I stood still in the line, the hum steady around me, the widening space ahead like a threshold to the unknown.

  My sleeves were already pulled tight. I hadn’t loosened them since breakfast. The ointment had worn off, but the ache hadn't. That was always with me.

  The clicks hadn’t returned. But that didn’t mean the monsters were gone, only hidden. That’s what scared me most. Not the silence, but the timing. They’d stopped too soon.

  The hum stayed steady, then suddenly I felt it come alive. It's static brushing through my hair like an unseen hand reaching. A flicker behind my eyes. I didn't need to see her to know who it was.

  Mika was already there, mirroring my mood, soft and aching.

  "Hey," she said, slowing as she neared. Her voice was soft, but it carried that strange echo that was a common side effect in Halden. "What are you doing here? I mean, out here. Alone."

  She looked at me, her brow furrowed slightly, her gaze lingering as if a question hovered just behind her lips. It felt like she wanted to ask something, or perhaps had already, and I’d answered without knowing.

  I stared silently at her. Some truths are too heavy to share, especially with those who still carry so much light. Mika watched me in return, tilting her head slightly, her gaze sharp and analytical as she tried to decipher me.

  We were having a sort of staring contest.

  Then I noticed the gleam in her eyes, not reflecting light, but filled with that charge—the one that was commonplace in Halden. "You’ve been Choiring," I said softly. I could see all the effects: the gleam, the flicker, her breath echoing the room.

  Her eyes widened slightly, her head tilting back a fraction before she nodded. "I did. How’d you know?" Her gaze flicked down the corridor. "It’s strange. Like there’s an echo following me. Or a hum that won’t let go."

  "Because it's still in you," I felt it too—the residue clinging to her fingers, the hum trailing her steps. Cassian’s rhythm. Julian's flicker, a trick of the light. Her breath stretched too thin, a faint, wavering line in the air. I’d already Grounded. I knew the process to calm the hum.

  "Cassian started Echoing, and you followed him along…" I stated, a faint shimmer in the air around her, confirming it. I’d just left those two in the dining room, and in no time they had started Choiring with Mika. "Didn’t they help Ground you afterwards?"

  "Ground me?" she blinked in confusion, looking around as though the hum might explain it to her. "What is that?" Her shoulders gave a small, uncertain shrug.

  "Figures…" I said, my words coming out as an exasperated sigh as I ran a hand through my hair. Why am I not surprised that those two idiots didn’t bother to clean up after themselves...

  Then I focused back on Mika, pushing the annoyance aside for the moment.

  "When you Choir," I said softly, stepping closer. "Sometimes... things stick to you. Like an echo. The Institute calls it a 'Field Echo.' It's why it feels like everything's following you."

  Mika swallowed, the small sound loud in the quiet. Her gaze darted up to meet mine, "Is that bad?" Her fingers rubbed together, twitching slightly, each movement a tiny spark of her growing unease.

  I didn’t answer right away, just stepped closer to Mika. "Do you have anything with you? Any objects that might serve as an anchor?" I asked gently, my voice steady.

  Mika carefully reached for her pocket, her movements slow and deliberate. "I have this." Inside was a delicate flower, intricately crafted from rice, Cassian’s handiwork.

  It was an object made by Cassian's powers, but hopefully, his rhythm had decreased, my gaze softening as I took it. "This will have to do," the easiest anchors after all.

  "Now close your eyes and focus solely on its texture," I instructed. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder, a soft, half-hug that gently held her steady. Then I leaned down and whispered in her ear. "Let your breathing slow." I’d done it earlier—sleeves drawn tight, ointment cooling the burn. I knew what it took to soften the humming.

  Mika did as I instructed. Her rubbing fingers stilled, now they gently moved the flower, rolling it with deliberate care between them.

  "You’re not broken, you’re just still vibrating," I said, my voice steady. "Like a tuning fork still resonating after the strike." Grounding dulls the edges, eases fatigue, and preserves the self. It’s not rejection. It’s survival.

  "Good, now can you hear it?" I watched her closely, searching her face for any sign of recognition. My gaze was one of concern, not pity. That's all. "Your pulse, your heart?" I prompted gently.

  Mika nodded, her eyebrows tightening slightly in concentration. The flower held her now. Not me, not the hum. Just that. As I watched her breathe, something flickered in me, Anne's soft words comforting me when I was lost in my own mind.

  I blinked it away, shaking my head slightly as if to dislodge the memory.

  "Breathe slower, let it settle," I instructed, my voice low and encouraging. My turn in line had come, and I wanted it to stay a secret. "Yes, keep going, match with it," I said, trying to keep Mika distracted and her eyes closed so she wouldn't raise any questions about what I got.

