isa ⋆🐾° @viviyomi - Tumblr Blog

𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝟐𝟏 |

a/n: guess whos back. back again (kachow!)

taglist: @candyquokka @talesandtalons @em-100-blog @cursedreader @alicesmile1 @alexa24 @raegreenie4 @burdeningbitch @viannasthings @cadencannot @ml3czqo @nanasemo @certified-cole-simp @beescomet @theblindhag @mitbin24 @sweetlittlebumblebree @brooklyniswriting @cantbecreative @something-else3 @iinlovewithfictionalppl @itz-moonlight @jebesovovise @ryeheep @letthelightin2112 @classically-bored @clearlawyereaglewobbler @anajellyc @the-midnight-duck @fru1ty-bage3ls @elysiuansstuff @risagichi @mousedit@yoggi-bingus @silveritydreams @greenunoreversecard @herondale3109 @something-else3 @herondale3109 @changeling5am @obs3ssingd3vil

[ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ] | [ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ] | [ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ]

“I don’t understand why he won’t just—UGH.” Flopping onto the covers, you toss your phone away with a lazy flick of your wrist. It lands on the carpeted floor, one that you’d only recently installed in your bedroom.

Having spent so much time at the monastery lately, it’s a wonder your dad didn’t have more snarky remarks to add on when he glimpsed you heading into your bedroom with a bunch of rolled-up fuzzy carpet and a box of tools. Besides the occasional sarcastic exclamation of “I have a daughter??” or “Thought you ran away last year and left your espresso machine behind”, you damn near lost your mind when Lloyd texts you about his near-death experience in the maze.

Even his teammates kept you updated more than he did.

It’s infuriating—yet you know it’s pure irrationality at this point. One kiss doesn’t mean anything, you know that. You know that perfectly well.

So why do you already miss him this much?

“Stupid Brookestone,” you huff, turning to lie on your back. Just one text wouldn’t have hurt. You’re not even asking for much, not even a single phone call.

His easy grin flashes through your mind, unbidden. Before you can blink, the innocent pillow lying next to you is left with a deep dent, and you hastily unclench your fingers, removing the culprit.

There’s no use mulling about this.

Grabbing your hoodie and keys, you stuff them into your jean pockets and head out to the living room. “Going to abandon us again?” Your dad leans against the doorway leading into his office, raising a brow when he sees the scowl on your face. “Don’t tell me. Is it him? Need me to talk to him, mano to mano?” He pushes up his sleeves with an offended look.

“What does that even mean—?” You shake your head, choosing to leave the subject matter alone as you sit on the ledge, tying your shoelaces. “It’s not him. I’ll be back for dinner.”

“Sure,” he scoffs, pointing his pen at you. “If you even think about staying overnight again., I hope that you remember the birds and the bees.”

Your nose scrunches in disgust. “I still remember when people called me weird because you taught me that the birds ate the bees and puked out a baby.”

“Say what you will, but that stopped you from going around kissing randos off the street,” he replies simply.

You close the door behind you.

The warm sunlight kisses your skin like a long-lost greeting, which it probably was, seeing as you’d been cooped up for a while at home. Between the commute to school and back home again, it’s a wonder you didn’t get scurvy or something. The bustling street is a welcome white noise, opting to walk without earbuds.

You take a right turn, no plan in mind until a brightly lit neon sign catches your eye. The idea takes root in your mind as you pull out your phone and dial a familiar number.

“ ‘Sup?”

“Remember how we had to interview someone famous for our previous project, and we ended up interviewing Papa?”

“...Yeah? What about it? Did we flunk? Can’t be though, he’s a genius businessman,” Holly lapses into a ramble. Before she can ponder the type of font used for your upcoming presentation, you interrupt her.

“Meet me at Borg Industries in half an hour.”

“Wha-? Okay, it’s about time for Leo to get babysitting duties anyway.” In the background, you can vaguely make out her brother’s protests as a baby is placed into his lap while Mario Kart blasts on.

The line goes dead, and you quickly scroll down to find a new message waiting patiently in your notifications.

Flameo [ 12:46 PM ]: That’s just tragic. Why not just text him first?

Flameo [ 12:46 PM ]: Also, you’re on my team again next Game Night. We drew lots

Handing over a five-dollar note, the hotdog stall hands you a freshly boiled hotdog nestled in its bun with plenty of mustard, ketchup, and chopped pickles. Taking a large bite, you carefully balance your phone while typing a response.

Sour lozer [ 12:46 PM ]: a. Im not texcting him first bc no

Sour lozer [ 12:47 PM ]: b, who riggged iy???

Flameo [ 12:47 PM ]: who died and gave u a stroke?

Sour lozer [ 12:47 PM ]: hitdog

Sour lozer [ 12:47 PM ]: ledt hand

-[ Flameo ]has changed [ Sour lozer ] to [ hitdog ] -

hitdog [ 12:47 PM ]: i hate u

Flameo [ 12:48 PM ]: at least i text back

Flameo [ 12:48 PM ]: lol

hitdog [ 12:50 PM ]: …has there been any updates from them yet?

Flameo [ 12:51 PM ]: nah, just text him urself??

