The room they'd given her was small. Spartan. A bed, a desk, and a broken mirror leaning against the wall. The light flickered overhead like it was fighting for its last breath. Just like she had — back in that facility. The place where they drained her, prodded her, tried to unmake her.
Zara stood in front of the mirror, running her fingers over the faint scars on her arms — some physical, others... deeper.
She still remembered the cold restraints. The low hum of the machines. The way the voices would echo behind glass, calling her subject, not by name. It wasn't just that they wanted to study Shatterborns. They wanted to rewrite what it meant to be one.
They had called her the anomaly.
Too strong. Too unstable. Too... free.
And so they tried to fix her — by breaking her.
She pulled her coat tighter around her frame, but the chill inside her never left. It wasn't fear. It was grief. A grief she never let show because she didn't want to burden anyone else — not Rafe, not Mira, and especially not Asher.
Asher.
He haunted her thoughts more than she liked to admit. Even now.
She had watched him change over the years — the fire in his eyes dulled by betrayal, sharpened by purpose. But he had never lost his core. That strange, painful, beautiful sense of justice that made him reckless and noble all at once.
And he came for her.
He fought for her — even when she had almost given up fighting for herself.
A soft knock pulled her from the spiral. Mira stepped inside, closing the door behind her with a quiet click.
"You okay?" Mira asked, arms folded, head tilted like she already knew the answer.
Zara gave her a look. "Since when have I ever been okay?"
Mira smiled — tired but sincere. "Fair."
She sat on the edge of the bed. "You don't have to act like it didn't affect you, Z. That place... it was hell."
"I'm not acting," Zara replied. "It didn't affect me. It changed me."
Mira's expression softened. "He never stopped looking for you, you know. Asher."
"I know."
"You forgave him already?"
"I never blamed him."
They sat in silence for a beat. Zara walked over, sat beside her. The air between them was heavy with memory.
"I hate that I was used," Zara said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "That I became leverage. Bait."
"You were more than that. You still are. We're not doing this without you."
Zara smiled faintly. "Funny. That's exactly what I told Asher when he tried to leave me behind once."
Mira bumped her shoulder. "He listens now."
Zara's eyes found the mirror again — her reflection fractured by the cracked glass.
"They wanted to erase me," she said. "But all they did was remind me who I am."
"A weapon?" Mira teased.
Zara stood, her silhouette outlined by the flickering light.
"No. A storm."
INTERLUDE II: Rafe's Watch
The world outside the Enclave was burning in silence. At least, that's how it looked from the rooftop.
Rafe stood alone, the amplifier gauntlet resting against his forearm, humming faintly — a pulse of energy synchronized with his own. It wasn't a weapon, not really. Just a focus. A way to shape the seismic precision of his perception into something useful. Something lethal, if needed.
He wasn't good with quiet.
Not anymore.
The night wind tugged at his coat. He didn't move. Didn't flinch. Just stared out into the undercity like it held all the answers he never got.
He remembered the first time he saw Asher — all fury and righteousness, spitting words about justice in a pit full of chaos. He'd thought the kid wouldn't last a week.
ThenAsher took down a gang leader with nothing but his bare hands and a flicker of judgement in his eyes. The air around him had cracked that night — not from a weapon, but from power unleashed with terrifying precision
But Asher changed. Or maybe they all did.
Zara had been the light in their lives. The kind of fire that burned clean. Losing her had twisted something in all of them — made Asher colder, Mira quieter, and Rafe... distant. He hated that about himself. Hated that when she was taken, he hadn't done more. Hadn't fought harder.
He'd been in sniper's range that night.
He should've seen it coming.
A footstep behind him broke his thoughts. Mira's voice followed, soft. "You always watch the city like you're waiting for it to apologize."
He smirked faintly. "Still waiting."
She walked up beside him, arms folded. "You okay?"
"No," he replied easily. "But I'm functional."
"That's good enough."
More silence. Comfortable this time.
"She's strong," Mira said after a beat. "Zara."
"Always was," Rafe murmured. "But that place… it carved deep."
Mira gave him a long look. "You've been different since she was taken."
"So have you."
"Difference is, I talk about it."
He didn't reply. Just kept watching the flickering lights of the sector across from them — Sector 9. His old haunt. His old sins.
He finally spoke, voice low. "If this was the other way around — if I was the one captured — she'd have razed the sky to get me out."
"She'd do the same for all of us."
"That's what scares me."
Mira leaned against the ledge. "You think this plan's going to work?"
Rafe shrugged. "No such thing as a perfect plan. Only perfect timing."
"You trust Asher to lead it?"
"I trust him to bleed for it."
He turned, finally, eyes sharp under the dim glow of the rooftop lights.
"If this is our last run, Mira… I want it to matter. Not for justice. Not for revenge. For her."
Mira nodded. "For her."
They stayed like that for a while — two shadows standing sentinel over a city that never gave them anything but reasons to fight.