Sasha nods, jaw tight. “So we start over.”
“We have to,” I say. “From the first synthesis. Every step. Every variable. We watch it breathe. Because whatever this turned into—” I glance back at the data, my stomach hollowing out. “—it isn’t what I meant to make.”
Sasha straightens. “Then let’s make sure it can never be used the wrong way.”
For the first time since I walked in, I smile. “Let’s.”
Later, when the lab starts to empty out for the night, Sasha and I stay behind, still poking at samples and double-checking notes. It’s quiet, the kind of quiet that invites real talk.
"So, Sasha," I say, not looking up from the notes. "How’d you end up in a lab owned by the Crimson Order?"
She huffs a soft laugh. She rolls a pen between her fingers. "I grew up in foster care. A dozen homes, a dozen escape plans. I always liked science—it was the one thing that made sense no matter where I was. I got a scholarship eventually, started college, thought I was finally going to be free of the system."
I glance at her, sensing the shift.
"But halfway through, I lost funding. Some bullshit error no one would fix. I was a week from dropping out, couch-surfing with nothing but debt and anxiety, whensomeone showed up with a grant. No strings, just—'a gift from someone who believes in second chances."
"Asher," I grumble.
She nods. "Didn’t know who he was at first. Just that he got things done. Later I found out he knew about my birth mom—she was a dancer at one of the Crimson Order clubs. OD’d on cheap-cut shit some asshole sold her on credit. Asher sent men to check on her when she didn’t show up for a shift. They found me there. I was five. Alone in that apartment with her body for two days. No one came for me. No family. Just a report. Just a file. And a girl too angry to cry." She exhales, fingers tightening around her pen. "When I aged out of the system and started slipping, he stepped in again. Quietly. No lectures, no promises. Just enough to catch me before I hit bottom. I think... I think he didn’t want me to fail like she did." She looks at her hands. "He doesn’t say much, but he pays well. Gives me space. Makes sure I’m okay. And I think that’s his way of caring. Even if he’ll never say it out loud."
There’s a pause.
"I know what this place is, Violet," she says softly. "But I also know what it gave me. And if we’re going to make drugs safer… I want to be part of that."
I nod, heart catching in my throat.
Hours blur into days. I lose track of the sunrises, of the coffee cups piling beside my monitor, and of the sound of anything other than the soft whirling machines, and the occasional burst of laughter from across the lab. Sasha has made it her mission to inject humor into the monotony, and honestly?
It helps.
"You know," she says, tapping a pen against her chin as she peers at the latest simulation results, "if we ever get out of here, I think I might have to marry my centrifuge. At least it listens to me."
I snort. "You realize how tragic that sounds, right?"
She shrugs, grinning. "Tragic is the fact that I’ve worn the same hoodie three days in a row and no one noticed."
"I noticed," I grumble. "I just didn’t want to be rude."
"Liar. You’re too nice to be rude."
That gets a genuine smile out of me. Somehow, over the past few days, she’s become... more. Not just a colleague or a teammate. A friend. A real one.
Later that night—or maybe it’s morning—I find her curled on one of the lab chairs, absentmindedly spinning herself in slow circles. I sit beside her, and the words fall out of me before I can second-guess it.
"You know why I named it Zephyra?"
Sasha shakes her head, intrigued.
“It’s from Zephyrus. The god of the west wind. He was the shift—the warm breath of air that came before you noticed the cold was gone. You didn’t brace for him. You leaned in without knowing why.” I pause, the memory settling in my chest. “That was the feeling. Light. Warm. Open. Like the world tipped just enough to make staying feel easy.”
Sasha whistles low. “That’s poetic. Creepy. But poetic.”
I smile, softer now. “It felt safe. Like finally being able to exhale.”
She tilts her head. "And now?"
I don’t answer right away. But the weight in my chest has shifted.
