TELL ME NOTHING MORE

Shade had just finished relaying everything Kieran had said, and the weight of it settled over the room like a thick fog.

Razor sat at the table, arms crossed, his jaw set in deep thought. "Soldiers who don't stay dead," he muttered, his voice laced with skepticism.

Blaze scoffed. "Sounds like bullshit. Maybe that guy's just trying to get under our skin."

"But what if it's not?" Cipher's fingers moved rapidly across his tablet, already pulling up files. "The Government's been advancing its projects faster than we can track. We still don't know everything they were doing to Myst."

Myst felt the shift in the room. The subtle glance in her direction.

She ignored it, keeping her arms crossed. "I don't know what they meant by that either."

Echo exhaled. "Okay, so let's assume it's real. What are we dealing with? Some kind of—" He hesitated, searching for the right words. "...resurrected soldiers? Like what? A bunch of Jesus?"

Blaze just gave Echo a lazy punch on the shoulder for managing to insert another joke. While the thought made Myst's stomach twist.

"No proof yet." Cipher's screen flashed as he sifted through encrypted files. "But I'll keep digging. If they really 'perfected' something, there's bound to be evidence somewhere."

A silence followed. A heavy, uncertain pause.

Then Razor pushed himself up from his chair. "We wait for Cipher to find something solid. Until then, everyone stays sharp. Get rest."

The meeting ended, but the unease in Myst's chest didn't. She needed to move. To hit something. To get the static out of her head.

Her breaths came sharp and steady as she struck the training dummy, each hit landing with precise force. The thud of her fists against the material filled the empty space, but it wasn't enough to drown out the thoughts in her head.

She exhaled hard, shaking out her hands before shifting back into stance. Faster. Stronger. Just focus.

Another strike. Another.

"Need a partner?"

Myst turned her head just as Nyx leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching her with that usual unreadable expression. She hesitated, wiping sweat from her brow.

"I'm fine," she muttered, throwing another punch.

Nyx, of course, ignored that. "You know, hitting something that won't hit back isn't really training."

Myst shot him a look, but before she could tell him off, he stepped forward, rolling his shoulders like he was already warming up. "C'mon. I'll take it easy on you."

She scoffed. "Don't get cocky."

They circled each other, the familiar tension settling between them. When Nyx moved, it was smooth and quick, forcing Myst to react fast.

She ducked under his first feint, twisted, and aimed a kick at his side. He blocked effortlessly, the impact sending a dull vibration through his arms.

"Not bad," he mused. "But I did say I'd go easy on you."

Myst didn't answer, she just attacked. A sharp jab, a low sweep, anything to throw him off. Nyx met her head-on, countering just enough to keep things controlled.

But the moment she lost focus—just for a second—he moved faster than she expected.

She swung, and he sidestepped smoothly, catching her wrist in one swift motion. In an instant, Myst was off balance. She hit the mat with a sharp exhale.

In a second, Nyx had her pinned, hands braced on either side of her. His body hovered close—too close.

"Gotcha." His voice was light, teasing. But something in his expression wavered.

She should shove him off. Say something, anything.

But before she could react, Nyx moved on instinct.

He hugged her.

It wasn't calculated or slow—it just happened. Like his body acted before his mind could catch up. His arms wrapped around her, firm but not constricting, his breath steady against her temple.

Myst froze.

Her heart slammed against her ribs, silently praying that he wouldn't hear it.

Nyx said nothing, didn't move, or didn't try to explain himself. It was an instinctive, quiet motion. One that told her more than words could.

And that was the problem.

Because the feeling of being held like this—without hesitation, without doubt—wasn't something she was used to.

And it wasn't Flux.

Myst squeezed her eyes shut for a brief moment before finally pushing at his shoulder.

Nyx got the message and let go, shifting back just enough to give her space. His expression was unreadable again, but there was something softer there, something that made her chest feel too tight.

Neither of them spoke.

Then Nyx exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck with a crooked smile. "Guess that was cheating, huh?"

Myst's hands curled into fists against the mat. "You—" She cut herself off, forcing a breath. "Why did you do that?"

For a second, Nyx didn't move. Then, with a slight shrug, he pushed himself up, stepping back. "Felt like you needed it."

"Get some rest."

Myst stayed on the floor long after he left, staring at the ceiling like it might hold the answers she didn't want to face.

Because for the first time, she wasn't just questioning what she felt.

She was questioning who she felt it for.