The next three months passed in a blur Nye could never have anticipated. His once orderly and solitary existence—carefully calibrated around household chores, quiet evenings, and the occasional sarcastic exchange with Eve—was upended. From the moment he accepted the title of best man, his life morphed into an uncharted whirlwind of duties, unfamiliar responsibilities, startling world discoveries. And it was certainly not looking dashing and keeping Vin from fainting, as Bret said.

  It began, as all great disasters do, with a manual.

  "I’m not sure if I signed up to be a logistical manager," Nye muttered to Eve.

  “You did,” Eve replied in amusement. “Technically, you just didn’t read the fine print.”

  If Nye had thought this was going to be a few speeches and some light moral support for Vin, he was woefully mistaken. He soon found himself immersed in venue scouting, debating flower arrangements, and sampling menus on levitation islands—floating marvels of engineering Nye hadn’t even bothered to study extensively at the facility. With land space shrinking over the centuries, these airborne marvels had become a playground for the wealthy and privileged.

  The venue Vin and Gema had selected was bold—on a levitation island in Sun Valley City, located in a region where days lasted thirty hours or longer, its perpetual golden haze was a note-worthy difference to the starlit, neon-soaked nights of Neryon Veil. Nye couldn’t help but feel an odd fascination as he first flew over the floating islands, their shimmering surfaces reflecting light like liquid gold, though the logistics of getting there nearly made him reconsider his decision to help.

  Vin insisted that Nye accompany him on every step of the wedding planning process. Nye couldn’t decide if this was friendship or punishment, but he relented. Along the way, he got to know Gema better, as she joined them on most excursions. She was dazzling, almost ethereal—her powder pink skin offset by cascading blue hair and eyes so vividly cerulean that Nye half-suspected they glowed in the dark. No wonder she was a great match for Vin. Both their hair and eyes were some shades of blue. Gema exuded warmth and a sadistic sense of humor that eased Nye’s initial reservations about her. But what struck him most was the way she looked at Vin, her every action and word underscoring her love for him.

  At times, Nye found himself envying their dynamic. Watching them laugh, argue over floral arrangements, and share intimate glances made him acutely aware of the emotional void in his own life. Still, with each passing day, he grew more comfortable being the awkward third wheel in their whirlwind romance.

  In between planning sessions and excursions, Nye worked on organizing Vin’s bachelor party. After days of research—and more help from Eve than he cared to admit—he settled on a secluded resort perched atop a hill on a levitation island in the Polychroma City, famed for its privacy, opulence, and wealthy hedonism. The venue catered to the rich and famous, offering everything from indulgent spa treatments to underground parties. Nye, unfamiliar with the concept of bachelor parties, followed the manual to the letter, ensuring every traditional element was accounted for, from indulgent feasts to the inclusion of, well, less savory entertainments.

  As the days blurred together, Nye began to find unexpected companionship in his circle, almost forgetting about waking up from the coma and everything that followed till the night Vin asked him to be his best man.

  Mia, ever dependable, became his de facto co-planner, spending long evenings with him sorting through holographic decor proposals and guest lists to plan gifts for them. Despite his lingering attraction to her, Nye kept his emotions tightly controlled, unwilling to overwhelm her and jeopardize their friendship.

  Bret, too, emerged as someone Nye could eventually warm up to. Though insufferably boastful and odorous, he had a knack for making Nye laugh with his outrageous antics. Like his other friends, Nye too began teasing Bret with sarcasm, but always limiting it to polite humor. One of the most surprising moments of this critically hectic period came when Nye visited Bret’s home for the first time. Despite Bret’s ostentatious public persona and his unbearable body odor, his modest house was immaculate, tastefully decorated, and even boasted a charming backyard. They spent the evening grilling food and sharing beers while Bret regaled Nye with exaggerated tales of his exploits, much to the delight of his curious neighbors.

  Even Liz made time to check in on him multiple times. Her visits were a reminder that she genuinely cared for Nye as a friend. She had every valid reason to not be available as she had an empire to manage, but she still made time for him whenever she could. She would either hang out in Mia's presence or alone, but never in Bret’s presence.

  The biggest eye-opener for Nye in more ways than one was the bachelor party, three nights before the wedding. The hilltop resort transformed into a hedonistic wonderland as guests arrived, bringing with them a kaleidoscope of colors, sounds, and scents. The strippers that Nye had hired for the party, arrived in the most revealing and ravishing clothing than Nye had ever witnessed before. In fact, he had never seen anything like it—at least not since waking up. Music pulsed through the air as the guests danced in a full crowd, blending seamlessly with the neon beauty of the surroundings.

  It was the uninhibited debauchery, however, that left Nye speechless. As the night wore on, the party dissolved into a scene of unrestrained hedonistic revelry of bumping and humping bodies. Strangers entwined in passionate and vigorous humping on the strippers, their vibrantly hued bodies glowing under the ultraviolet lights. The ladies seemed to enjoy the vulgarity of it too. Well, they were being paid a lot, so they were bound to enjoy it regardless. The air became thick with the mingling scents of exotic stimulants and pheromones with non-stop moans and groans.

  Overwhelmed, Nye retreated to a secluded corner, clutching a glass of something dangerously potent. For the first time since waking from his coma, he felt an undeniable pang of longing—not just for physical intimacy, but for connection, for the effortless joy these strangers seemed to share. His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Mia before he shook himself free of the fantasy immediately. At this point, he couldn’t even find his friends, let alone, Vin. So he chose to spend the rest of the night at the bar instead, enjoying his drinks and avoiding bumping into anyone.

  And then, finally, the wedding day arrived. The levitation island was a spectacle of light and color, suspended high above the clouds. Guests milled about in their finest attire, their outfits shimmering in the sunlight—yet, not outdoing the bride's attire.

  Nye, dressed in a tailored suit that Mia had insisted on, felt a rare surge of confidence as he took his place beside Vin. The months of planning, the sleepless nights, the moments of self-doubt, and unexpectedly wholesome discoveries—all of it had led to this moment. And as he stood there, watching Vin and Gema exchange vows against the breathtaking backdrop of a sunlit sky, a flicker of something profound stirred within him. This wasn’t just about love—it was about defying a world that had given up on connection. For a moment, Nye allowed himself to feel a tad bit jealous without any malice in it. He just wished he could have it too.

