on the feeling of something normal. The medication is keeping the worst of the shifts at bay, though I can still feel something lurking underneath, pressing at the edges of my mind. I shove it down, gripping the string lights tighter.
It's fine. I can do this.
After a few minutes of silence, Aunt Nayley speaks again, her voice gentler this time. "I'm glad you decided to help."
I don't look up from the lights. "Yeah, well… it's his birthday."
"And you being here will mean more to him than any decorations we put up," she says simply.
I don't know how to respond to that, so I don't.
Instead, I focus on unwinding the last knot, ignoring the way my chest tightens.
The last knot finally comes loose, and I hold up the now-untangled string of lights in victory. "There. Crisis averted."
Dewey claps dramatically. "Wow. A true hero."
I roll my eyes but can't help the small smirk that tugs at my lips. "Just tell me where you want them."
Aunt Nayley gestures toward the wall near the dining table. "If you can hang them along the top, it'll help brighten things up a little."
I nod and push myself up, gripping the lights as I move to the wall. The second I stretch up to start hanging them, my fingers tremble slightly, a leftover reminder that my body and mind are still off. But I keep going, focusing on the simple task—hooking, draping, adjusting.
Aunt Nayley steps back to look at the setup so far, hands on her hips. "Not bad. We might actually pull this off."
Dewey straightens from where he's been setting up the candles. "You doubt our abilities? I am personally offended."
Aunt Nayley pats his cheek, amused. "You doubt your own abilities. I'm just preparing for the inevitable catastrophe."
Dewey gasps, clutching his chest like she's mortally wounded him. "You wound me."
I snicker under my breath, adjusting the last bit of lights before stepping back to admire our work. The soft glow from the candles and string lights gives the room a warm, intimate feel—not extravagant, but good. Comfortable.
I swallow hard, shoving my hands into my pockets.
This is the kind of thing I used to do without a second thought. Now, it feels like I'm walking on a tightrope, constantly bracing for the moment I slip.
Aunt Nayley catches my expression and nudges my arm lightly. "It looks good," she says, like she can hear the doubts rattling in my head. "You did good."
I nod stiffly. "Yeah."
Before she can push further, Dewey claps his hands together. "Alright, what's next? Do we have a cake? Are we going full cliché with candles and the off-key group singing?"
Aunt Nayley smirks. "That depends—do you want to be responsible for keeping Miras from murdering us all for the singing part?"
Dewey grimaces. "Okay, maybe no singing."
I shake my head, tuning out their bickering as I glance toward the doorway. The weight in my chest hasn't lifted completely, but at least for now, I feel like I belong here.
---
Dewey leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes sparkling with mischief. "So, Miras, how does it feel to be one year closer to inevitable old age and decay?"
Miras doesn't even glance up from his plate. "Feels about the same as last year. Except now I'm more annoyed."
Dewey gasps dramatically. "Annoyed? At me? On your birthday? Unbelievable."
Aunt Nayley snorts, sipping her wine. "You do have a talent for being insufferable, Dewey. Maybe let the birthday boy have some peace."
Dewey grins. "Nah, I think he secretly enjoys my presence." He looks at Miras expectantly.
Miras stares at him for a long moment. "I don't."
Dewey clutches his chest like he's been mortally wounded. "You're so cruel to me. And after all I've done to make this night special."
Miras rolls his eyes, but I don't miss the way the corner of his mouth almost twitches.
Aunt Nayley chuckles and turns to me. "You've been quiet, Cherish. Doing okay?"
I hesitate, feeling Miras's eyes flick to me. I force a small smirk. "Just trying to decide if I should let Dewey keep digging this hole or push him in myself."
Dewey wags a finger at me. "You wouldn't dare—"
"She absolutely would," Miras interrupts.
I meet his gaze, and for a brief second, there's something knowing there. Something steady.
"She's not wrong, though," Aunt Nayley adds. "You're treading dangerously close to making him snap."
Dewey huffs. "Oh, please. What's he gonna do? Glare me to death?"
Miras just slowly, deliberately puts his fork down and meets Dewey's gaze with an impassive stare.
A few beats of silence.
Dewey clears his throat. "Okay, I don't like how silent you are right now. Say something threatening so I know where we stand."
Miras tilts his head slightly. "Finish your food."
Dewey stares. "That's… not threatening."
Miras picks his fork back up. "It wasn't a request."
Aunt Nayley bursts into laughter, and even I find myself smiling—just a little.
