Mira chose the discomfort.
The moment she did, the illusion recoiled.
Not violently—not yet. There was no shattering glass or screaming skies. Just a subtle wrongness creeping in, like a song slipping half a note out of tune. The square around her wavered, colors bleeding softly at the edges. The warmth that had wrapped itself around her ribs tightened, no longer comforting but cloying—insistent.
Stay.
The word pressed against her thoughts again, heavier now. Less a suggestion. More a command.
Mira grit her teeth and leaned into the feeling she'd spent years training herself to suppress—the itch of unease, the sharp edge of irritation, the quiet, simmering anger at being cornered. It flared brighter the more the illusion tried to smooth it away.
"No," she said aloud, voice steady despite the pressure weighing on her chest. "You don't get to decide what peace looks like for me."
Theo's smile froze.
Yuwon's eyes dulled, glassy and unfocused.
Silva stepped toward her, reaching out. "Mira. You're overthinking this."
The ground tugged at her boots, trying to anchor her in place. The air thickened, syrupy, each breath harder than the last. The illusion wasn't pretending anymore.
It was afraid.
Good.
Mira closed her eyes and focused—not on the warmth, but on its absence. On the things this place had erased so carefully.
Her exhaustion.
Her frustration.
Her choice.
She remembered the ache in her legs after long patrols. The irritation of Theo chewing too loud. Yuwon's habit of going quiet when the weight got too heavy. Silva's impossible expectations—and the way Mira rose to meet them anyway, not because she had to, but because she chose to.
This illusion wanted her content.
What she wanted was agency.
Mira dragged her foot back, tearing it free of the resisting ground. Pain lanced up her ankle—real, sharp, undeniable.
She laughed, breathless and raw.
"There you are," she murmured. "You forgot something."
The square shuddered.
Cracks spiderwebbed through the stone beneath her feet, light leaking through like veins of pale gold. The people around her blurred, their faces stretching into soft, indistinct shapes that no longer bothered pretending to be real.
The voice returned—no longer gentle.
Why suffer, when you can rest?
Mira opened her eyes.
"Because suffering means I'm still moving."
She stepped forward.
The illusion fought back, flooding her senses with warmth, laughter, memory—every shortcut to comfort it could muster. Her vision swam. Her chest burned.
But Mira didn't stop.
She reached out, fingers closing around nothing—
—and then something gave.
Like tearing through wet paper.
The square collapsed inward.
Warmth vanished, replaced by cold stone and echoing emptiness. Mira stumbled, catching herself against a wall carved with warped, religious symbols—familiar now in their wrongness. The air smelled of damp earth and old incense.
Her heart hammered in her ears.
She sucked in a shaky breath and let herself feel it all—fear, anger, relief. Real emotions. Her emotions.
Mira straightened slowly, wiping sweat from her brow.
"…Okay," she muttered into the dark tunnel. "I—actually made it."
Her gaze sharpened as she looked deeper into the passage.
Yuwon and Theo were still in there.
Mira didn't waste time.
The moment the tunnel steadied around her—cold stone beneath her boots, warped carvings crawling along the walls—she turned back toward where the chamber should have been.
"Theo?" she called, voice echoing too sharply. "Yuwon?"
No response.
She jogged back, heart climbing into her throat, and found them standing exactly where she'd last seen them.
Still. Upright. Breathing.
Empty.
Theo's shoulders were slack, head slightly bowed, hands loose at his sides like a man who had finally set something heavy down. His expression was calm—too calm. The kind of peace Mira had only ever seen when he was asleep, or pretending very hard not to be afraid.
Yuwon stood a few steps away, eyes open but unfocused, gaze fixed on nothing at all. His posture was relaxed in a way that didn't suit him. No tension. No vigilance.
Just… gone.
Mira swallowed.
"No. No, no—don't you dare do this to me."
She grabbed Theo first, gripping his jacket and giving him a sharp shake. "Hey. Coffee addict. Wake up. This isn't real."