  As the couple sealed their vows with a kiss, cheers erupted, and the floor filled with a kaleidoscope of guests swirling to the beat of interstellar melodies.

  Later that afternoon, when the sun was still on the horizon, the soft melodic music swirled through the air where the ceremony had just concluded. Lights floated midair, shimmering like galaxies under sunlight in celebration of Vin and Gema’s union. Nye found himself standing at the edge of the crowd, bemused but undeniably entertained, nursing a glass of sparkling Nebula Wine.

  Soon, he was pulled into the dance floor by Vera, one of Gema’s bridesmaids. Her light blue skin shimmered under the lights, her pitch-black hair flowing like silk, and her scarlet eyes radiated a warmth that contrasted her almost surreal appearance. She was a picture of grace as they moved to the rhythm. Nye, a self-taught awkward dancer, kept up while exchanging introductions with her mid-dance.

  “So, Vera,” he said with a sheepish grin, trying to appear at ease. “How exactly did you and Gema meet? Don’t tell me Vin introduced you to her—he can barely manage introductions without tripping over his own feet.” he chuckled, knowing that for a fact by now.

  Vera laughed, a sound as smooth as the wine in their glasses. “Not quite. Gema and I—we were rivals at the Borean Nova Dance Championship a few years ago. She crushed me, of course, but we became friends. What about you? Gema said you’re Vin’s memory-challenged best friend.”

  He chuckled, “That’s one way to put it. Let’s just say my brain took a hard reboot, and I’m still piecing together the user manual.”

  Vera laughed at his casual humor and the ability to take his memory loss lightly at this point.

  As they danced, Nye's gaze betrayed him, stealing frequent glances at Mia. She stood at the edge of the dance floor, sipping from a sleek silver chalice, her synthetic champagne gold gown flowing like liquid light against the sunlight. The deep neckline and backless design caught every glimmer of the floating lights, emphasizing her feminine figure. For someone who usually dressed like a noir detective from an old Earth drama, today she was the very embodiment of elegance.

  Vera smirked, catching Nye's not-so-subtle glances. “Should I be worried, or is she your muse?”

  “What? No!” Nye stammered, his face heating up. “She’s… just a friend. My best friend actually.”

  “Sure,” Vera teased, spinning him expertly to the beat. “You keep telling yourself that.” her tone was as playful as it could be. Nye sighed to her comment, realizing his glances at Mia were quite obvious at this point.

  Then at one point of the dance's sequence for a partner exchange, Nye finally got the chance to dance with Mia as she joined the dance floor.

  As soon as his hand brushed her bare back, he felt an involuntary shiver. It wasn’t just her beauty; it was the ease with which she laughed at his clumsy footwork and the sincerity in her smile when she teased him about his two left feet.

  “Remember,” she said, her tone playful, “one-two-three, one-two—ow, not on my toe!” she hissed rightfully.

  “I’m sorry!” he laughed nervously. “You should’ve seen me practicing this with the holograms. They don’t complain when you step on them.” he teased.

  “Well, you’re improving. Marginally,” she quipped back, her laughter lighting up the space between them.

  Meanwhile, Bret had transformed into the event’s unofficial photographer. His holographic camera drone whirred around, capturing everything from the couple’s first dance to close-ups of the levitating chandeliers. Every few minutes, he stopped to take another selfie, posing dramatically against the venue’s backdrop.

  “Bret,” Liz said, rolling her eyes as she sipped her drink, “if you spent half as much time being present as you do taking pictures, you might actually enjoy yourself.”

  “I enjoying myself,” he retorted, grinning. “Just making sure the world knows it too.” His comment drew another eyeroll from Liz but she decided to leave him be. It was better that way.

  As the official ceremony wound down, the group moved to a pre-booked resort’s lush garden for an afterparty under the lingering sunset. The air was filled with the scent of exotic flowers and freshly baked delicacies. Vin had loosened his tie, coat off, sleeves rolled up, looking every bit the relaxed groom. Everyone gathered around a long, ornately decorated table laden with delicacies from across the galaxy. Nye stood, tapping his glass for a toast.

  “To Vin and Gema,” Nye began, his voice steady but warm. “I might not remember all of our friendship, but these past three months have shown me just how incredible you two are together. Vin, you’ve found someone who makes the universe a better place just by being in it. Don’t screw it up, okay? And thanks for allowing me to be a part of this important day of your lives. Cheers to the newlyweds!” He raises his glass.

  Laughter and applause followed as everyone raised their glasses. One by one, the others followed suit, delivering heartfelt—or hilariously exaggerated—speeches. Even Bret managed a surprisingly touching toast, though he couldn’t resist peppering it with self-references. Trent had joined them at the after party. He did inform Vin and Nye beforehand that he wasn't going to make it to the actual ceremony on time because he had some high priority work assignments on hand.

  After the meal, Nye cornered Trent with a firm handshake and a rare smile. “Glad I made it,” Trent said, his voice mildly gravelly and filled with work exhaustion. “Work’s been hell, man—crime spikes, rogue androids, shrewd Primes, you name it. But I couldn’t miss this.” He shrugged.

  Nye nodded, genuinely glad to see his friend. “It’s not a party without you, Trent. Though, next time, maybe don’t wait until dessert to show up.” he teased, drawing a light laughter from Trent.

  At one point of his exchanges with Trent, Nye excused himself for a moment to refill his glass. However, he found the wine station barren of the bottles that had been opened for the guests. The only alcohol bottles left on the station were sealed close, and that wine fountain that didn't quite fancy Nye as he had tasted it earlier.

  Determined to find an automated cork, he ventured inside the resort, navigating its winding halls in search of the guest kitchen. The corridors were eerily quiet, the sound of distant laughter and music fading as he wandered cluelessly. He was drunk enough to use his intelligence to think clearly where the kitchen might be. Eventually, he caught a faint whiff of something herbal and smokey, immediately recognizing the smell of Mary. Following the scent, he turned a corner to find Mia perched atop a sleek, marble countertop in the guest kitchen, a joint glowing between her fingers. Blue smoke swirled lazily around her.

  “Mia?” he said, startled but amused. “Is this your secret retreat?” he teased.