Even my father, who has been mostly quiet, gives a subtle shake of his head. "The two of you have the most ridiculous dynamic I've ever witnessed."
Dewey grins. "Thank you, I try."
Miras just sighs, shaking his head. But when he glances back at me, there's something softer in his expression.
At first, it's subtle. A strange flicker at the edges of my thoughts, like a radio station slipping out of tune.
I grip my fork a little tighter, forcing myself to focus on the conversation happening around me. Dewey is rambling about some ridiculous scheme he once tried to pull off, and Aunt Nayley is shaking her head like she's already heard this disaster of a story before. Miras, predictably, looks unimpressed.
But underneath it all, there's a slow, creeping distortion. Like something inside me is shifting out of place.
I exhale quietly, rolling my shoulders back. It's fine. It's nothing.
Imani had made me promise—if you feel anything off, come to me immediately. But as I glance around the table, watching them all interact so normally, I can't bring myself to break the moment.
I can handle this. I just have to push through.
I pick at my food, my appetite dwindling as the feeling intensifies. It's like standing on the shore, watching the tide slowly, inevitably pull back. A warning before the wave crashes down.
Miras glances at me, and for a second, I think he knows. His gaze sharpens just slightly, like he's watching for something.
I force a small smirk. "You're staring."
"You're twitchy." His tone is flat, but there's something underneath it—something wary.
I lift my fork, hoping the movement will distract from the tension in my hands. "Maybe I'm just bracing for you to actually enjoy your birthday."
Dewey snickers. "That would be shocking."
Miras doesn't take the bait. His eyes linger on me for a few more seconds before he finally looks away. I exhale, forcing myself to sit still, to keep my breathing steady. It's just a feeling.
I try to keep my focus on the conversation, nodding when appropriate, forcing a smirk when Dewey inevitably says something ridiculous. But the further dinner progresses, the harder it gets to hold on.
The air feels too thick. My pulse too loud in my ears.
My grip tightens around my fork, fingers pressing into the metal like it's the only thing keeping me grounded. I can feel the shifts lurking, coiling underneath my skin, waiting for the right moment to take hold.
Miras hasn't stopped watching me. He's trying to be subtle about it, but I can feel it—his eyes flicking to me between bites of food, assessing. Calculating.
He knows something is wrong.
I push a piece of bread around my plate, swallowing against the growing tightness in my throat. Just a little longer. Just hold out a little longer.
Dewey, completely oblivious to my unraveling, leans forward, propping his chin on his hand. "Alright, since Miras refuses to acknowledge the significance of his existence, I propose a new topic—dumbest thing we've ever done. And before you say anything, yes, I already know I'm winning this competition."
Aunt Nayley chuckles. "It's not much of a competition when you admit defeat before we even start."
Miras exhales through his nose, unimpressed. "I'm not participating in this."
Dewey waves him off. "You say that now, but wait till we get to the good stuff. Like that time I thought I could jump from a second-story balcony onto a moving bike."
Aunt Nayley shakes her head. "I knew that story was going to come up."
"I had a whole plan, okay? It just… didn't go to plan."
Miras sighs. "Because it was stupid."
"You're missing the point."
"What is the point?" I ask, hoping the humor in my voice will cover the way my body is starting to feel like it's drifting away from itself.
Dewey grins. "The point is that I lived and learned nothing."
Aunt Nayley shakes her head. "The miracle isn't that you survived, it's that you still have all your limbs."
The laughter around the table is light, easy. I should feel comforted by it. But I don't.
I feel detached.
Like I'm watching it all from behind glass.
Miras is still watching me.
I can sense the exact moment he decides he's had enough. He sets his fork down, pushes his plate aside slightly, and turns his full attention on me.
"You're quiet," he says, not unkindly, but with that same sharp edge he always has when he's prying something out of me.
I blink, my vision momentarily doubling before snapping back into place. I clutch the edge of the table beneath my fingers, hoping he won't notice the tremor.
"I'm eating," I say, though I haven't touched my food in a while.
Miras tilts his head slightly. "You're not eating."
Dewey, who has finally picked up on the shift in tone, glances between us. "Uh, am I missing something?"
Aunt Nayley frowns, her gaze sliding over me carefully. "Cherish?"
I try to force a breath, try to steady the rising dizziness creeping into my limbs. I don't want this. I don't want this to happen here, right now.
I look at Miras and shake my head slightly. Not now. Not here.
But it's too late. The wave is coming. And there's nothing I can do to stop it.