Flameo [ 12:51 PM ]: wait lloyd just said that theyre on the way back

Flameo [ 12:51 PM ]: wow, hes rly texting anyone but u huh

hitdog [ 12:52 PM ]: hes so dead

The phone buzzes with another notification, and you dust off the hotdog bun dust from your hands, tapping the screen hurriedly to see another message from Jay.

kaCHow [ 12:53 PM ]: i heard the news :(

birdie [ 12:53 PM ]: ?

kaCHow [ 12:53 PM ]: that ur on kais team lololol. LOLOLOLOLOL.

birdie [ 12:53 PM ]: we could also just team up

kaCHow [ 12:53 PM ]: couldnt do that to nya, sry :( (not sry)

birdie [ 12:54 PM ]: is this bc im not a ninja\

kaCHow [ 12:54 PM ]: no its bc cole is annoying enough already when yall make goo-goo eyes at each other during game night, i dont wanna barf againnnnn

birdie [ 12:54 PM ]: ???!?!?! ive literall y never done that

kaCHow [ 12:54 PM ]: whatever u say…gotta admit tho, heseems really excited to be back sooner than expected

Locking the screen, you stuff the phone back into your jean pocket, burying all the frustration and reluctant anticipation along with it. Holly waves at you from across the road, having gotten off the bus moments earlier.

“So why’re we here?” She asks, leaning against the traffic light. You gesture to the gigantic building a few blocks down. Holly glances sceptically between you and the headquarters of Borg Industries. “That answers nothing.”

She follows you regardless, stepping foot hesitantly between the doors. You wave at the security guard nearby, whose eyes spark with recognition when he sees the girl beside you. “Ms Holly,” He greets with a friendly nod, turning to you. “Here to see Mr Borg again?”

“Yup,” you say cheerily, and he nods to the receptionist who presses a button, the private gantry usually reserved for high-profile guests swinging open to welcome you.

The metal detector goes off, triggered by the bracelet around your wrist. Holly also triggers the machine, sirens blaring as she struggles to rip off the metal charms around her belt loops in mortification as everyone stares on, yourself included.

“Kill yourself,” she grumbles, swiping at your shoulder with her cheeks still flushed with a vibrant scarlet hue. You playfully dodge, pressing your lips together to suppress the mischievous grin. “You could’ve told me about it—I’ve literally never been through there before.”

“I could’ve,” you reply with a shrug.

She whacks you.

The lift doors open with a ding. Various gears, wires, and tools clutter the floor in what can only be described as an amalgamation. “Cyrus…?” You call out cautiously, taking a tentative step. Holly follows closely behind, her hands gripping the hem of her shirt as her eyes dart around, taking in every aspect of the office.

The man himself is hunched over one of multiple workstations, tinkering away while muttering under his breath. You tap his shoulder lightly, flinching when he startles.

“Wh—oh!” Cyrus Borg whirls around in his chair, goggles slightly crooked on his forehead, before his face brightens in recognition. “Well, hello again!”

“It’s me,” you reaffirm with a nod, taking the hand he holds out warmly. Your lips tilt into a slow grin. “This time without any safety gear, so maybe it’s time to call a lockdown on the place.”

“That soldering iron incident was not your fault,” Cyrus says immediately, pointing an accusing screwdriver at the ceiling as if defending you to an invisible court. “The table was unstable.”

“You said gravity was a scam.”

“It is a scam.”

Holly stares between both of you with poorly concealed disbelief. “You know Cyrus Borg?” she blurts out before she can stop herself.

He finally notices her standing there and straightens instantly. “Ah! A guest!” He beams, extending his hand enthusiastically. “Cyrus Borg, founder of Borg Industries, technological genius, and occasional victim of workplace accidents.”

Holly makes a noise somewhere between a squeak and a gasp before grabbing his hand with both of hers. “I know who you are.”

You snort loudly.

“No, like, I know who you are,” she corrects quickly, mortified by how insane it might’ve come across. “I mean—not personally, obviously, but your work with prosthetic tech and transportation systems and—”

“She’s a fan,” you interrupt helpfully.

Holly elbows you hard enough to make you wheeze.

Cyrus, however, looks delighted. “Well! It’s always wonderful meeting someone with excellent taste.” He gestures proudly to himself before turning back toward Holly with genuine curiosity. “What’s your name?”

“Holly.”

“Holly,” he repeats warmly. “Any friend of this menace is welcome here.”

“Wow,” you mutter. “That’s actually offensive.”

“You flooded one of my labs.”

“It was one time.”

“It was carbonated.”

Holly bursts into laughter before she can stop herself, immediately clapping a hand over her mouth. Cyrus looks far too pleased by this development.

“Yes,” he says, nodding sagely. “That was my exact reaction.”

Your lips part in a silent gasp. The betrayal stings deeply.

While the two of them continue chatting, Holly’s attention drifts around the office again. Her eyes widened at every half-built invention and floating hologram scattered across the room. A corner houses mechanical limbs suspended from charging docks, while another has tiny drone prototypes zooming around aimlessly until one flies directly into a wall.

He points at it without even looking. “Prototype thirty-four. No survival instincts whatsoever.”

The drone sparks sadly on the floor.

Holly looks moments away from passing out from excitement. “This place is insane,” she whispers.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said about it this week,” Cyrus replies proudly. “Either way, it’s good to have another soul in the lab besides myself. May I offer you something to drink?”

