Mira took the coil as if it were a talisman. The fiber felt warm under her fingertips. She thought of the boy with wheat hair, of a table with blue plates, of laughter she had not earned but had been offered. The Bond had made promises it could not keep to keep itself fed. The thought coiled inside her like a second heartbeat.
They moved together then, down the twisted walkway of the Aeroplex toward the relay. The closer they drew, the more the air tasted like static. Mira’s skin prickled; the Bond’s threads wove through her like a current looking for an address. She found herself humming under her breath, a tone she’d never heard but recognized with an intimacy that made her belly ache. Jalen matched it—low, counterpoint, steady.
“I think it’s trying to make me see,” Mira said. “It wants something.”
They descended the Aeroplex walkway back toward the city, and as they moved, the lights below blinked in patterned relief—an ordinary city lighting its ordinary night. Somewhere in the crowd, a child found their lost balloon and screamed with a joy that had no calculation in it. Jalen released Mira’s hand for a moment and caught the sound. He smiled, and it was an honest thing.
Mira laughed, abrupt and jagged. “Want? You mean, do I want the part of me that’s already being remade by pulses I didn’t consent to? No. Want doesn’t cover it. Survival covers it. Curiosity covers it. A kind of stubbornness covers it.”
Mira kept her gaze steady. “We’re not here for trouble.”