Nothing.
She shook him harder. "Theo!"
His body swayed slightly, but his eyes didn't flicker.
Panic flared—hot, sudden.
"Okay—okay, fine." She released him and moved to Yuwon, stepping directly into his line of sight. "Yuwon. Look at me."
His pupils didn't track.
She snapped her fingers in front of his face. Once. Twice. Louder.
"Yuwon!"
Still nothing.
It was like shouting at statues that happened to be warm.
Mira clenched her jaw, forcing herself to breathe. Think. The illusion hadn't just separated them—it had isolated them. Whatever this thing was, it didn't want interference. Didn't want reminders.
She pressed her forehead briefly against Yuwon's shoulder, grounding herself for half a second.
"Don't you dare leave me alone in this tunnel," she muttered. "That's not fair. You hear me?"
No answer.
The carvings along the walls twisted subtly, as if listening. The air pulsed once—slow, deliberate—like a heartbeat.
Damn it. I can't place all three talismans on my own.
Mira straightened.
"Alright," she said quietly. "If I can't reach you from the outside…"
Her gaze hardened.
"…then I'll make enough noise to shake you loose."
She drew a sharp breath and shouted—not at them, but at the tunnel itself.
"You're lying to them!"
Her voice echoed, fractured and multiplied.
"This peace you're offering? It's fake. You're scared of what happens if they choose to leave!"
The air trembled.
Theo and Yuwon didn't move.
Mira's hands curled into fists.
"You don't get to keep them."
Something shifted.
Not here—
—but elsewhere.
---
I woke to the sound of rain tapping gently against glass.
For a moment, I didn't move. Just lay there, staring up at a familiar ceiling—plain, off-white, with the faint hairline crack I'd never bothered to report to the landlord.
My ceiling.
My chest rose and fell slowly.
…Huh.
I turned my head.
There was my desk by the window, cluttered with old notebooks and a half-dead plant I kept forgetting to water. My jacket hung over the back of the chair. My phone lay face-down beside my bed, exactly where I always left it.
No anomalies.
No Bureau.
No Team F.
I frowned.
"…What?"
I sat up. The motion was easy. Almost too easy. No ache in my muscles. No lingering tension in my shoulders. My body felt rested—properly rested, in a way I couldn't remember feeling in a long time.
Sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains. Late morning, judging by the color.
Rainy. Quiet. Normal.
My heartbeat slowed.
I ran a hand through my hair and let out a small, disbelieving laugh. "Wow."
The memories surfaced all at once—anomalies, Pale Shore, the tunnel, the core—
—and then slid away just as quickly, like water through my fingers.
A dream.
A really long one.
I swung my legs out of bed and stood, stretching. No voice commented. No dry remarks. No presence watching my thoughts.
The silence was… soothing.
"Geez," I muttered with a bitter chuckle. "I almost grew used to his voice."
I padded into the kitchen, barefoot on familiar tiles, and started the kettle out of habit. The routine settled something deep in my chest. I leaned against the counter while it heated, eyes unfocusing.
"Guess I finally cracked," I murmured. "Whole other world. Voices. Monsters. Other people too."
The kettle clicked off.
I poured the water, watching steam curl upward, and felt warmth bloom in my hands as I lifted the mug.
This was better.
No risk of death.
No impossible missions.
No cosmic horrors waiting underground.
Just me.
Safe.
Alive.
At home.
As I took my first sip, a faint pressure brushed the edge of my thoughts.
A distant sound.
Almost like someone calling my name.
I paused, brow creasing.
"…Huh?"
The sound faded, drowned out by rain and the quiet hum of the apartment.
I shook my head lightly.
"Still tired," I decided. "It was a long dream, after all."
I took another sip.
The warmth spread through me—gentle, convincing.
And deep beneath the comfort—far below where I was willing to look—something waited.
Patient.
Hoping I wouldn't.