I stand abruptly, my chair scraping loudly against the floor, and I immediately regret the movement when the room spins for a second. The dizziness is like a weight pressing against my skull, clouding everything, and I grip the edge of the table to steady myself.
"I—I need a minute," I say, my voice tight, but I'm already backing away.
Miras doesn't hesitate. "Cherish—"
But I can't listen to him. I can't stay here and risk everything falling apart in front of them. Not now. Not in the middle of what was supposed to be a good night, a night for him, for all of us.
I'm about to lash out, but the moment is interrupted by Dewey's voice from the dining room, distant but clear. "Is she okay? Should we—?"
I take another unsteady step toward the door, my vision swimming, but I can't stop myself. My pulse is hammering too loud, drowning out everything around me.
"Cherish, wait—"
I don't turn around. My chest is tight. My heart's slamming against my ribs.
Just a little further. Just get to the hall.
I reach the doorway, my hand resting against the frame as I try to hold myself together, but the wall is closing in too fast. My body is betraying me, my mind spinning out of control, and I feel the first shift—the crack in the dam that's about to burst.
Not now, not now…
I push through the door to the hallway, desperate for space, my chest tight with each breath. The room feels too small, the air too thick. Every sound seems amplified—too loud, too sharp. I'm holding on by a thread, the room spinning, my vision blurring with each step I take.
But it's not the dizziness that makes my breath catch—it's the shift. The sudden, violent tug of something foreign inside me, pulling me in all directions at once.
I stumble as my mind snaps between different versions of myself, like a distorted reflection shattering into a thousand pieces.
For a moment, I'm me, the one trying to get away from everything, the one trying to hold it all together. But then the pull hits again, faster this time. My thoughts splinter. I feel her—the one who's angry, who's sharp, who's tired of being treated like something fragile.
"Stop!" I yell out, my voice breaking as I spin around, nearly colliding with the wall. I can hear Miras's footsteps behind me, but I can't focus on him. I'm caught in the switch, slipping between personalities faster than I can control.
"Cherish?"
The voice that answers isn't mine.
It's cold. It's cruel.
"I don't need your help," I snap, my tone sharp, cutting, the edges of my words jagged like broken glass. My hands ball into fists at my sides, nails digging into my skin as I try to reign it in. But it's too late. The other version of me has taken hold, and it doesn't want to let go.
Miras stops in his tracks, his eyes narrowing as he watches me. I can tell he's trying to process what's happening. He doesn't know which version of me he's talking to now.
"Cherish…" he says again, but this time, it's a plea. It's softer, like he's searching for something in me that feels unreachable.
I scoff, the frustration twisting my insides. "You think I need saving, don't you? I don't."
My voice shakes, but the anger keeps pushing through, louder, stronger. And then, without warning, it switches again.
I stagger, feeling the shift more intensely this time. I try to hold on, but it's like being yanked in two directions at once, and I feel the old version of me—soft, vulnerable, desperate for connection—fighting through the storm.
"Please," I whisper, almost to myself. My voice cracks, and the anger drains out, replaced by something raw. "Please don't let me… don't let me fall apart."
But the words don't feel like they belong to me. They don't feel like the version of me who just told Miras to stay away.
I feel something wet on my cheeks, and I realize I'm crying. But before I can process it, the wave hits again. The other side of me—cold and distant—takes over with force, and I clench my fists so hard that my knuckles pop.
"Stop looking at me like I'm fragile!" I shout at him, my voice harsh and unrecognizable. "I'm fine. I'm fine."
The tears dry up almost instantly, replaced by the sharp sting of rage. The world is spinning too fast. I can't keep up with who I am anymore.
Miras is still standing there, watching me with an expression I can't read—concern, fear, frustration, all mixed into one. But he doesn't move. Doesn't say anything. He just waits, his posture rigid.
"I don't need your pity," I spit at him, but it's like I'm not even in control anymore. This other version of me has taken over, and it feels like the only thing left.
I want to stop. I want to beg him to help me. But I can't. I can't stop it.
Then, just as quickly as it came, the shift happens again.
I'm back to myself.
The anger is gone, replaced by an overwhelming sense of confusion, fear, and guilt. My breathing is shallow, my chest tight as I choke on the words that feel like they're stuck in my throat.
"Miras," I breathe, reaching out a hand, my voice cracking as I fall apart. "I—I didn't mean it. I didn't… please, don't leave me like this."
He takes a step forward, but the hesitation in his movements is palpable. He's unsure of what's happening, unsure of what I need.
"Cherish…" he says quietly, his voice low and steady, despite the storm raging in front of him. "I'm not going anywhere."