  She glanced up, her eyes slightly glazed but sharp enough to flash a grin. “Nye! Déjà vu much? This feels like the time you caught me sneaking a smoke at work, what, ten years ago?”

  “Feels like yesterday?” Nye quipped, leaning against the counter. “Though I’m pretty sure neither of us looked like this back then.”

  Mia laughed, holding out the joint. “True. I was sexier.” She joked. “Consider the sacred joint as a reward for surviving the past three months.”

  Nye hesitated for a moment as he was planning to only drink today, but then he took it from her with a sly grin. “Well, when in Rome….” he shrugged.

  As he inhaled a few consecutive puffs in silence, he felt the weight of the day—and maybe his unresolved feelings for Mia—began to lift.

  The faint hum of the party outside was a distant echo. Nye and Mia sat side by side, sharing the silence as the joint traded hands, its blue-tinged smoke curling lazily upward and around them, dissolving into the air like unspoken secrets. When the joint burned to its end, Nye reached over, stubbed it out in the ashtray Mia had scavenged earlier, and exhaled a final plume of smoke. The fog in his mind settled into a serene haze, his body slackening with relaxation.

  “Thanks for that,” Nye murmured, his voice softer than usual, his eyelids drooping just enough to hint at his stoned state. Yet he wasn’t tired—just untethered, floating in the calm between sobriety and oblivion.

  “You bet,” Mia replied, a chuckle escaping her lips. She leaned back slightly, her bare shoulder brushing against his arm from time to time.

  Nye turned to face her fully, his gaze drawn magnetically to her. She had changed into a new dress for the after-party—a strapless red dress that hugged her figure perfectly, accentuating her sharp collar bones and the elegant curve of her waist before cascading loosely to her knees. Her scarlet heels added a touch of grace to her ethereal beauty, while her highlighter shimmered faintly in the dim light, pointing up the slope of her cheekbones. Every detail—the maroon hue of her hair, the subtle glimmer in her pool black eyes, the unapologetic boldness of her red lipstick—seemed to belong to an otherworldly muse.

  “You’re gawking, Nye,” Mia broke the silence, her voice carrying an amused lilt. “In fact, you’ve been gawking all day. What’s up?”

  Caught off guard at her blatant statement, Nye’s cheeks flushed, and he immediately straightened his posture. “Uh...well,” he began, fumbling for words. “You look beautiful. You’ve looked beautiful all day. Not my fault.” He shrugged, attempting nonchalance, though his ears betrayed him, burning bright red.

  Mia arched a perfectly sculpted brow, her lips curling into a teasing smirk. “Thank you,” she said, her voice playful yet tinged with genuine appreciation. “You can’t help yourself, can you?” She gave him a gentle nudge with her elbow, her smirk deepening.

  Nye laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry if I made it that obvious,” he said sheepishly, his gaze momentarily darting to the floor.

  Mia’s laughter filled the small space, warm and unrestrained. “Aw, Nye...you’re cute,” she said, her tone unexpectedly soft, her eyes lingering on his for a beat longer than necessary.

  Her words struck a chord within him, and before he could overthink it, Nye leaned in and planted a soft kiss on her lips. It was tentative at first, a gentle meeting of lips that carried the weight of unspoken feelings. Mia stiffened briefly, her breath hitching in surprise, but Nye’s hand found its way to her hair, his fingers weaving gently through the strands as he deepened the kiss. Although initially one-sided, the hesitation began to melt away, and slowly, Mia responded. Her hands slid up to his shoulders, then around his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss grew in intensity, a magnetic pull neither could resist under the influence.

  The world suddenly seemed to shrink around them, the distant sounds of laughter and music fading into irrelevance. It was just them—two souls caught in an electric current, the alcohol and haze only amplifying emotions that felt startlingly real. For Nye, this was something entirely new—a feeling of connection and intimacy that transcended memory, as if the universe itself had orchestrated this moment for him.

  “Oh, joy! Sorry for interrupting your smooch session!”

  The booming voice shattered the spell like glass hitting a tiled floor. They sprang apart, breathless and wide-eyed, turning to see Bret standing at the entrance with an exaggerated cringe plastered across his face.

  “Goodness, y’all! Get a room,” Bret added dramatically, grabbing a glass from the rack as if the interruption were entirely incidental. He shot them a sly grin before retreating, the door swinging shut behind him.

  Nye and Mia sat frozen, the air between them thick with a mix of embarrassment and unspoken tension. Mia pressed her fingers to her lips, her expression unreadable, while Nye’s face was an alarming shade of red.

  “Well...that happened,” Mia finally said, breaking the silence with a nervous laugh, though her voice carried a hint of something Nye couldn’t quite place—uncertainty? Amusement? Or perhaps, just maybe, a touch of regret.

  Nye cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. “Yeah...it did,” he replied, his gaze darting everywhere but her.

  For a moment, the silence returned, heavy and loaded, before Mia hopped off the counter with her usual ease, smoothing down her dress.

  “Come on,” she said, her voice light but her eyes avoiding his. “We should get back before anyone else decides to come looking for us.”

  “Yep!” Nye mumbled, trailing behind her as they left the kitchen, both pretending the moment hadn’t just redefined something between them—something they weren’t ready to face yet.

  Back at the sprawling luminescent garden, the pulse of the party resumed like an electric heartbeat as the sun had entirely dipped below the horizon. Strings of light orbs floated mid-air, casting ethereal glows on the crowd below. Music—a seamless blend of ancient melodies and futuristic synth—created a surreal ambiance that made everyone sway, drink, and laugh—more relaxed than the actual ceremony.

  Mia and Nye had rejoined the group, slipping seamlessly into the familiar rhythm of friendship. The center of attention, predictably, was Gema, her razor-sharp wit leaving Vin flustered yet defiant. The two exchanged barbs that sent waves of laughter rippling through the circle. Nye, though chuckling along, found his focus drifting. His thoughts snagged on the memory of the kiss he’d shared with Mia earlier—a kiss that, for him, had felt seismic.

  For Mia, however, it lingered in her mind like a stone in her shoe. She couldn’t ignore the nagging pity she felt.

  She needed to clear her head. Excusing herself from the group, Mia drifted toward the dance floor. The music, rhythmic and magnetic, seemed to call her. The beats resonated in her chest as she began to sway, her movements fluid and unrestrained. The soft glow of her dress—a red mesh material from the waist down that shifted shades as she moved—caught the strobe lights, making her look like a living red flame.