  The nurse already knew me and recognized I was helping a young girl Ground, so she silently handed me the small tube of burn cream. Mint and metal.

  "Not the hum, not the choir. Just the flower." I said, leading Mika away from the line of students at the dispensary.

  The hum softened, mirroring her now, like something learning to listen, as even the walls seemed to exhale.

  Mika was quiet for a moment. Then: "Do you ever miss it... The connection? "

  The question didn’t surprise me, but it still weighed on me.

  "Sometimes," I said. "But I miss myself more."

  Mika’s shoulder had dropped, her fingers no longer twitching. She wasn’t still, but at least she wasn’t a walking microphone picking up every signal around her.

  "You feel better now." Not quite a question. Just a pulse check.

  Mika shrugged slightly. "I think so." Her voice was softer now. "It’s like... I can hear myself again."

  I watched her for a moment longer. Mika still held the rice flower, but now it rested gently in her palm—no twitch, no rub, just holding her in return. We moved away from the dispensary, her breath staying steady.

  'I have to go, I'm going to visit some friends…' I said, pointing to the door to the hospital wing.

  "Um…" Mika said, her thumb brushing a delicate fold of the rice flower as she rolled it. "Can I come with you?"

  I looked at her, my gaze steady as I considered her question. I wondered why she wanted to come. Was it an ache? loneliness? Or something else?

  "You sure?" I asked, my eyes flickering briefly at the entrance. "It’s not like the dispensary. The silence there…” My fingers tugged at my sleeves as I searched for the right words. “It’s heavier...more volatile.”

  Mika nodded. "If the flower still holds you," I said as I tilted my head slightly, a silent invitation for her to follow. “Then you can come."

  Mika looked down at her hand, her gaze fixed on the rice flower as she trailed my steps.

  The rice petals didn't twitch, lying perfectly still, a testament to her grounding.

  I opened the door.

  The hospital wing was quieter, but not silent; a low, ambient sound persisted beneath the stillness. The static shifted here—slower, more reluctant, as though it had learned to ignore, to not listen.

  Some curtains twitched with the faintest breath of air, a subtle dance in the stillness. Others didn't move at all, hanging limp and unyielding, one in particular hung half-torn, unlistening.

  A nurse passed three beds without glancing, her steps almost gliding. She paused only when the beeping spiked (a sudden, sharp deviation in the ambient hum), then moved on.

  The beds, devoid of the AT field’s familiar thrum, were islands of absolute quiet. The nurse’s practiced ear, attuned to the subtle symphony of life, registered their silence not as peace, but as absence. No flutter, no beat, just the profound stillness of what had ceased to be. A chilling void where vital signs once danced.

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  The seam tugged against my wrist as I passed one bed. I didn’t look, nobody did...

  Or at least that's how it's supposed to be.

  Mika’s breath hitched. She spun the flower faster in her hand, petals blurring. Her eyes darted toward the bed with no curtain, no signal, just wires. "Why's it like that?" she murmured.

  I didn't answer, just let the silence hold as I touched her shoulder. "Just breathe," I said as I led her away from that bed. I knew what it meant when the AT field was absent, and the hum ignored them.

  She nodded, but the flower kept spinning. We kept walking, Mika's rice flower starting to calm itself, but her echo lingered.

  As we got closer to Lian's room, I felt the hum shift slightly, a small charge in my hair.

  I let go of Mika’s shoulder, and I pocketed the burn cream. Lian didn’t need Grounding; she needed presence. I loosened my sleeves slightly, just enough to feel the room.

  I opened the slides.

  Lian sat on the bed, arms wrapped tight around her knees, her pulse steady but her breath low. Not pain—just something softer.

  Lian didn’t look up right away, her gaze fixed on the floor, as if trying to hold herself together.

  Then she offered a small, weak smile, "Oh, hey Gab…" her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

  My own breath caught, a familiar ache tightening in my chest.

  "You’re still here…" The words came out more blunt than I wanted them to, like stones leaving my mouth. I felt hollow, a stark contrast to the usual spark I associated with her.

  "Yeah, sorry…" Lian said, her voice not reaching far, only enough to be heard. Her gaze was already distant, unfocused, like an apology that wasn't truly meant for me.

  It was hard to see Lian like this. She was usually the kind of person who made silence feel temporary.

  "I just… I didn’t want to be seen." She pulled her knees closer, wrapping her arms around them even tighter, and closed her eyes, a slight shiver passing through her. "Not like this."

  Lian usually had a smirk or a glint—like she'd just broken something and hadn't decided whether to tell you.

  I didn’t answer, simply sat beside her. The fabric drew in slightly.

  She was right to a degree. It hurt, seeing her shrink into apology when she used to stretch into trouble as if it were her birthright; the change was stark. Now she seemed worn thin, as if she’d been shattered and couldn’t name the pieces.