But the shift isn't done. Not yet.
The hall feels suffocating, every step a battle against the tide of shifting personalities crashing through me. I can't hold on. I'm slipping, caught between versions of myself, each one more desperate and uncontrollable than the last.
"I—I…" I try to speak, but the words falter, unraveling into nothing, and I grip my head, trying to force myself to stay.
For a moment, I feel like me. I'm trying to hold it together, but it's slipping away with every breath. The next second, the anger takes hold. Her anger. Cold, bitter, lashing out.
"I don't need you!" I snap, but my voice trembles, cracking with the shift.
Miras steps forward, his face tight with concern, but I'm already backing away, my body shaking with the force of it. "Cherish, listen—"
Before he can finish, I'm someone else. The fear is overwhelming, suffocating. "Please, don't leave me like this," I beg, but the panic is already gone, replaced by something else—something bitter.
"I don't need your pity," I sneer, and the words come out so sharp, so cruel. I can feel myself slipping away again, the constant shifting too much to hold on to.
I feel the pull of the next personality, stronger than the last. My hands tremble as I clutch at the wall, trying to keep myself from falling apart.
The door behind me opens with a soft creak, and I hear the sharp sound of footsteps. It's Imani.
"What the hell is going on out here?" Imani's voice is angry, but there's something darker in it now. His gaze flicks over to Miras, and there's a noticeable shift in his expression. The frustration in his eyes becomes something colder, something accusatory.
"You gave her the drug," Miras says, the words coming out with an edge of disbelief. "You gave her that damn drug to suppress the shifts, didn't you? I knew she was acting weird."
Imani's eyes flash, but his jaw tightens. "What the hell do you think I was supposed to do, Miras? You think she could just keep—"
"You think this is better?" Miras cuts him off, his voice rising with a sudden anger. "You've been drugging her to keep her from shifting, instead of helping her control it? Do you realize what you've done?"
Imani glares at him, his face twisting in frustration. "I'm trying to help her! What was I supposed to do, let her break down every time this happens? Let her rip herself apart?"
Miras steps closer, fury in his eyes. "You made her worse!" His voice cracks on the words. "Do you see what's happening to her? She's slipping in and out of herself, and you're sitting here telling me it's okay because you thought suppressing it would work?"
"I didn't think it was okay!" Imani snaps back, his anger and guilt blending into a volatile mix. "I did what I had to do to keep her from losing her mind entirely!"
I barely hear their exchange anymore, my mind spinning too fast. But the words hit me. I feel the weight of the truth sink into my chest.
They're trying to help me. But it feels like they're not seeing me. Not really.
Miras turns to me, his expression softening for a brief second, before it hardens again, frustration and fear warring in his eyes. "Cherish, listen to me. You're not alone in this, okay? We can figure this out, but you need to trust us. Please."
I'm slipping again. I can feel it. The change is coming, fast and brutal.
I try to speak, but the words catch in my throat, only fragments coming out. "Please… don't leave…"
I can't hold it anymore. The next version of me takes over, and it's all rage and confusion. I lash out, shoving Miras back. "I'm fine, I told you I'm fine! Stop treating me like I'm broken!"
But as soon as I say it, the words feel like a lie. And just as quickly, the shift pulls again, and I'm back to feeling lost.
I look up at Miras, the overwhelming urge to apologize hitting me. "Miras… I—" But the sentence gets lost in the haze of the drug and the chaos of my mind.
Miras stands there, silent for a moment, his eyes searching me as if looking for something—anything—to keep me grounded. Finally, he lets out a long breath, his gaze turning away from me to Imani.
"You've done enough, Imani," Miras mutters, the weight of the words heavy. "This isn't helping her."
Imani stands there, seething, but there's guilt in his eyes now, too. He doesn't say anything more, but I can feel it—the regret is thick in the air.
My skin burns, then goes cold. My stomach churns with nausea, and it feels like there's a pit growing in the middle of it. My head throbs as if someone's taking a hammer to my skull, and every muscle in my body aches like I've been beaten senseless. My limbs feel like they're made of lead—heavy, sluggish, and unresponsive.
I can't sit still. My fingers twitch, the shakes starting slowly, then escalating to full tremors. I clutch at the edge of the table, my nails digging into the wood as I try to steady myself. I'm falling apart, bit by bit, and I can feel the panic creeping in again.
"Cherish?" Miras's voice is distant, like he's speaking through a fog. I'm not sure if it's his concern or my mind clouding everything, but it feels like he's miles away, even though he's right in front of me. I barely have the energy to look at him, my vision blurring in and out of focus.