  “Couldn’t resist the music, could you?”

  The familiar voice made her turn, grinning widely as Trent appeared, his broad frame cutting an imposing figure under the shifting lights. He was dressed sharply, his suit tailored to perfection, with the faint glint of a Federal insignia pinned to his lapel—a subtle reminder of the weight he carried with his job.

  “Didn’t think you danced,” Mia quipped as he extended a hand.

  “I don’t,” Trent replied with a smirk, “but I make exceptions for old friends.”

  She laughed, slipping her hand into his as he pulled her close. Trent’s movements were surprisingly graceful, his hand firm but not overbearing on her waist. The two swayed in unison, surrounded by other dancers but locked in their own bubble of silent understanding.

  After a few minutes of comfortable quiet, Trent broke it with a low, measured tone. “Do you think he’s ready to return?”

  Mia stiffened slightly, her grin fading as she caught the weight behind the question. Trent’s face remained casual, the corners of his lips still curved into an easy smile, but his dark honey brown eyes betrayed the seriousness of his inquiry.

  Her initial response was instinctive—an incredulous laugh. “What? No! Are you insane?” She pulled back slightly, her expression sharp. “Trent, he’s barely had ten months to recalibrate. He’s got 33 years of his life to piece together! He doesn’t even remember Nile, your oh-so-fancy little at the Administration. And Dyla, and the...” She trailed off, biting her lip to stop the stream of words threatening to spill out.

  Trent raised an eyebrow, his smile widening slightly at her vehemence. “Touchy subject, huh?”

  Mia shot him a glare, her voice dropping to a hiss. “You don’t just throw someone into the abyss and expect them to swim up, Trent. He’s not ready to know what happened—not yet.”

  Trent tilted his head, considering her words. “So, how long do you think? Another nine months? A year?” His tone was light, but the question carried a pointed edge.

  “I don’t know,” Mia admitted, exhaling sharply. “Why don’t you spend more time with him and figure it out yourself, ?”

  Trent chuckled, his breath warm against her cheek as he leaned closer. “For the record, we’ve got women on the team. It’s not a boy group.”

  Mia rolled her eyes, her glare softening into a smirk. “For the record, you’re insufferable.” She punctuated her words with a light punch to his gut, making him double over dramatically before they both burst into laughter.

  “Come on,” she said, looping an arm around his neck in a mock headlock. “Let’s drag the newlyweds onto the dance floor before I start regretting this conversation.”

  As they turned to leave, Bret materialized in front of them like a specter, his usual sardonic grin firmly in place. He extended a hand toward Mia with an exaggerated flourish. “May I have the honor of a dance, milady?”

  Trent barely stifled a laugh as he glanced at Mia. She sighed audibly, already imagining the assault on her olfactory senses, but accepted Bret’s hand with a dramatic shrug. “Why not?”

  “Enjoy!” Trent called over his shoulder, his tone dripping with amusement as he walked off.

  Mia shot him a look of mock betrayal before turning her attention to Bret, who, unsurprisingly, reeked faintly of cheap cologne and rotting grease. She suppressed a grimace, plastering on a forced smile as they began to move.

  Meanwhile, Nye sat at the table with the other friends, his gaze locked on Mia. He had laughed earlier, genuinely entertained by her easy rapport with Trent, but a small, irrational twinge of jealousy had taken root. Now, watching her with , that feeling coiled tighter.

  

  The soft ambient glow of the neon overhead bathed the open space in shifting hues, giving the entire setting a dreamlike, almost surreal quality. Mia’s blood red hair shimmered faintly in the light, her movements fluid, precise, yet tinged with a restraint that spoke volumes about her mood. Across from her, Bret swayed awkwardly, his steps stilted yet purposeful, as though the rhythm of the music was a nuisance rather than a guide. His full face with a barely noticeable chin due to his double chin and perpetually narrowed eyes, gave him the look of someone perpetually unimpressed by the world around him.

  “So?” Bret’s voice broke through the melody, sharp and demanding, like a crack in the music.

  Mia raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sardonic smile. “What?” she asked, her tone light but carrying an edge.

  He shrugged, his movements calculated, his gaze fixed on her. “You enjoying yourself?”

  Mia tilted her head slightly, skepticism flashing in her dark eyes. “Mhm... and what exactly is supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t know. What do think?” Bret replied, his tone dripping with accusation.

  Mia let out a short, incredulous laugh, a sound that was more out of disbelief than amusement. “I’m sorry, what is this about? Drop the fucking diva act, Bret. Just say whatever it is you’re so obviously dying to say.”

  Bret’s expression twisted into a sneer, his lips curling upward in a way that revealed a glimpse of disdain. “You enjoying yourself, huh? Because ruining Nye’s life once clearly wasn’t enough. So now you’re back for round two? What’s the endgame here? Are you trying to get him killed this time? Or is it that you’ve finally got what you always wanted—him, all to yourself?”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Mia’s steps faltered as anger flashed across her face. She pulled back slightly, the space between them charged with tension. “Excuse me?” she asked, her voice sharp and dangerous. “What the are you even talking about?”

  “Ah, there it is. The classic narcissist routine.” Bret’s voice was low, venomous. “The ones who screw up always act confused when they’re called out. Isn’t that right?”

  Mia stopped mid-step, her jaw tightening as her patience snapped. Without another word, she grabbed Bret’s wrist in a vice-like grip and dragged him off the dance floor, her heels clicking sharply against the concrete below. Across the garden, Nye watched, his eyes narrowing slightly at the visible tension between them. For a moment, he considered following, but a quiet voice in the back of his mind told him to wait.

  Mia yanked Bret into a secluded corner, the pulsating lights casting sharp shadows across their faces. “Alright, cut the bullshit, Bret,” she said, her voice low but deadly. “What exactly are you trying to accuse me of?”

  Bret leaned back against the tree behind him, crossing his arms lazily over his chest, his posture oozing smugness. He exhaled loudly, drawing out the silence. “How’s the smooching business going these days?” he finally asked, his words cutting.

