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Later that night, Myst couldn't sleep. Restless, she slipped out of the hideout, wandering through the quiet streets just beyond their territory. She didn't go far—just enough to feel like she could breathe.

She thought of Flux. Of the way he used to stand watch during nights like this, always hyper-aware, always ready. The memory sat heavy in her chest, pressing against the guilt that never quite went away.

If she had been stronger back then, if she hadn't let herself get taken—would he still be here?

The thought made her stomach twist. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if that could hold everything together.

She barely noticed how far she had walked. The streets stretched around her in eerie silence, the occasional neon glow flickering from rundown buildings. The world felt too big all of a sudden, and she felt too small within it.

Then, everything shifted.

A hand grabbed her wrist, twisting it behind her back as a voice hissed in her ear. "Got you."

Myst reacted instantly, driving her elbow back and catching her attacker in the ribs. Another figure lunged from the side. She dodged, but the numbers were against her. The street was too open, too exposed—she had made a mistake.

The first attacker recovered fast, grabbing for her again. She fought back, but there were too many of them. A strike to the side sent her staggering. Her breath hitched—she wasn't going to get out of this alone.

Then a gunshot rang out.

One of the attackers dropped, a pained grunt escaping him before he hit the ground. The others whirled, and Myst saw a new shadow move with deadly precision. A blade flashed the moon's reflection—Nyx.

He had followed her.

He moved fast, cutting through the attackers before they could regroup. One tried to run. Nyx caught him by the collar, slamming him into the wall. "Bad idea," he murmured before knocking the man unconscious.

The remaining figures fled into the night, leaving Myst catching her breath. Her hands were shaking—not from fear, but from the sudden memory that had surfaced.

For the briefest moment, when Nyx had cut through their enemies, she had almost seen Flux instead. The same fluidity, the same ruthless efficiency.

But it wasn't him.

Nyx turned to her, eyes sharp beneath the glow of the streetlights. "Are you okay?" His gaze swept over her, checking for injuries.

Myst nodded, still shaken. "You… followed me."

Nyx exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Well, good thing I did. What the hell were you thinking, wandering off alone?"

His voice was edged with something unfamiliar. There was no teasing remark, no usual ease in his tone. He looked…troubled. His glances almost revealed panic, like he was struggling to steady himself.

She looked away. "I just… needed to clear my head."

Nyx scoffed, but his expression softened. "Next time, take someone with you. Preferably someone who isn't about to get jumped."

She managed a small, lazy smile. "Noted."

He studied her for a moment, licked his lips, then sighed. "Come on. Let's get back before the others notice."

For once, she didn't argue. She paced beside him, the silence between them no longer quite so heavy.

When they reached the hideout, Myst lingered by the entrance, something unreadable tightening in her chest.

"If you're gonna pace all night, just sit with me here." Nyx called, tilting his head towards the vacant chair beside him.

It hit her again. Flux had said that before.

Myst hesitated, glancing at the empty chair beside him. The cold metal reflected the dim light above the hideout's entrance, casting long shadows on the worn pavement.

She could just go inside, pretend she wasn't still rattled by what happened. Pretend she wasn't still thinking about Flux.

But something in Nyx's expression made her pause.

He wasn't looking at her directly, just watching the street with a quiet intensity, fingers absently drumming against his knee. It wasn't impatience—it was something else, something she couldn't quite place.

She exhaled and sat down, the cold surface pressing against her skin.

Nyx shifted beside her. "You okay?"

Myst blinked, pulling herself back to the present. Her eyes flickered to him. His posture was relaxed, but there was a slight furrow between his brows. Concern.

Flux had been the same way. But Nyx's concern felt... different.

Before she could fully process it, he moved.

He leaned in, his hand reaching out—not touching her, but close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him. His other arm rested on the back of her chair, almost caging her in, though she knew he wasn't trying to trap her.

The proximity made her breath caught again, but this time for an entirely different reason.

"You're spacing out," he murmured, his voice lower now, almost cautious. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Myst swallowed, her pulse suddenly louder than it should be. The streetlights caught the sharp angles of his face, his eyes searching hers.

Flux had always been careful with her, controlled, like he knew exactly how much distance to keep. Nyx, though, he didn't hold back. He closed the space between them without hesitation, without questioning if he should.

And maybe that was the difference between them.

She should pull away. Say something, anything, to break whatever this was. But her body betrayed her, staying still, caught in the heat of his gaze.

Nyx's fingers twitched, like he was debating something. Then, in the smallest movement, his knuckles brushed against her wrist. Barely there, but enough to make her exhale sharply.

"You can talk to me, you know," he said, softer this time.

Myst forced herself to look away. "It's nothing," she lied.

Nyx studied her for another second before finally leaning back, giving her space. But the tension lingered.

"Alright," he said. "If you say so."