"I—" I try to speak, but my throat is tight, like it's closing in on itself. I can't breathe. My chest is heavy, like it's been filled with lead. Every inhale feels shallow, painful.
Miras takes a step forward, but I can't look at him. I can't look at anyone. I feel exposed, vulnerable, like my entire existence is unraveling.
The room feels too small, the air too thick, and the noise too much. I hear the faint hum of the lights, the faint shuffling of feet in the next room. But it all blends together, suffocating me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to make it stop, but the tremors in my hands don't cease. My heart's racing in my chest, a drumbeat of panic that I can't slow down.
"Cherish," Miras says again, this time closer, his hand on my arm. I feel his fingers, warm and steady, but it doesn't make the world any less overwhelming. "Look at me. You're going to be okay."
I don't want to look at him. I don't want anyone to see this—this weakness. The drug is wearing off, but it's worse than I imagined. It's like my body is betraying me, each second more unbearable than the last.
"I can't," I croak, my voice barely a whisper. The words are too hard to push out. "I can't do this. It's too much."
I hear Miras exhale sharply, but I can't tell what it means. Maybe he's frustrated with me. Maybe he's scared, but it's too much for me to process right now.
A part of me wants to ask him for help, to beg him to make it stop, but another part of me is ashamed. This is my fault. I'm the one who wanted to numb it all, to push it away, and now I'm paying for it.
Miras crouches in front of me, his hands on my knees, trying to meet my eyes. "Cherish, you're not alone in this, okay? I'm here. I won't leave you."
His voice is steady, calm, and I can hear the sincerity in it. But I'm not sure if I believe him. The pain is so much that it drowns out everything else. I nod weakly, but it feels hollow, like I'm pretending to be strong when everything inside me is falling apart.
Imani steps into the room, his gaze sharp as he looks at me. "She's going through withdrawal," he mutters. I hear the bitterness in his voice, but it's the least of my concerns. I'm too focused on the fire coursing through my veins, the ache in every part of me. The withdrawal is worse than I could've imagined. My entire body feels like it's on fire, like it's being ripped apart from the inside.
I bite my lip, hard, to keep from crying out, but it doesn't stop the tears from slipping down my face. The humiliation is worse than the physical pain.
I don't want him to see me like this. I don't want to drag him into this nightmare of withdrawal and confusion, but I know he's already too far in. His eyes are locked on me with so much concern, so much worry that it feels like too much. I can barely hold myself together long enough to string a sentence together, let alone push him away.
"I'm fine," I whisper, my voice shaking as I try to pull my hand from his. "Just... go back to the party, Miras. I'm not—" I stop, swallowing hard as another wave of nausea crashes over me. "I'm not going to get any better with you sitting here, just watching me fall apart."
But Miras doesn't move. He just kneels down in front of me, his gaze steady and fierce. He's not going anywhere. I can feel it in the tension of his posture, the way his jaw is clenched like he's trying to keep it together for me, even when I'm falling apart.
"No," he says quietly, his hand still gripping mine with a gentle but firm pressure. "I'm not leaving you alone, Cherish. Not now. Not when you're like this."
I want to argue. I want to tell him it's fine, that he doesn't need to deal with this right now. I don't want to drag him down. He deserves to have a good time, to enjoy his birthday, even if I can't. But my throat closes up, and all I can do is stare at him.
I try again, my voice rough, pleading. "It's just... a party. Miras, you're not responsible for me. You deserve to be out there, celebrating, not stuck in here with me while I—" I wave a hand weakly at the chaos in my mind, the mess of personality shifts that are still trying to break through the walls I've built.
Miras shakes his head, his expression hardening with resolve. "No. I want to be here. You don't get to push me away just because you're having a hard time."
His words cut through me, sharp and tender all at once, and it makes my chest tighten. I know he's trying to protect me, but it only feels like I'm dragging him down with me. I see the flicker of pain in his eyes as he watches me, but there's something else in there too—something determined. His fingers curl around mine like he's trying to steady me.
"Miras," I murmur, my voice fragile. "Please... go. I'm not gonna be any fun to be around. I can't even be in control of myself right now."
He leans forward, his eyes softening just a bit, but his resolve doesn't waver. "You're wrong. I'm not leaving you alone, Cherish. You're more important than any stupid party. And no matter what, we're gonna get through this. Together."