Holly’s still starstruck, so you supply yet another answer. “Yeah, could we just have some water?” He wheels back over with a small tray, and you grab the two glasses on it, pressing one into your friend’s hands.

Holly accepts it absently, though her gaze keeps darting between you and Borg with increasing suspicion.

“…Okay,” she says eventually, narrowing her eyes. “I have to ask. How do you know Cyrus Borg? And since when were you close enough to be visiting his lab regularly?”

Cyrus pauses mid-sip.

You pause mid-sip. “Oh, uh.” You clear your throat, exchanging a look with him. “A friend of mine knows him.”

“Mhm,” Holly hums slowly. “You mean, your soulmate, the Earth Ninja?”

Coughs sputter forth from your chest, tears stinging harshly in the inner corners of your eyes as you grab the nearby ledge, forcing down the remnants of the sip of water you’d just taken. Cyrus startles so hard he nearly drops his own glass. “Good heavens.”

Your coughing fit grows worse at Holly’s completely unapologetic expression. She waits patiently while you recover, leaning back in her chair with the smugness of someone who just solved a murder case.

“How,” you rasp out eventually, clutching your chest, “did you even come to that conclusion?”

She blinks. “Because the internet exists?”

“That’s somehow more terrifying.”

“No, seriously,” she says, sitting forward now with a newfound eagerness. “The fansite I follow constantly speculates about the ninja’s soulmates. Like, constantly constantly. There are entire threads dedicated to it.”

Borg looks fascinated. “There are?”

“Oh yeah. There are charts.”

“…Charts?” you repeat weakly.

“Flowcharts,” Holly confirms. “Timelines too.”

You stare at her in horror.

She shrugs unapologetically. “Hard to miss multiple headlines of the ninja saving Cyrus Borg, or multiple collaborations—”

“Our sales did improve exponentially well after we filmed the ads…” Cyrus muses thoughtfully.

Holly turns her gaze back to you. “Then you told me you were taking lessons from Master Wu, which is already suspicious enough—”

“It is?”

“Yes,” Holly says flatly. “Normal people don’t casually go ‘sorry I can’t hang out today, I’ve got lessons from one of the most famous masters in the world.’”

Borg snorts loudly into his drink.

You ignore him. “I did not say that, but it still doesn’t explain the soulmate accusation.”

Holly gives you a look. “You literally asked me, quote, ‘How should I be feeling if my soulmate is in danger and I can’t do anything about it?’”

End me. Bury my body so deep it hits rock bottom, then keep digging.

“…I did say that.”

“You also asked if it was normal to get physically nauseous when they were hurt.”

Borg slowly lowers his glass.

“And,” Holly continues mercilessly, counting on her fingers now, “you keep reacting weirdly whenever the Earth Ninja gets mentioned.”

Your soul briefly leaves your body.

“Oh my god,” you whisper.

“It genuinely wasn’t hard to figure out,” Holly finishes with a shrug. “I just didn’t think you’d actually admit it.”

Borg looks between the both of you, deeply entertained. “This is significantly more dramatic than my usual Tuesdays.”

You place the glass down on the coffee table, clearing your throat and trying to regain your composure as if she hadn’t just ripped the band-aid wide open. “Even if this were true,” you begin slowly, shooting Cyrus a scathing look. He turns away, but you can still see the ghost of a smile on his lips.

The bastard.

“I’m not confirming anything, so this is purely a hypothetical thing on your end.”

Holly looks on in amusement as you fumble for the right words to navigate yourself out of the situation. “If you say so. Either way, I still get to meet Cyrus Borg, so this is already pretty cool.”

“We would, however, appreciate it if this erh—hypothesis remains here.” He finally speaks up.

“Of course, we’re friends after all. She can’t help that she’s got a horrible poker face.”

You stare at the ceiling, pleading for divine intervention while Cyrus relaxes visibly with a smile. Makes sense. After all, he’d been the one using his considerable influence to prevent any news articles about both of you from spreading.

Before you can retaliate, her phone buzzes loudly in her lap.

The grin drops from her face.

“…Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

You glance over. “What?”

“My brother.” She groans dramatically, swiping on her screen. “Okay, actually, no. Worse. My brother is ignoring the instructions I gave him before leaving. I downloaded our baby cam app to make sure he’s not killing our sibling. Guess what? He just might.”

“That sounds like a very normal sibling interaction.”

“No, because he only ignores me when he’s doing something stupid.”

“That somehow narrows it down to absolutely nothing.”

“Exactly.” Holly points accusingly at you like you’ve finally understood her suffering. She quickly types out a message, waits three seconds, then slumps further into the couch. “Yep. Left on read.”

She suddenly perks up, turning toward you with narrowed eyes already full of scheming. “Wait. Can I borrow your phone?”

“…Why?”

“He won’t pick up if he sees it’s me.”

“And he’ll pick up from an unknown number because…?”

“It’s a sibling thing.”

You hesitate for a moment before sighing and fishing your phone out of your pocket. “If you get me murdered by a scam caller, I’m haunting you.”

She gasps, clutching the phone to her chest. “The trust you place in me is beautiful.”

“It’s actually the opposite of trust.”

Holly ignores you entirely and stands up from the couch. “Uh, Mr Borg? Where’s the restroom?”