  Mika stayed near the slides, silent. The flower rested in her palm.

  "I told you not to do it," I said, my tone devoid of anger. Only the fear that I'd been holding.

  "But you went anyway." I forced myself to inhale, "First Anne…" my throat struggling against the knot, trying to open enough so I could breathe. "Then you went and fought him."

  My sleeves tightened this time not from the burn, but from the truth.

  "I just didn't want to feel useless. Not after what happened to Anne." Lian's voice cracked slightly as she looked down at her hands, fingers curling tighter as if trying to hold onto something slipping away. "I thought maybe if I did something brave…" Her breath caught, heavy with memory. "If I could get an answer from him…"

  My breath slowed. Not relief, not anger. Just the kind that comes when you stop bracing, a release of tension that had been held for too long.

  "Oh, you were brave alright," I said dryly. I felt it again, the way the hum had twisted back then, when everything changed and unraveled everyone around me. That deep sound, piercing my mind. It almost made my hands move instinctively to my ears.

  "But maybe next time you don’t have to be so brave." My sleeves didn’t tighten this time; they just held steady.

  Lian didn’t answer. Just held her breath, her hands still pressed into fists as if she was guarding something inside them.

  I didn’t reach for Lian; I only stayed with her.

  "I was scared." A faint tremor started in my fingers, a stark contrast to my usual composure, as the weight of those words settled like a physical blow. "Not because you fought, but because I know what it costs."

  Then I saw Lian's face—she was staring at me, one eyebrow raised, her smirk flickering back into place. "Was that sarcasm?" She asked, voice low, but teasing. "When did you learn sarcasm, Queen?" Her face had a hint of her old glimmer. Not too much, but she was coming back.

  "In the library," I said, my lips curving slightly as I met Lian's gaze, a slight spark of knowledge tinging my voice. "It was in the back corner. A big red book titled: 'How to Weaponize Wit When You're Too Afraid to Cry in Public.'" I mimed my hands forward like I had placed the title on the book.

  "It was shelved next to 'How to Smile Without Meaning It' and 'Advanced Techniques in Emotional Deflection.'"

  I shrugged. "I skimmed."

  Lian rolled her eyes. "You skimmed? I memorized the whole thing!" That sly smile crept back onto her lips, soft but steady.

  I didn’t answer. Just let the silence hold, but then Mika gave a low snort from the slides, looking at us like an amused spectator, the flower resting in her palm.

  "Oh, and who's this?" Lian said, her eyes glinting. "Is this the new pet cat you adopted?"

  Mika blinked, startled, the rice flower twitching once in her palm.

  "Don't be silly, Lian," I said, my delivery was as flat as possible, though a faint smirk played on my lips. "I haven't adopted her yet; she's still in the introductory phase."

  Lian gave a quick nod, "True, first she needs to get spayed and neutered."

  Mika's brow twitched. "I’m not a cat," She said, her grip on the rice flower tightening.

  "You're twitchy, quiet, and you follow people around. That's cat behavior." Lian added with a big, wide grin. Her fingers were dancing around, counting her traits before pointing teasingly.

  Mika looked at me, her eyes widening just a fraction, a calculated flicker of distress crossing her face.

  "Queen, Lian is being mean to me!" Mika said as she adopted a deliberately whiny tone.

  I observed the performance, Mikaela, the aspiring manipulator.

  "Hmm," I said, tilting my head infinitesimally. "Two out of five, Mika." I declared, my gaze unwavering. "Needs more conviction. You need to really sell it. Let the tears fall, don't just hold them."

  "What, you need defending, kitty?" Lian said, letting out a smug, tiny snicker. "And here I thought a teleporting cat, who steals people’s cans, wouldn’t need anyone defending her."

  Mika narrowed her eyes, rolling the flower between her fingers like she was trying to keep the twitch from turning into a tremor. "How does everyone know about that?" Her voice stayed low, but the sarcasm sharpened. "Figures a loud parrot like you would be the first to hear."

  Lian levitated off the bed, slow and deliberate, “So you watched me at the coliseum, did ya?” Only high enough to hover above Mika’s head. “Still, better a parrot than a twitchy cat.” Her smirk widened, one bare foot slipping over the other as she crossed her legs.

  Mika glared at Lian before hissing, sharp enough to jolt the flower once.

  Lian’s smirk widened, her eyes crinkling as she fought to keep a laugh from escaping. She managed a strangled noise as she retreated upwards and started flapping her arms.

  "Squaak! Squaak! Squaak!!" she chirped, her entire body vibrating with suppressed laughter.

  While I was glad they were syncing, I was afraid it would continue to escalate. But a nurse came in and shut it down with one big hush.