I bite my lip, fighting back tears, but they spill over anyway. It's not just the pain of withdrawal. It's the ache of knowing that I can't give him what he deserves, can't be the person he wants me to be, no matter how hard I try.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, unable to stop the words from slipping out. "I hate this. I hate being like this."
Miras doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away. He just pulls me into a tight hug, holding me against him like I'm the one thing he's not willing to let go of.
"I know you do," he says softly, his breath warm against my ear.
"Sedation might be the only way to keep her stable," Imani says, his gaze flickering to me for a moment before returning to Miras. "The mood swings, the withdrawal... they're too much for her to handle without it. You know it, Miras. If we want her to be somewhat functional, this is the only option."
I stiffen at the word "sedation," my chest tightening in protest. But before I can say anything, Miras's voice cuts through the room, low and full of warning.
"No," he growls, standing up from his position on the floor, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Absolutely not. You've drugged her enough already. We're not going down that road again."
But Imani doesn't back down. He crosses his arms, his face unreadable as he looks from Miras to me. "You're asking too much of her, Miras. You saw what happened. It's not just the personality shifts, it's the physical withdrawal. She's in pain. This would ease it."
The words sting, but I can't think straight with the pain surging through my body, the chaotic shifts in my mind, and the overwhelming wave of exhaustion that's pushing me under. I want the peace Imani is offering. I want to be able to breathe again.
"I... I don't want to ruin the night," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. The idea of going back to the party feels impossible right now, but I can't help it. I want to try. I want to give Miras something, anything, to show that I'm still me—even if I'm barely hanging on.
I can see Miras's hesitation in the way his eyes flicker from me to Imani. He's torn, and I hate that I'm the one causing this rift, making him feel like there's no good option. But I need him to understand. I need him to see that, for the first time tonight, I'm asking for help.
"Please, Miras," I whisper, my hands shaking as I grip the edge of the table. "I just... want to be there with you. Let me have that, please. I can't keep doing this. I'll be better... I'll be better if I can just get through the next few hours."
Miras looks at me for a long moment, his expression hardening with the battle inside him. His gaze flickers to Imani, then back to me. I see the war in his eyes—the conflict between wanting to protect me, to keep me safe, and wanting me to be okay for once, even if it's temporary.
"You'll never be 'better' with that stuff in your system," Miras says, his voice strained, like he's trying to convince himself more than me. "You deserve more than just getting through tonight."
But I'm already feeling the cracks forming again, the pressure building. "I don't care about 'better,' Miras. I just want to be with you. Don't you understand? I need this."
I can't tell if it's the desperation in my voice or the exhaustion in his eyes, but Miras sighs deeply, his shoulders slumping as he runs a hand through his hair. "I hate this," he mutters, looking like he's being torn apart from the inside.
"I know you do," I say softly, feeling the weight of the words press against me. "But please... I can't do it without help."
Miras stands there, quiet for a moment longer, his gaze lingering on me. Then, slowly, he looks to Imani, his jaw tight with frustration. "Fine," he spits, his voice low with an edge of anger. "Do whatever you need to do, but if anything goes wrong—"
"I'll monitor her," Imani interrupts, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "I'm not a complete idiot. I'll make sure it's done safely."
I feel a pang of guilt in my chest as I watch Miras's expression darken. He doesn't want to agree, but I can see that I've worn him down. And maybe it's the pain or maybe it's the guilt, but I don't have the strength to fight him on this anymore. I just want to stop hurting.
"I'm sorry," I whisper to him, even though I know it doesn't fix anything.
Miras doesn't respond right away, but after a moment, he gently places his hand on my shoulder, squeezing it with just a little bit of reassurance. "You're not the one who should be sorry, Cherish," he says quietly. "You're the one going through hell. But this... this isn't the way."
The party carries on without me.
I can hear the laughter, the music humming through the walls, the clatter of plates and glasses as people move around. It's all there, just out of reach—like I'm watching through fogged-up glass. My body feels heavy, limbs sinking into the couch, my head thick with whatever Imani gave me.
I try to move my fingers, but they barely twitch at my side. Frustration burns in my chest, but it's muted, dulled by the sedative. I can't do anything but watch as the night continues around me, blurred shapes and voices merging together.
Then my eyes find Miras.
He stands at the table, the only thing in focus. Candlelight flickers against his face, catching in the silver of his eyes as everyone chants, waiting for him to make a wish. Dewey nudges his shoulder, Nayley smirks at his hesitation, but Miras just watches the flames. His expression is unreadable, like he's weighing something before he speaks it into existence.
I swallow against the dryness in my throat.