“Second door down the hallway on the left,” he answers easily, gesturing with a screwdriver still in hand.

“Awesome, thanks.”

You frown as she speed-walks out of the room with your phone already pressed to her ear. Something about the entire situation felt a bit off. Maybe it’s because I’m an only child. You brush off the odd sensation, picking up a random trinket on his desk and fiddling with it.

“That friend of yours is rather sharp,” Cyrus comments, settling his goggles down before taking a sip of his coffee. “I’d recommend her to apply for my programme. We need more of those minds around here.”

You huff out a laugh. “Her mom actually used to work here, y’know. I think she was a janitor before she got pregnant and resigned.”

“That’s unfortunate.” His expression softens thoughtfully. “I should revisit our maternity policies. Feel free to let her know they’d both be welcome here anytime.”

Then his gaze flicks back toward you.

“You, however, seem considerably more troubled than during your last visit.” He folds his hands together. “Does this have something to do with him?”

You groan immediately, dragging both hands down your face.

“Is it really that obvious?”

“To me?” Cyrus tilts his head. “Painfully.”

“Oh, my God.”

He chuckles quietly while you sink further into the couch cushions in defeat.

“It’s just…” You hesitate, picking at the sleeve of your hoodie. “I already hate that they throw themselves into danger every five business days, but now it’s somehow worse because I actually know what’s happening.”

Cyrus listens without interrupting.

“And everyone’s been really considerate about it too, which somehow makes it more annoying,” you continue with a frustrated laugh. “Nya updates me. Lloyd checks in. Jay literally sent me a thumbs-up emoji followed by a random picture of a bird this morning.”

“That sounds like him.”

“But Cole?” Your voice catches before you can stop it. “Nothing.”

The room grows quieter.

You stare down at your hands. The words continue to spill forth past your lips, the sinking feeling in your chest only growing heavier. Yet, you can’t seem to stop. Maybe it’s because Cyrus had become a sort of uncle-like figure, or maybe it was just the lack of a frontal lobe.

“I know he’s busy. I know he’s probably fine. But every time my phone buzzes, I keep thinking it’s gonna be someone telling me he didn’t make it back this time.”

The words settle heavily between you.

Cyrus’ expression loses its teasing edge entirely.

“And the worst part,” you admit more quietly, “is that I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do with that feeling.”

For once, Cyrus doesn’t answer immediately.

He simply watches you with the kind of understanding that makes your chest ache.

“You care about him,” he says gently. “Far more than you intended to.”

Your throat tightens.

Before you can respond—

CRASH

The glass wall beside you explodes inward.

You barely register the sound before something metallic clatters across the floor between you both.

“Huh?” You blink at the cylinder rolling to a stop. It hisses. Bright green smoke erupts violently from its core.

“What the fu—”

The gas hits your lungs instantly.

You double over, coughing, eyes burning as the smoke rapidly swallows the office whole. Somewhere beside you, Cyrus curses under his breath while wheeling himself backwards toward his desk controls.

A shadowed figure drops down from the skylight just as Cyrus slams a hand down on a button.

“SECURITY CODE ALPHA ACTIVATED.”

Pixel’s voice blares from hidden speakers, loud sirens following suit. Metal shutters slam down from above on every ceiling-to-floor window. The lift doors leading into his office slide open, countless security droids pouring in.

A vent overhead roars to life, sucking the thick green smoke upward in violent spirals. Your lungs ache from the coughing fit, throat raw as you force yourself upright against the couch. The blood in your veins runs cold the moment you look up.

A familiar, lean figure stands.

The kabuki mask concealing their face is painted in warped reds and blacks, the carved smile stretched too wide beneath hollow eye sockets. The sleeves of their dark clothing are rolled just enough for you to see the metal gauntlets wrapped around their forearms.

The same gauntlets from the museum.

Your pulse stutters.

No. No, no, no.

Instinctively, your hand flies toward your pocket for your phone. All that greets you is emptiness.

Right.

Holly still has it.

“Shit.”

The masked figure tilts their head slightly at the sound, almost amused. The first security droid lunges. It doesn’t even get close.

The thief sidesteps with terrifying ease before driving one of the gauntlets clean through the machine’s torso. Metal crunches. Sparks explode violently across the room as the droid jerks mid-motion.

In a single, swift movement, the figure rips downward.

The entire front half of the droid tears open with a nauseating screech of twisted steel and exposed wiring.

The second droid fires.

The thief grabs the first machine’s ruined corpse and swings it forward like a shield. Bullets ricochet uselessly into mangled metal before the figure launches the carcass across the room.

It slams into the second droid with enough force to send both crashing through a glass workstation.

Cyrus swears under his breath beside you.

A third droid rushes in from the hallway, somehow managing to grab the intruder from behind.

For one hopeful second, you think it might work. The warning dies in your throat when you spot the gauntlet glowing an ominous red, the words leaving you too late as the droid’s arm is ripped clean off before the thief drives an elbow backwards straight through its optic lens. Black fluid sprays across the floor while the machine convulses violently.

Your stomach twists.

The thief straightens slowly amidst the wreckage, shoulders rising and falling once.

Then, they look directly at you. The lift doors slide open once again, and more security droids spill out. The thief continues to make quick work of them, while cold sweat runs down the back of your neck.