  Lian’s feet found the floor with a soft thud. She flinched slightly, a faint cringe passing through her as if her acquiescence to the silence extracted a toll on her.

  “I'm planning on visiting Anne next. I’m a little worried about getting kicked out if things get too loud." I said, tugging at my sleeves as I turned towards the slides.

  "Of course, Your Highness. I shall endeavor to dial down the wild, loud histrionics of your new kitten." Lian said with a mock bow, a smirk playing on her lips.

  "Please make it so, my dear vassal," I said as I slid open the slides and walked away.

  The ambient hum of the hospital ward offered no comfort. Just static.

  "But I wasn't the one being loud!" Mika protested, her voice already strained as she hurried to keep up.

  "Shhh! It’s a hospital. Calm down, Mik!" Lian whispered, leaning in close to Mika and putting a finger to her lips in a mock-hush. Her bare feet tucked beneath her as she hovered like a butterfly between us.

  Before Mika could retort or even glare at Lian, she turned her attention back to me. "My queen, turn left here, then keep going straight. That is where our comrade lies." Her bare feet were tucked beneath her as her eyes danced with amusement between us two.

  "My name’s Mikaela. If you’re gonna shorten it, then call me Mika." Mikaela said, her voice carrying a clear, almost firm note.

  "Mika. Got it, kitten." I noticed what Lian was doing, trying to keep Mika engaged with her as much as possible. Her quick wit and teasing a deliberate counterpoint to the hospital's atmosphere. "You can call me Lian."

  "And stop calling me a cat. If I'm anything, I'm a Sasquatch. Not some twitchy, mewling kitten." Mika’s voice carried a quiet insistence.

  "A Sasquatch, huh?" She positioned herself to shield the patient in the bed from Mika's view. "Then I guess I’m the Mothman," Lian said, her voice louder than necessary. She was probably trying to muffle the beeping noises in the nearby beds as much as it was a playful retort.

  I slowed down and placed myself on Mika's other side.

  "A Mothman?"

  I didn’t interrupt. Lian was mirroring Mika's emotional state, skillfully weaving teasing, deflections—a way to anchor Mika in the present moment. Not loud, only enough.

  "Well, more of a Mothwoman. But you get the idea. I can fly, read the future, and all that jazz."

  "What, you can read the future!?" Mika stopped for a moment, staring at Lian. Then a knowing half-smirk touched her lips. "No, you can’t!" She said, voice rising as she shook her head.

  "Oh yes, I can," Lian declared, puffing out her chest slightly. "I have this totally awesome psionic relic that lets me peer into the future. It's practically magic, you know?"

  As those two continued their back and forth, we reached the corner of the ward where it turned into different private rooms for patients.

  "It’s this one," Lian said, her voice softer now. She pointed to an actual room with walls and a door. The hum didn’t flicker. It pressed. It felt like it remembered her signal and wasn't ready to let go.

  I was about to open the door when a nurse stepped forward, blocking the doorway.

  "She's under observation," the nurse said, a still hand hovering in front of me to bar my path. "Too much external stimulus could destabilize the patient."

  Her gaze flicked to Mika and Lian, then settled on me. "Only one of you can come in. Too many echoes."

  I didn’t move. Just stared at the nurse’s hand. "And you believe the echo originates from mere numbers, not from intention?" I asked, voice low.

  Still, the nurse didn’t move.

  "It’s ok, I already talked with her last night," Lian said, her voice calm as her eyes met mine for a moment, her gaze steady and warm. "One of the advantages of being sent to the hospital ward." She said, giving me a small, knowing tilt of her head and a wink. "It’s your turn now."

  Then Lian turned to Mika. "Come on, Sasquatch. I’ll read into your future in the rec-room." She said as she drifted away, her steps light as whispers on air.

  I glanced at Mika and Lian; their emotional signatures were steady and contained.

  Mika stared at me for a second before nodding at Lian and following her.

  I watched them disappear down the corridor. Lian’s rhythm was quiet, focused on keeping Mika steady. They didn't walk away; rather, they carried each other. Their support was quiet, yet essential for maintaining their equilibrium.

  The hum didn’t follow them. It remained a persistent weight that stayed with me. I fixed my sleeves, making sure they were in place. The seam felt tighter than usual, though I suspected it was more me than the fabric.

  I paused at the entrance. Quiet static lingered at the door, a silent witness anticipating the moment. Almost as if it remembered the last breath and wasn't ready to echo it again.

  I let my breath slow, not to Ground myself, just to hold it steady before reaching for the handle.

  The rhythm didn’t follow. Not yet.

  The room didn't flicker; it held. So I did too. Not to brace myself, but to truly witness this moment of quiet strength.