He closes his eyes. A heartbeat stretches between us. Then, with a slow exhale, he blows out the candles. The flames vanish, smoke curling into the air. Cheers and applause rise around him.
The cake is divided up unevenly as Dewey quickly takes his claim over the largest piece. Miras doesn't seem to care though, I don't think he cares about the cake at all because the second everyone is distracted by it, he comes to me. He brings a small piece with him, setting it down in my lap, but we both know that I'm not going to eat it.
I barely hear it.
I force my lips to part, my voice sluggish but insistent. "What'd you wish for?"
"I already got my wish," he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear. "You're everything I wanted."
Something in my chest tightens.
Miras' fingers tighten just slightly around mine, grounding me in a way the sedative never could. His words linger between us, warm and unguarded, and for a moment, I don't know what to do with them.
I blink up at him, my brain still sluggish, my mouth slow to catch up with my thoughts. "That's—" My voice is hoarse, but I push through it. "That's really unfair."
Miras raises an eyebrow. "How?"
"Because," I murmur, forcing my lips into something resembling a smirk, "now I can't make fun of you for being all broody and impossible when you go around saying things like that."
Miras huffs out something close to a laugh, shaking his head. But before he can reply, a familiar voice cuts in.
"Oh, fantastic," Dewey groans as he flops onto the couch beside me, his presence immediately killing whatever delicate moment we were having. "You guys are doing the intense eye-contact thing again. Should I leave? Or is this a 'third wheel is welcome to stay and provide color commentary' situation?"
Miras doesn't even look at him. "Leave."
I let out a breathy laugh. "Stay."
Dewey grins triumphantly and leans back, slinging an arm over the couch like he's settling in for a show. "See, this is why you're my favorite, Cherish. You actually appreciate my sparkling presence. Meanwhile, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Overprotective over here just glares at me all the time."
Miras finally turns his head, deadpan. "I don't glare at you all the time."
"Oh, my bad." Dewey lifts his hands in mock surrender. "Just most of the time, then. I swear, you act like I'm a threat when all I'm trying to do is enrich Cherish's life with my wit and charm."
Miras shakes his head, exasperated but amused. "Go get your cake, Dewey."
Dewey claps a hand over his heart. "I knew you cared." Then, before standing, he points at the two of us with a smirk. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
I raise an eyebrow. "That's a pretty low bar."
Dewey gasps, scandalized. "I take offense, but I'm also too hungry to argue, so I'll be back to roast you later." With that, he saunters off toward the dessert table.
Miras sighs, shaking his head. "Why do we keep him around?"
I squeeze his hand, my smirk softening. "Because he makes things feel normal."
Miras looks at me for a long moment, then nods. "Yeah," he murmurs, "he does."
The noise of the party buzzes around us—Dewey loudly lamenting the state of the cake, Nayley smacking his hand away when he tries to steal a bite off her plate, Imani deep in conversation with Aunt Nayley about something probably way too serious for a birthday party. It's background noise, fading in and out as my head drifts.
Then, Miras shifts beside me.
"You're tired." His voice is quiet, but not accusing—just observing.
I exhale slowly, letting my eyes close for a second. "Kind of hard not to be when Imani basically drugged me."
Miras huffs, and I don't even need to open my eyes to know he's glaring in Imani's direction. "He didn't have to sedate you."
"Yeah, well," I sigh, "he's paranoid. And maybe he's not wrong to be." I blink my eyes open again, looking up at him. "You saw what happened earlier. It's like this power is just waiting for me to slip up."
Miras frowns, jaw tightening. "That's not your fault."
"I know," I say, and I mean it. But that doesn't make it any less terrifying.
Miras studies me for a moment, then exhales through his nose like he's forcing himself to let it go—for now. Instead, he shifts his grip, adjusting his hand so his thumb brushes over the inside of my wrist. It's an absentminded gesture, but it sends something warm curling in my chest.
"I'll take you back upstairs," he says, his voice low. "You should rest."
I let my head fall back against the couch, glancing toward the others still gathered around the table.
"I don't want to miss the party," I admit, my voice quieter now.
Miras' lips press into a small, knowing smirk. "You're barely awake."
I huff. "I'm awake enough."
Miras doesn't argue, just watches me like he's already planned his next move. That should have been my first warning.
Before I can protest, his arm loops under my knees, and in one smooth motion, he lifts me off the couch.
I make a startled noise, instinctively grabbing his shirt with my good hand. "Miras—"
"Relax," he says, effortlessly carrying me toward the door. "It's not the first time I've carried you."