Every instinct in your body screams danger. You have to do something. Anything.

“Catch!”

You barely react in time as Cyrus throws something toward you.

A metallic cube spins through the air.

“What the hell am I supposed to—”

The second it touches your palm, the thing unfolds violently. Metal plates snap outward with a loud CLANG. You nearly drop it in shock as mechanisms shift and lock into place, transforming into a sleek bronze sword with glowing lines running along the blade.

“What the fuck?!”

“Experimental prototype!” Cyrus shouts proudly from behind overturned furniture. “Still ironing out the bugs!”

“That’s not reassuring!”

The thief moves.

Pure adrenaline takes over.

You throw the sword upward instinctively to block the incoming strike, and your thumb accidentally slams against a trigger embedded in the hilt.

A pulse of energy erupts from the blade.

BOOM.

The blast misses the thief entirely and instead detonates one of the overhead lights.

Glass rains down everywhere.

“Oh my God.”

The room plunges partially into darkness. The remaining lights flicker weakly overhead, illuminating the office in unstable flashes of white and shadow.

The masked figure pauses, slowly turns their head toward the shattered light.

You tighten your grip on the sword despite your shaking hands.

Okay.

Panic later, survive first. I can’t be petty with Cole if I die now, can I?

The thief shifts into a stance.

“Why’re you doing this?” You ask, despite everything else in your body practically screaming at you not to. “What’s the whole point? Why me? Why my picture?”

“You sweet thing,” they coo, catching you completely off guard. Their voice is distorted beneath the mask, warped by a metallic undertone that scrapes against your ears unpleasantly. “Still trying to make sense of all this.”

“That’s generally how stalking works, yeah.”

An amused laugh rings throughout the office. They make quick work of another droid that charges at them, easily tearing off its head from its body with a single swipe. The dismembered head drops to the floor, making you flinch slightly.

Before you can brace properly, they lunge.

You react on instinct alone. The sword flies upward with a loud clang that rattles painfully through your arms as the gauntlet collides against the blade inches from your face. Sparks burst between the metal. The sheer force behind the strike sends you stumbling backwards across shattered glass.

Holy fucking shit. They’regonnakillme.

They straighten leisurely, shoulders loose, almost casual as they watch you struggle to regain your footing.

“Aw,” they mock sympathetically, “don’t tell me that’s all the ninja’s little pet can do.”

Your eye twitches.

Okay. Maybe violence is the answer.

They swing again, aiming directly for your ribs this time, but years of kendo drills kick in before panic can fully take hold. Pivot. Redirect. Don’t fight strength head-on. Your body moves almost automatically as you sidestep and bring the blade around in a clean arc.

The thief blocks.

But the impact actually forces them back a step.

“Oh?” Their voice perks with interest.

You don’t give them time to recover. The next strike comes faster, then another, your shoes skidding against the floor as broken glass crunches beneath them. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re dimly aware that Cyrus is yelling something at you from behind the overturned desk he’s taken cover behind, but your focus narrows entirely onto the figure in front of you.

Steel crashes against metal in rapid succession.

The thief parries lazily at first. Almost playfully. But then their movements sharpen slightly, enough for you to notice. “You’ve trained,” they murmur, ducking beneath your swing. “Not professionally enough to take me down, but enough to survive.”

“Wow,” you breathe, narrowly avoiding another strike aimed at your throat. The sharp blades leave a whisper of near death, barely nicking the skin. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.”

The thief laughs again.

God, you hate that sound already.

They vault over a desk with irritating ease, landing lightly atop it before crouching there like some kind of deranged gargoyle. Papers drift slowly through the air around them while emergency lights flash red overhead.

“You hesitate before committing to your attacks,” they observe conversationally. “Your shoulders tense first. It gives you away.”

“Well, sorry,” you snap, circling carefully. “I usually don’t practice attempted murder during office hours.”

The pair of eyes behind the mask gleamed with interest.

You barely dodge in time. The gauntlet slams into the ground where you’d been standing moments earlier, the tiles exploding apart from the impact. A chunk of debris catches your cheek sharply enough to sting.

Your hand flies up instinctively. Something warm trickles down your fingers.

Blood.

The thief notices.

You know they do because their movements pause for just a fraction of a second. Unfortunately for them, that’s all the opening you need.

You swing hard toward their side. This time, the blade catches properly, slicing through fabric near their arm.

The thief hops back immediately, landing several feet away. A warped, yet delighted laugh escapes them. “Not bad! You’ve got potential. Not like it’s much, but it’s still more than I expected.”

“Shut up,” you bite back through gritted teeth. The cut stings, but your grip doesn’t loosen. Your thumb finds the trigger again, steadying yourself before hitting it.

The blast erupts from the sword with the same heavy impact as before. This time, you catch the slight widening of the thief’s eyes before they twist away, narrowly avoiding the strike as it tears straight through the metal shutters behind them.

Your stomach drops.

A gaping hole now yawns where reinforced steel used to be, cold wind rushing violently through the office.

The thief looks at the destruction, then at you. Their eyes curve into crescent moons.

“Oh, you are fun.”

Before you can retort, they leap onto another workstation with inhuman agility. Something small leaves their hand, clattering against the floor near your feet. Another metal canister.