  Mia rolled her eyes, her patience wearing thinner by the second. “And how is any of your business? Yes, we were high, we kissed in the kitchen. Big deal. What’s the real problem here, Bret? Jealous that Nye isn’t paying enough attention?”

  Bret chuckled darkly, his eyes glinting with something cruel. “Oh, sweetie,” he said, his tone condescending. “I’m not talking about ght's kiss.”

  Mia’s frown deepened as confusion flickered across her face. “Then what the hell are you...?” Her voice trailed off as her mind raced, replaying his words. Slowly, her expression shifted, anger melting into shock. “Wait... what about it?” she asked, her voice quieter now, tinged with dread.

  Bret’s smirk widened, the expression of someone enjoying their upper hand. “Trent told me that Nile saw you and Nye cozying up at the black market downtown. His family died that night, and you know how. And of course, Nile spilled the beans to Dyla before doing .” His tone was light, almost conversational, but his words carried a heavy weight. “Honestly, Mia, if I were in your shoes, I’d rather vanish into the void than keep pulling this crap. But look at you, back here, taking advantage of Nye just because he doesn’t remember of it. Nice move.”

  Mia’s lips parted, but no words came out. Her face softened briefly, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through her usual defiance. “Wha...” she whispered, her voice catching in her throat.

  Before she could find the words, Bret pushed off the tree and strutted away, his steps deliberate, his sense of self-righteousness practically radiating off him. He left her there, standing alone in the corner, her thoughts swirling in a loud and chaotic storm.

  Mia blinked rapidly as her vision blurred. She raised a trembling hand to her face and realized she was crying. Her chest heaved as she inhaled sharply, trying to steady herself. After a long, heavy silence, she wiped her cheeks and straightened her posture, forcing herself to exhale slowly. She wasn’t about to let Bret—or anyone else—see her like this.

  As she made her way back to the crowd, Nye intercepted her almost immediately. His emerald eyes searched her face with genuine concern, his brow furrowed slightly. “Hey, everything okay?” he asked, his voice warm and careful, like he didn’t want to press too hard.

  Mia forced a bright smile, her mask of composure slipping effortlessly back into place. “Yeah, yeah. All good. Thanks, Nye,” she said, patting him lightly on the shoulder. Her tone was light, but her eyes avoided his as she walked past him.

  Nye frowned slightly, watching her as she rejoined the group at the table. Something about her didn’t sit right. Mia wasn’t the type to be rattled by Bret’s antics; she was practically immune to his theatrics. Yet there was something in her demeanor that felt... off.

  Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought and returned to the table, joining the group. Still, his eyes drifted toward her occasionally, watching as she laughed and mingled with the others, as though nothing had happened. But deep down, Nye couldn’t shake the feeling that she was quietly unraveling beneath the surface, and it wasn't a pleasant experience for her.

  -

  The sun rose over Sun Valley, spilling golden light through the crystalline levitating domes that encased the thriving island—a marvel of Earth’s partnership with three other planetary civilizations across the galaxy. It had been only eight hours since the after-party ended, and most of the guests were either back in their rooms or en route to distant planets or cities, dragging themselves into much-needed rest. The newlyweds had already embarked on their honeymoon to the opulent orbital city of Lysara, nestled on the luminescent oceans of Liroth—a planet celebrated for its cascading crystal reefs and bioluminescent skies.

  Back at Neryon Veil, Nye enjoyed the rare luxury of uninterrupted rest. For two straight nights, he allowed himself the indulgence of sleep—unlike the grueling responsibilities of the best man role he’d recently juggled. He had poured himself into months of tireless work, his duties leaving little room for reflection on the nine and a half months since he'd awoken from his coma. Now, cocooned in the comfort of his soft bed, he slept like a sack of hybrid potatoes—Earth-Lirothian imports known for their melon-sized heft and unmistakable earthy flavor.

  When Nye finally stirred, the shimmering bioluminescence mimicked a soft dawn glow in his room. He coughed, stretching out under the cozy covers before sitting up and rubbing his face. "Eve," he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep. "Any messages?"

  From the ceiling, the AI assistant's voice chimed, clear and pleasant, "Rise and glimmer, Nye! You have a text message from Bret and a voice note from Vin."

  Nye’s drowsy expression brightened momentarily, then dimmed. “Anything from Mia?” he asked, the question hanging heavier than he intended.

  Eve’s tone turned neutral. “Negative.”

  Nye slouched, disappointment settling over him like a weighted blanket. The kiss lingered in his thoughts, spiraling into a storm of regret and second-guessing. He shook the memory away and headed to the bathroom, the warmth of the shower doing little to ease his unease.

  Emerging from the bathroom wrapped in a snug robe, Nye moved to the kitchen, eager to distract himself. He busied his hands with slicing fruit and flipping eggs, but his mind wandered. Eve, perceptive as ever, interrupted his thoughts.

  “Nye, are you distressed? Do you require medical assistance?”

  “What? No, no…” He looked up at the ceiling, sighing. “I just… Mia texts me every night. I’m worried. She seemed off after the after-party.”

  Eve paused before suggesting, “Perhaps I should send a quick check-in message? Maybe invite her over for a Mary and Munching session?”

  Nye chuckled softly at the idea of their favorite combination. “Yeah, sure. Keep it casual, though. And, uh, platonic.”

  “?” Eve echoed, a hint of mock confusion in her tone. “Are you implying that the previous messages I sent were meant to be romantic? Have I been unknowingly playing matchmaker?”

  Nye groaned, rolling his eyes. “Just send the message. Don’t patronize me.”

  Eve mimicked a laugh before confirming, “Message sent.”

  “Thanks.” Nye exhaled, plating his breakfast and sitting on the tall kitchen stool. The first bite barely passed his lips when Eve chimed again.

  “You have a new voice message from Mia.”

  Nye froze mid-chew, his heart skipping a beat. “Play it!” he managed, swallowing hurriedly.

  Mia’s voice filled the room, warm yet subdued. “Hey, Nye. I’m actually heading to your place right now. I’ll bring food, so don’t bother cooking. See you soon.”

  The message ended, but something lingered—a subtle hollowness in her tone that pricked at Nye’s chest. Even Eve seemed to pick up on it.

  “Are you going to panic now, Nye?” the AI teased, her voice laced with faux concern.