Dewey turns at just the perfect moment. His eyes go wide, and then he smirks. "Oh wow, we're really leaning into the whole tragic heroine being swept away by her brooding protector aesthetic tonight, huh?"
I groan. "Dewey—"
"Don't worry, I'll be sure to tell the entire party about this moment."
"Dewey."
Miras doesn't even dignify him with a response. He just keeps walking, completely unbothered, while I'm left shooting a half-hearted glare over his shoulder.
Behind us, Dewey's laughter rings out, echoing even as we leave the main room.
Miras carries me into the quieter halls of the tower, the distant sounds of the party fading behind us. My fingers loosen from his shirt, and I let out a slow breath.
"You're going to spoil me," I mutter.
Miras lets out a quiet chuckle. "You say that like I haven't already."
I roll my eyes but don't argue. My head rests against his shoulder, and despite everything—the power thrumming under my skin, the ever-present weight of what's coming—I let myself lean into the moment.
I should tell him to put me down. I should insist I can walk.
But I don't.
Instead, I let my fingers rest lightly against his chest, feeling the slow, even rhythm of his heartbeat.
Neither of us speak as he steps into my bedroom, nudging the door shut behind him with his foot. The room is dimly lit, only the soft glow from the city skyline outside casting fractured light through the windows. It makes everything feel softer, quieter.
Miras lowers me onto the bed with practiced ease, his hands lingering just a second longer than necessary before he pulls away. I immediately miss the warmth.
He steps back, watching me with that unreadable look of his. "You need rest."
I blink up at him, drowsy but stubborn. "I'm not tired."
Miras huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. "You can barely keep your eyes open."
I open them wider just to prove a point. "See? Wide awake."
He gives me a look—one of those patient, amused glances that says he sees right through me. Then, without a word, he kneels beside the bed, resting his forearm on the mattress. He's close, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the crisp, clean smell of his clothes.
"Cherish." His voice is softer now, low enough that I feel it more than hear it. "You don't have to fight this. You're safe."
Safe.
The word settles deep in my chest, unraveling something I hadn't realized I was holding onto. I swallow, the haze in my head making everything feel heavier, more raw.
I shift slightly, my fingers brushing against his where they rest on the mattress. I don't know if it's intentional or just a side effect of the sedative making my movements sluggish, but either way, Miras doesn't pull away. If anything, he turns his palm upward, letting my fingers slide over his.
His hand is warm, calloused from years of training, steady in a way I haven't been in a long time.
I curl my fingers around his. "Stay?"
It's barely a whisper, but I know he hears me.
Miras doesn't answer right away.
His fingers twitch under mine, his entire body going still, like I'd just asked him to walk across a minefield.
I force my heavy eyelids open, blinking up at him. His jaw is tight, his silver eyes darkened with hesitation. The warmth from earlier—the softness—flickers, replaced with something heavier.
"Miras," I murmur, my voice thick with exhaustion but firm.
He exhales through his nose, his grip tightening around my hand for a brief second before he pulls away. He stands abruptly, raking a hand through his hair as he takes a step back. The space between us feels bigger than it actually is.
"I shouldn't," he says. "You know I shouldn't."
I frown, trying to push myself up on my elbows, but my limbs are useless against the sedative. "Why?"
He lets out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "Cherish." He gestures vaguely, his voice lowering like he doesn't want to say it out loud. "The last time I stayed with you, Imani nearly killed me."
I roll my eyes, reaching out blindly with my good hand until my fingers find his. I tug lightly, coaxing him back toward me. He resists for a second—just long enough to be annoying—but eventually, he sighs and lets himself be pulled closer.
"This is different," I say, quieter now. "I'm not asking you to break some unspoken rule of Imani's. I just…" I pause, choosing my words carefully. "I'm not asking you to do anything. Just stay for five minutes until I fall asleep…please."
His gaze flickers over my face, his usual sharpness softening, and for a second, I think he might still say no. But then—his fingers curl around mine, like he's the one holding on now. "Okay."
Miras shifts awkwardly for a moment, clearly overthinking every move he makes, but I don't give him a chance to hesitate. I roll onto my side, tucking myself against him, letting my head rest against his shoulder.
His breath catches, but after a second, I feel him relax. One of his arms settles lightly over my waist, careful, hesitant—but there.
And just like that, I feel the tension ease out of me.
"See?" I murmur, my voice already thick with sleep. "Not so bad."
Miras huffs. "That's easy for you to say."
But he doesn't move.