But this one beeps.

“Oh, you bitch—”

You barely manage to throw yourself behind the overturned sofa before the explosion detonates.

The force slams into you hard enough to knock the air from your lungs. Heat rushes over your back as glass shatters somewhere overhead, followed by the awful screech of twisting metal. Your ears ring violently, drowning out everything else into one long, unbearable whine.

For a few terrifying seconds, you can’t hear anything. You can’t even think. Can’t even breathe. You cough hard against the smoke, blinking through watering eyes as dust rains from the ceiling. The sofa shielding you groans ominously, half its frame charred black.

Of all places to go out, you think wryly, it had to be in a lab.

Still wheezing, you slowly lift your head over the edge of the couch.

The office— or whatever remains of it- is completely and utterly wrecked.

One of the workstations burns in the corner. Sparks shower wildly from exposed wiring overhead. A security droid lies split open near the wall, oil leaking across the floor in thick black streaks.

Through the haze, you spot the thief making their way across the room. Your breath catches.

Something’s clenched tightly in their hand.

A drive? A container? You can’t tell from this distance.

They fire a grappling hook upward toward the gaping hole your weapon made. The cable catches instantly, going taut as they begin ascending with practiced ease.

“HEY!” Your voice comes out hoarse and half-broken.

The thief pauses midway. For a brief moment, they turn to look directly at you through the smoke. Their lips part, mouthing something.

You can’t hear it over the ringing in your ears, but you swear you know exactly what they’re saying from the curve of their lips.

Catch me if you can.

And then they leap off into the setting sun.

— — — — — —

“You might not be comfortable with murder, but I am.”

Cyrus sighs, patting the seat next to him. After the thief had escaped from his office/laboratory, both of you had relocated to the medbay on a lower floor. Holly had been trapped in the restroom during the lockdown, unable to escape and going mad with worry.

She’d also been patched up in the medbay, having sustained a scrape on her right arm from having banged it against the sink in shock when the alarm was activated. She’d also returned your phone and departed for home after making sure that you were alright.

Granted, she did pay a little more attention to Cyrus than you, but still. It’s the thought that counts, right?

The cut on your cheek had to be stitched together, one of the nurse droids gently placing gauze over the stitches with some adhesive tape and advising you to let it heal. “Our new patented ointment contains nanobots that help heal it from the inside much faster—you’ll be fine by tomorrow!” Cyrus declares proudly.

“A scar would look kinda cool though.” You scan your face in the mirror he holds up. Besides the other minor scrapes and cuts, you were relatively unharmed. “You didn’t have to waste all that expensive stuff on me.”

“Please.” He waves dismissively. “Your mother, Emily, would kill me—”

“Not my mom.”

He pauses, the slightest flicker of guilt crossing his face before he inclines his head. “Emily,” he corrects smoothly, “would kill me.”

The police arrive soon after.

Everything afterwards feels blurry in a way you can’t quite explain. Officers swarm the building. Security droids haul damaged units away in smoking pieces. Questions are thrown at you one after another while your ears still ring faintly from the explosion.

You answer them somehow.

Cyrus handles most of the talking, thankfully. Every now and then, you catch him exchanging tense looks with officers whenever the topic of the stolen item comes up, but whenever you ask directly, he only offers you an uneasy smile and says, “It’s better if fewer people know.”

Which is a horrible answer, actually.

By the time the armoured car drops you off at home at Cyrus’s insistence, exhaustion clings to your body so heavily you almost don’t register the dimly lit kitchen light. The smooth wood of the doorknob to your room barely brushes past your fingertips before someone calls your name.

Your entire body tenses. “Yes…?” You respond warily, not daring to turn around.

“Can we chat for a sec?” Your dad calls from the kitchen.

“Not tonight, sorry! Really tired from today’s lesson with Master Wu.”

“But you don’t have a lesson to–” You shut the door behind you, making sure to lock it before slumping to the ground with a sigh. Your phone buzzes with a message.

nico [ 08:39 PM ]: we still on for tonight?

Crap. You almost forgot about your monthly playtime with Nico. You’d been video chatting with the rest as often as you could, but with everything piling up the last couple of months with mysteries, villains, and university, they’d dwindled down into silence.

You take a breath.

plod [ 08:39 PM ]: yeap, give me like 10mins

A shower. A shower with hot water, fragrant soap, and body lotion is all you need right now.

True enough, once you emerge from your bathroom in your ratty pyjamas, it feels like the world’s pressures have been eased off your shoulders. You sit down in the spinny chair, massaging in the hair oil Nya had gifted you a while back when you complimented her haircare.

The laptop emits the unique ringtone you’d set for Nico, the melody of Macarena on the bongos filling the quiet. Clicking on the green icon, Nico’s dead gaze fills the screen. He takes in the gauze on your cheek, the scrapes on your arms, and the dark circles under your eyes.

“Spill,” he states simply, leaning back in his own gaming chair.

And so you do, telling him about everything from the moment you first met Cole, to discovering the photo of you in the failed reconnaissance mission of the abandoned hideout, to Cole meeting your dad and Emily.

He listens patiently without interrupting. “So.” He sits forward. You raise your brows. “This is what happens when you’re not under parental supervision, huh.”

“Pretty much.”