  Nye chuckled, running a hand through his damp hair. “Shut up, Eve,” he muttered, a grin tugging at his lips despite the unease stirring in his gut. Mia’s visit would answer some questions—but perhaps bring new ones, too.

  Later that night, Mia finally arrived, the revving hum of her bike's engine echoing faintly through the quiet neighborhood. Nye, in the meantime, had oscillated between moments of industriousness and sheer nervous energy. He’d managed to roll a few joints using the automatic roller compartment built into his modular table in the living room. It had only taken fifteen minutes, but he’d spent the rest of the time pacing back and forth, repeatedly glancing at the clock, and questioning his decision to kiss her at the after-party.

  The sound of her bike pulling into the driveway jolted him from his spiral. Without hesitation, Nye rushed to the front door, flinging it open as if the momentum could dispel his nervous energy. There she was, dismounting her bike with her characteristic grace. She removed her helmet, shaking loose her blood-red hair, which cascaded to her mid-back like a scarlet waterfall.

  “Hey,” Nye greeted her, his voice tinged with nervous excitement. He raised a hand in a small wave.

  “Hey,” Mia replied coolly, her chin dipping in acknowledgment as she pulled open a compartment at the back of her bike. She retrieved two large food packages, her movements swift and efficient. Nye hurried forward, fumbling slightly with the gate as he rushed to help.

  “Let me get that,” he offered, taking the bags from her hands. “How are you?” His attempt at casual conversation betrayed the slight tremor in his voice.

  Mia smirked, a sharp yet amused quirk of her lips. “How are ?” she shot back, sidestepping his question with her usual deflection.

  They stepped inside, Nye carrying the food to the kitchen while Mia locked the door behind her. Nye noticed her attire—a long black overcoat instead of her usual cropped leather jackets layered over T-shirts. Her high-neck chains peeked out from beneath the coat's collar, adding a touch of her signature edge.

  “What’s with the overcoat?” he asked, his curiosity slipping out before he could stop himself.

  “It’s starting to get chilly outside,” Mia replied, shrugging as she moved to the couch. “The bike doesn’t exactly come with climate control, but I’m not giving it up. It’s my baby.”

  She sank into the couch, her sharp gaze landing on the joints scattered on the table. Her brow arched as she smirked, the corner of her mouth pulling upward in amusement. “Oh, look at you. Rolling joints now. Impressive, Nye.” Her sarcasm dripped like honey laced with venom.

  Nye grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “I thought I’d be productive while waiting,” he explained, a faint blush creeping up his neck.

  Mia chuckled softly, the sound both teasing and warm. “What do you mean? You're productive with the chores and everything.”

  “I, uh, well, okay, maybe not but usually.” He trailed off with a laugh, rubbing his palms nervously against his jeans. Then he gets to examining what was inside the meal boxes on the counter.

  Mia leaned back, the teasing smile slipping from her face gradually as her gaze turned distant. Her fingers traced the seam of the couch absentmindedly, and her expression softened, giving way to a fleeting sadness.

  Nye noticed immediately. He circled the counter and walked over, perching on the armrest of the couch beside her. “Hey,” he nudged her gently, his voice low and laced with mild concern. “You okay?”

  Mia flinched slightly, her eyes snapping back into focus. “Huh?” she muttered, blinking rapidly. “What were you saying?”

  Nye frowned, the lines of worry etched deeper into his face. He studied her for a moment, then took a deep breath. “Mia, seriously. Are you okay? You’ve been... . Distant. Since the, uh…” He hesitated before finishing, “the kiss.”

  Her reaction was immediate—a slight stiffening of her shoulders, a sharp intake of breath. She turned away, her hands curling into fists on her lap.

  “Mia,” Nye tried again, softer this time, “if I overstepped… if I made you uncomfortable, just say the word. I swear I’ll back off. You’re my friend first, and I’d rather keep that than—”

  “Nye,” Mia interrupted, her voice firm but tinged with a vulnerability he hadn’t expected. She turned to face him, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not you. It’s just... complicated. My life is complicated. I'm still figuring out how to process the…kiss” She paused, swallowing hard. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t still be your friend while at it, dummy.”

  She punched him lightly in the gut, a playful gesture meant to defuse the tension. Nye let out a relieved laugh, though his concern lingered but he suppressed it.

  “Alright, alright,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But if anything’s bothering you, promise you’ll tell me? I just want to help.”

  Mia didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stood abruptly, her movements stiff and deliberate. “Grab the joints,” she said over her shoulder, heading for the back door.

  Nye watched her go, a gnawing unease settling in his chest. He sighed, running a hand through his hair before scooping up the joints with the lighter, and following her outside.

  On the patio, Mia sat on her usual chair with her legs perched atop the back of another—as usual, staring out at the stars. The cool night air carried the faint scent of ozone mixed with the scent of wild flowers, a reminder of the atmospheric shifts that had reshaped their world after the nuclear event. Nye handed her a joint, and she lit it wordlessly, taking a long drag.

  “So,” Nye began, trying to keep his tone light, “what have you been up to? When does work start again?”

  Mia chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “Nothing. I’ve been in bed all day. Work started already. I called in sick for the last couple of nights— tonight.”

  “Uncharacteristic,” Nye teased, smirking. “But probably a good decision. Rest is important, you know. Even for badass bikers.”

  Mia laughed, a genuine sound this time, and took another puff before handing the joint back to Nye. They sat in silence for a while, the quiet stretching between them like a fragile thread.

  Nye glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his heart heavy with unspoken questions.

  After a silent session of finishing the joint, Mia extinguished the joint’s ember against the rim of the ashtray, her gaze drifting toward Nye. The faint glow of the patio lights cast shifting shadows across his features.

  “Say, Nye,” she began, her voice carrying that unplaceable weight of curiosity laced with unease, “do you think there’s a god out there? Or a Heaven? Or Hell?”

  Nye tilted his head, an eyebrow arching ever so slightly—a look she’d come to associate with the slow churn of his analytical mind. “God?” he echoed, the word foreign enough to feel static on his tongue.

  “I mean, I’ve skimmed bits about it at the facility—dusty old data archives, you know—but it always seemed like one of those concepts too ancient to bother decoding.” He shrugged casually, though his interest sparked through his otherwise nonchalant demeanor. “Actually…” He leaned forward slightly, resting an elbow on the table. “Define ‘god’ for me. Maybe if I understand it better, I’ll have something more useful to say.”

