the tower never quite sleeps. it breathes instead, steel and circuitry humming low beneath the salt-sweet air, a constant reminder that even safe places stay alert. tara markov feels it through the soles of her boots as she stands near the windows, fingers flexing unconsciously, as if the earth might answer even here, even suspended above the sea. she has learned to listen for it everywhere. the weight beneath floors, the tension in walls, the way stone remembers being broken. tonight, her power feels restless, coiled tight, responding to thoughts she refuses to finish. slade’s voice still echoes where it doesn’t belong, precise and cruel, threading itself through her instincts like barbed wire. control disguised as instruction. protection disguised as debt. she hears donna before she turns. donna always moves like she trusts the space she occupies, grounded, unafraid, carrying strength the way others carry breath. tara envies it in a quiet, aching way. when she looks back, there is a small, careful smile already waiting on her mouth, practiced but not false. ❝ you ever notice, ❞ she says softly, nodding toward the endless dark beyond the glass, ❝ how the ocean looks calm until you remember what it can do? ❞ her gaze flicks to donna’s face, searching, trusting despite herself. ❝ i like it here, with you, with them. ❞ a pause, fragile but honest. ❝ it makes it easier to forget… other voices. ❞ her fingers curl once more, then still. ❝ i'm being helpful, right? ❞
@wondertroy