“Does anyone else know about all this?”

“Just you.” He chuckles at that.

“I’m honoured. Wanna vent with some Minecraft mobs?”

You’re once again reminded of why he’s your favourite.

It’s nearing midnight when you're on your 10th mob of skeletons, as a tapping sound breaks your focus. You remove your earbuds, displeased. Turning around, you’re taken aback by the sight of your soulmate waving at you through the window with a smile.

You don’t bother to watch it fade as you turn back around to continue playing with Nico. The tapping continues, soft enough not to warrant your dad breaking down the door for the source of the noise, but loud enough to catch Nico’s attention.

In the reflection of your mirror, you spot displeasure flitting across Cole’s face when he sees Nico on your screen. “Is that him?” Nico asks, a breathy chuckle escaping when he sees the annoyance in your eyes. “You should probably go. I’ll continue farming. Same time next month?”

“Always.”

You finally hang up, standing up and walking over to your window. Cole’s face lights up as you approach, only to frown when you simply unlock the window and open it slightly. He hops off of Rocky and follows behind you, only to be even more taken aback when you plop down on your chair.

Crossing your arms, you regard him with an impassive look. “What do you want?”

He parts his lips, then presses them together. Uncertainty flickers across his face, and you can practically see the gears in his head creaking to life.

“...I’m back…?”

“Oh.” You scan him briefly, noting the lack of injury. “I hadn’t noticed.” The space between his brows creases, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Good to see you again, I guess.”

“Okay, what’s wrong?” He crosses his arms, leaning against the wall next to the window. When you remain silent, he sighs and crosses the room instead, grabbing the spare spinny chair near your desk. The papers filled with scribbled notes and drawings slide off as he sits.

Your chest aches suddenly, finding it hard to swallow. “Nothing’s wrong,” you murmur, turning your head away.

The stuffed porcupine from the claw machine stares back at you from atop the bed. Crooked, lopsided and weirdly judgmental. You frown. How dare you.

Another sigh.

Cole scoots closer instinctively, his hand reaching toward yours before he suddenly pauses. His fingers hover there for half a second before withdrawing completely, leaning back in the chair instead.

The motion stings more than you want it to.

Silence settles between the two of you, thick and uncomfortable. You can sense his fixed gaze on the gauze covering your cheek. Questions are probably filling his mind right now, itching to ask what happened while he was gone.

It doesn’t mean you were ready to answer.

“You gonna talk to me,” he asks finally, voice quieter now, “or keep staring at that ugly porcupine like it personally offended you?”

“It knows what it did.”

His lips twitch slightly, but it fades almost instantly when you still don’t look at him. “Seriously.” His tone lowers. “What happened?”

You shrug. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

Your shoulders tense immediately at the sharpness in his voice. Cole notices it too, regret flashing briefly across his face, only for frustration to take hold. “You’ve barely looked at me since I got here,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “And your hands have been shaking this entire time.”

“They are not.”

“Look at me and deny it then.”

You curl them tighter into your sleeves on instinct. Damn him. A humourless laugh leaves your throat. “Congrats, Sherlock. Want a medal?”

His jaw tightens. “Why’re you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“This.” He gestures vaguely between both of you. “Whatever this whole thing is.”

You stare at the carpet. “Maybe I’m tired.”

“Yeah?” His voice rises slightly. “And maybe I’m not stupid.”

Something bitter twists in your chest. “Good for you.”

The chair creaks as he leans back, eyes narrowing. “Okay, now I know something happened.”

You stay silent.

“Were you hurt?”

“No.”

“Are you really going to lie to me?”

Your throat tightens painfully. “I said I’m not. Not anymore.”

Cole studies you for a long moment before speaking again, quieter this time. “You know you can tell me things, right?”

The concern in his voice almost makes it worse, because you know that he truly means it.

And that’s exactly the problem.

“You can’t keep throwing yourself into danger like it’s nothing,” you snap suddenly, finally looking at him. “Do you even hear yourself half the time? ‘Oh yeah, we almost died to a spider, but hurray for the power of friendship!’”

His brows furrow. “How’d you kn—what’s this really about?”

You laugh weakly, dragging a hand down your face. “I’m serious, Brookestone. One day you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“And?”

The word hits you like a slap.

“And?” you repeat incredulously. “That’s your response?”

“It’s part of being a ninja.”

“And I’m just supposed to be okay with that?”

His expression shifts slightly at the crack in your voice. You hate that he notices.

“You think this is easy for me, either?” he asks. “You think I like leaving knowing there’s a chance something could happen to you while I’m gone?”

Your breath catches.

He stands now, frustration finally bleeding through fully. “You shut me out the second I walked in and won’t even tell me why!”

“Because I’m tired of feeling useless!” The confession tears itself out before you can stop it. “I’m tired of sitting here waiting for updates while you all go risk your lives, and I can’t do anything except hope none of you dies!”

Silence crashes down heavily between the two of you.

Cole’s stare softens for half a second before hardening again. “Something happened,” he says quietly.

You look away.

It’s enough confirmation for him to press harder.

“Did someone come after you?”

The silence stretches on. His voice sharpens instantly. “Did someone hurt you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Stop saying that.”

“I said I’m fine!” Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them flow. Forcing it out wrung every bit of whatever remaining willpower you had left.