  Mia turned to face him fully, crossing her legs under her chair as she launched into an explanation, her words tinged with an antiquated reverence that felt centuries displaced in their technological world. Nye’s expression shifted somewhere between mild amusement and genuine confusion. By the time she was done, he blinked, a slow, deliberate blink. “I didn’t catch any of that,” he quipped, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Maybe describe it in this time?”

  Mia exhaled sharply, her patience thinning but not quite breaking. “Fine. God is supposedly some all-powerful being who created everything—the universe, us, all of it. Heaven is where good people go after they die, and Hell is where the bad ones end up. Clear and dumb enough?” she teased.

  This time, Nye’s blink was less bewildered and more contemplative. He leaned back, folding his arms as her explanation seemed to ignite an unspoken flood of questions in his mind. “Huh,” he muttered after a long pause. “I mean if you look at how the universe is structured—its intricacies, its balance, and all the ridiculous calculations behind every atom—then yeah, I guess you could say it’s plausible that someone, or something, engineered it all. But Heaven and Hell?” He let out a low, nervous laugh. “That’s where things get dicey for me. I mean, what even makes someone ‘good’ or ‘bad’? Everyone’s a mix, aren’t they? We all have our virtues and… our flaws.” He shrugged as if the enormity of the question had flattened his confidence. “So, how do you decide?”

  Mia’s expression turned sharper, curiosity driving her next question. “What if someone’s a murderer? Like, they killed someone in cold blood. Does that automatically make them bad? Hell-worthy?”

  Nye’s response was almost instantaneous, the instinct of his mind to challenge rather than concede. “What if that same person once saved a life or… I don’t know, helped someone when no one else would? Are we saying one bad act erases all their good ones? Or vice versa?”

  She chuckled, the sound tinged with a dark edge. “Okay, but what about serial killers? The ones splashed across the news. Dozens of victims. You think they’ve got any chance of a one-way ticket to Heaven?”

  That one got him. Nye fell silent, his fingers tapping absently against the armrest of his chair as he mulled it over. After a moment, he shrugged again, his go-to gesture when he had no answer. “Yeah, I got nothing. It’s too… subjective. Guess I’ll stick with not knowing for now.” He shifted his gaze to her, curiosity sparking once more. “But what about you? Do think there’s a god out there?”

  Mia hesitated, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “I don’t know,” she admitted softly. “And that’s what scares me. Because if there isn’t…” Her voice trailed off, her next words laced with a quiet dread. “If there isn’t a god, Nye, we’re all doomed.”

  Nye cocked his head, the expression almost childlike in its curiosity. “Doomed how?”

  She looked at him, her eyes shadowed with an unease he rarely saw in her. “You’ll know the day they finally prove there’s no god,” she said cryptically, her voice dropping to a whisper that felt heavier than the night air.

  “Wait, wait.” Nye held up a hand. “Are you telling me no one’s managed to prove God doesn’t exist? After all this time?” He leaned forward, disbelief etched into his features. “If they can’t disprove it, why don’t people believe anymore?”

  Mia’s laugh was short and humorless. “Because humans simply gave up. After centuries of suffering during the post-nuclear evolution and screwing up their own planet, they stopped looking for something to believe in. And the irony? are the ones who tried to play God—building AI, pushing boundaries we didn’t understand—and we ended up destroying everything we touched. So instead of owning up to our own failures, we blamed God. Or the lack of one. Humans always need something or someone to blame. It’s easier than admitting we’re the problem.”

  “Damn,” Nye muttered, sinking back into his chair, reflecting on a similar kind of conversation he once had with Eve about humans. “That was… a lot. Profound, sure, but a .” He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish grin breaking through.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m too high for this level of existentialism. I say, though, humans screwing up by playing God? Yeah, I can get behind that one. History’s got receipts.” He nodded in agreement.

  Mia cracked a wry smile at that. “Exactly. And that’s why I think no one—human, alien, whatever—should ever try to play God. It ends well.”

  Nye nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Fair point. But then why do we keep doing it? Don’t we have enough data to predict how this goes every time?”

  She let out a resigned sigh. “Because humans are cursed with emotional intelligence, Nye. Too complicated for our own good. Honestly, we should’ve taken a page out of our alien neighbors’ book.”

  Nye chuckled. “No arguments there.” He rose abruptly, stretching lazily. “Anyway, thanks for the oddly deep convo. I need something to wash all that philosophy down with. Be right back.” He wandered off toward the house, leaving Mia alone at the patio, her thoughts a brewing storm of guilt and unanswered questions.

  When he returned, Nye tossed her a beer bottle, which she caught deftly. As they sat in another session of silence, sipping quietly, each lost in their own thoughts, Nye couldn’t help but glance at her—admiring, wondering, wishing for something more. Mia, meanwhile, stared out into the incandescent wilderness of his back garden, her mind heavy with memories she wished she could forget, like Nye.

  As the bottles emptied, the two headed back to the house to feast on the food Mia had brought. Nye adored this ritual between them. There were nights when Nye would cook for them, and then there were times when Mia would bring over food from different places for him to try. It was a wholesome exchange of their friendship.

  After the meal, Nye had expected Mia to linger a bit longer, perhaps sharing another joint with him under the mellow glow of the living room’s ambient fixtures. But to his surprise, Mia chose to leave early—a rarity for her. "I to go to work in eight hours," she stressed, her tone tinged with a mix of reluctance and determination. She explained, almost apologetically, that she’d already skipped work for three consecutive nights.

  Though her reasoning was valid, something in her voice—a subtle tremor, a quiet sadness—set off alarm bells in Nye’s mind. Still, he refrained from pressing. Instead, he slipped a couple of joints into the pocket of her overcoat so she could smoke at work sneakily, as always—a fact that she has well established to Nye, along with the other fact that Nye was the only person ever to catch her smoking weed at work.

  At the front door, Mia stood on her toes, pulling him into an embrace so firm and heartfelt it seemed to speak volumes of what she couldn't. Her warm breath brushed his ear as she whispered, “Goodbye, Nye.” Her words lingered in the air, heavy and strangely final. She kissed his cheek softly, then pulled back just enough to take a good look at him. Her hand cupped his face, her thumb brushing lightly over his cheekbone.

