She nearly glared me to death and I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle.
“Emma, it’s fine,” I said, while I kept my tone calm and steady. “We’re trying something no one’s ever done before. If this works, you’ll be making history. You’re not failing here—you’re experimenting.”
Her expression softened a fraction, and the strain in her shoulders eased as my words settled in. I watched as the terse edges of frustration dulled, her breathing evening out, her focus re-centering.
And maybe it was stupid, but a flicker of pride stirred in my chest, knowing I had something to do with it.
The hours stretched on, slow and relentless. She kept trying, pushing past the exhaustion, shoving through the frustration, refusing to let failure win. Over and over, she forced herself through it. She was tenacious, I had to give her that.
But as the sun dipped lower, casting a warm, golden glow over the field, I realized she needed more.
Not only practice, but an edge. A push.
I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice enough to hook her attention. “Tell you what—if you manage to translate and make your translation invisible, you get to hit me with it.”
Her head snapped up. “Hit you with what?” she asked, eyebrows knitting in confusion.
I smirked. “Your haze. Try shaping it into something solid—like a tendril you can actually wield. Make it tangible. Focus the energy on a single point, pull it tight, and force it to hold form—don’t let it drift like smoke.”
Her stare sharpened, suspicion flickering behind it.
“You want to hurt me?” I continued, as I observed the way her fingers curled slightly at her sides. “Here’s your shot. Take the revenge you want for what I did to you at Coastal. You want to maim me? Make me less pretty? Go for it.”
I let the words hang, let the challenge settle in. Then, with a slow, deliberate shrug, I added, “But if I see it coming, I’m fighting it off. So you better make it invisible.”
And just like that, the fire in her beautiful eyes lit up all over again. A sly grin spread across her face as my challenge sank in.
It took her exactly 0.7 seconds to shoot out an invisible thread of translation—and punch me square in the manly nuts.
Motherfu—
“Look at that,” she said, her grin widening with satisfaction. “Guess it worked.”
I managed a shaky thumbs-up—doubled over and groaning—while cupping my balls like I could somehow coax them back to health.
After that day, Emma and I settled into a comfortable friendship.
Hitting me in the nuts had finally satisfied her need for revenge, clearing the way for us to coexist as more than just two people bound by grudges.
We started talking abouteverything.
At first, only at night—quiet conversations in my study, stolen moments when no one else was around. But soon, it bled into our days. We talked through missions, whispered during meetings I was supposed to be leading, and chuckled likechickens at childish jokes, laughing at things no one our age should laugh at.
After a week or two, I accidentally let it slip how Sean had a deep-rooted, borderline irrational hatred for the name ‘Walter.’
"Walter? Why?"
I shrugged. "Met two of them. Hated both. Said they were cocky, slick bastards with way too much gel in their hair. So now, in his mind, all Walters are alike."
Emma tilted her chin thoughtfully. "I knew a guy like that in a past life. Not a Walter though. Not the most fun to have around either."
Something ugly coiled in my chest. "He didn’t hurt you, did he?"
Emma snorted. "Hurt me? Please. The worst thing he did was talk about himself all day long. Though I did barely survive."
I huffed a laugh, but before I could say anything, a sudden mischievous smile lit up her face. And damn if it wasn’t distracting.
"You know what we should do?"