Cole flinches slightly before frustration overtakes him entirely. The cushion in his hands crumples beneath his grip. “Would you stop saying that when it’s obviously not true?”

His fist slams against the cushion with a muffled thud.

The sound rings through the room louder than it should.

Cole freezes too, chest rising sharply as realisation flickers across his face. But the anger doesn’t disappear. If anything, it just looks worse now that it’s mixed with guilt. “I—” He pauses, looking down instead. The pillow slips from his hands onto the floor with a muffled thud.

The silence afterwards is gut-wrenching.

You watch him lean forward, elbows resting on his knees as he drags a hand down his face, letting it rest in his palm. Your own breathing still hasn’t settled properly either. The room feels unbearably warm.

“I shouldn’t have yelled,” he mutters eventually.

You stare at your lap. “You were right to.”

“No.” He shakes his head once. “I wasn’t.”

Your throat tightens painfully. What used to be anger had turned into a mix of bitterness and defeat, settling thickly in your chest.

“I almost called you,” you admit quietly.

He looks up instantly.

“When the attack happened today.” Your laugh comes out strained. His eyes widen, clearly about to ask more questions. “My first thought was literally you, which is stupid because you were probably off falling into a death pit somewhere.”

“Wow,” he exhales softly. “You really think highly of me, huh?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.” His voice softens. “You should’ve called.”

Your eyes finally meet his. “And distract you while you were on a mission?”

“I still would’ve picked up.”

The sincerity in his voice makes something ache deep in your chest. You look away first.

Of course he would’ve. That’s part of the problem.

Cole studies you for a long moment before slowly straightening up. His chair creaks softly when he shifts closer again. His hand lifts slightly before pausing halfway, almost like he’s asking permission without saying it aloud.

You let him.

His fingers slide carefully between yours, warm and calloused and familiar enough now that your body instinctively relaxes despite yourself. Relief flickers briefly across his face at the lack of resistance.

“C’mere,” he murmurs.

You don’t even realise he’s standing until he gently tugs your hand. Your chair rolls backwards with a squeak that would usually embarrass the hell out of you, but right now you’re too exhausted to care.

Cole guides you toward the bed quietly, still holding your hand the entire time, like he thinks you might disappear if he lets go. The mattress dips beneath both your weights when you sit down beside him, shoulders brushing lightly.

For once, neither of you speaks immediately.

Your joined hands rest between both of you, his thumb brushing absentmindedly across your knuckles in that familiar soothing motion he always does. This time, you don’t pull away from it.

“I really hate this soulmate stuff sometimes,” you whisper suddenly.

Cole tilts his head slightly. “Why?”

A weak laugh escapes you. “Because it feels unfair.” You swallow thickly. “I mean, look what happened to my parents. They were soulmates, but they didn’t get their happily ever after like everyone else. And this…us, what if we end up like that statistic? What if you just go and die on me while protecting the city? Or maybe even…” The words catch in your throat. “Or if you fall for someone else instead?”

His thumb stills briefly against your skin. A moment passes, but it doesn’t feel as heavy as before.

“You think I’m not scared?” he asks quietly.

That catches you off guard. You glance at him properly for the first time since he arrived. The exhaustion lining his face suddenly looks older somehow. Like a burden he’d been carrying for so long that it’d become part of him.

“You hide it better.”

Cole huffs softly. “Trust me, I really don’t.” His gaze drops briefly to your intertwined hands. “Every time I think about you during a mission…Every time I have to leave…I was just fine before, y’know. I never thought about it since my mom passed away. It never really seemed to matter. My dad was too focused on trying to mould me into something else, so we never gave ourselves time to breathe. And with the whole ninja thing,” he gestures offhandedly, “I never did.”

Something fragile inside your chest twists painfully.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” His lips twitch faintly before fading again. “Kinda sucks.”

You stare at him for a second too long before resting your head carefully against his shoulder with a tired exhale. His grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly, and he leans back against the wall behind your bed, letting you settle against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Talk about trauma,” he mumbles. A breathy chuckle leaves you. Looking up, you fall silent at his glassy eyes. You reach up, cupping his cheek and brush your thumb against his cheekbone.

A tear falls.

“Our timing sucks.” He huffs out a laugh at that, his hand reaching up and covering yours.

“Pray tell.”

“I’m just saying. We could’ve at least met under normal circumstances.”

“And do what?”

Your lips tilt up into a smile. “I dunno. Grocery shopping. Bump carts dramatically. Fall in love like normal people.”

He snorts. “Please. You’d be too bored for that kind of life.”

Your lips part in an offended gasp, sustaining it for all of two seconds before both of you dissolve into quiet laughter.

Eventually, the adrenaline from the day begins to ebb away, exhaustion settling heavily into your bones. Your eyelids droop. Cole shifts beside you, and for one stupid, dangerous second, you think he’s going to kiss you.

Instead, he gently presses his lips against your forehead.

“I’ll interrogate you about your cheek tomorrow,” he murmurs against your hair, arms tightening around you slightly.

You hum in response, too tired to form anything coherent. His heartbeat thrums steadily beneath your ear.

Right before sleep fully drags you under, a question pops into your mind, tumbling past your lips.

“...Can I bite your arm?”