  “You’re a good person, Nye,” she said, her voice steady yet brimming with something he couldn’t quite place. Then, with a subtle nod, she turned and stepped down the porch stairs.

  Nye followed her to the edge of his front garden, the faint aroma of their shared dinner and burnt Mary trailing in the cool night air. As she picked up her helmet and slid it over her crimson locks, he forced a smile, masking his unease. “Bye. Be safe,” he said, his voice calm but his eyes searching hers for an answer she wasn’t ready to give.

  Mia simply waved at him, her silhouette illuminated briefly by the soft bioluminescent lights lining the street. The hum of her glider bike soon broke the silence, its engine purring to life before she sped into the dark horizon, her figure swallowed by the shimmering expanse beyond.

  Nye lingered at the garden gate, staring after her. A pang of guilt gnawed at him, his mind replaying the kiss he’d stolen just days ago. The questions tightened around his chest like a vice, but the haze of the Mary and the beer dulled the sharper edges of his anxiety.

  With a sigh, he walked back into his house, the faint hum of automated systems welcoming him. He cleaned the kitchen with a sort of mechanical efficiency, placing dishes and utensils back where they belonged. Then he slumped onto the couch, the weight of the evening pressing down on him. “Eve, pull up that show… ‘When Did That Happen?’” he mumbled, his voice thick with fatigue.

  The holo-screen flickered to life, and Nye lit another joint, hoping the familiar humor of the series might distract him from the growing pit in his stomach. But even before the credits of the first episode rolled, the weed lulled him into a dreamless, intoxicated sleep. The holo-screen dimmed, and Eve, ever watchful, fogged the glass walls to block out the transparency inside the house.

  Seven hours later, just as the faint glow of morning kissed the skyline, an emergency alert shattered the quiet. Nye jolted awake, his heart racing as a loud, piercing beep erupted from his Voxlet and through the ceiling.

  “Eve!” he shouted groggily, hands flying to his temples. “What the hell is that?”

  “Good morning, Nye. The sun is out today!” Eve’s voice chimed from the ceiling. “Looks like you have an emergency call from Liz. It appears to have overridden your setting.” By the time Eve finished explaining, the AI itself seemed uncertain as to what could have called for an override.

  “What? Why?” Nye groaned, groggy and unprepared for the assault of bright holographic notifications suspended midair above his Voxlet. “Well, what do I do? How do I make it stop?” His face was twisted into a wince at the incessant beeping.

  “Answer it through your Voxlet,” Eve replied, her tone calm but tinged with curiosity.

  Nye glanced at his wrist, where the holographic interface of his Voxlet flickered with an incoming call, showing options to answer or decline the call. With a swipe, he accepted it. “Liz? What’s going on? Are you okay?” His voice was laced with genuine concern.

  Liz’s holographic projection materialized in front of him. Her face was pale, her wide eyes brimming with dread. She opened her mouth to speak, but for a moment, no words came out.

  “Liz?” Nye pressed, his brow furrowing. “What happened? Talk to me.”

  “Nye…” she finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper. “could you… could you come over quickly? It’s… it’s an emergency. I’m sending you the coordinates.”

  “Of course. I’ll be there. Are you safe?” he asked, already on his feet.

  “Yes… just hurry,” Liz said. Before Nye could ask another question, the call abruptly disconnected, leaving him staring at the fading hologram in stunned silence—struggling to process the abruptness of the call.

  “Eve, prep the glider and get it on the driveway,” He barked on his way to the bedroom.

  Nye splashed cold water on his face and brushed his teeth. Skipping a shower, his hands moved on autopilot, yanking a plain black jacket off its hanger and slipping into a pair of rugged boots. He ran his fingers through his unruly hair before bolting out the door.

  “I'll catch up with you through the Voxlet.” He says to Eve on his way out.

  The sleek, obsidian-black glider hovered silently in the driveway, its aerodynamic shell gleaming under the soft morning light. As Nye climbed in, the vehicle’s harness automatically strapped him into the passenger’s seat, the interior illuminated with the soft blue glow of the control panels.

  “Take me to the location Liz sent. Fast,” he commands.

  “Coordinates received. Engaging hyper-flight mode,” Eve spoke through the vehicle’s navigation system as the glider lifted off the ground with a gentle hum. Moments later, the craft shot forward, leaving behind a trail of ionized particles that shimmered faintly in the air.

  The city of Neryon Veil blurred beneath him as the glider sped toward the edge of the metropolis, where the sprawling suspension bridge known as Liz wasn’t the type to panic easily—what could possibly have shaken her like that?

  As the glider approached the bridge’s gate on Neryon’s end, Nye’s brows furrowed in confusion. The scene below was a chaotic flurry of activity at the gate. Law enforcers, both humans and humanoids clad in exosuits buzzed around like mechanized bees, their boots clinking against the bridge’s reinforced steel surface. Emergency drones hovered overhead, their floodlights casting harsh beams over the grim tableau. He saw his friends gathered at the gate among the LEs.

  The glider descended smoothly, coming to rest near the entrance of the bridge where Liz stood with Vin and Gema. Nye leapt out of the cockpit, his gaze darting between his friends. “Vin? Gema? What the hell are you two doing here? Aren't you supposed to be on your honeymoon?” he blurted, his confusion only deepening when neither of them answered.

  Vin’s jaw tightened, his usual confident demeanor replaced by a grim calm. Gema, too, avoided Nye’s gaze altogether, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Nye’s concern spiked.

  “Liz!” He turned to her, his voice rising. “What’s going on? Why is everyone acting so—” His words faltered as he noticed the tears streaming down Liz’s face. She was visibly trembling, her hands clasped over her mouth as if trying to physically hold back a scream.

  “Liz, talk to me!” Nye demanded, stepping closer. His voice softened when he saw the anguish in her eyes. “Please. What happened?”

  Liz lowered her hands, exhaling a shuddering breath. Her voice came out hoarse, almost inaudible. “Mia is gone.”

  Nye blinked, uncomprehending. “What do you mean, gone? Where—”

  Liz raised a trembling hand, pointing toward one of the towering light pylons that lined the bridge. Nye followed her gaze, his heart plummeting as he registered the horrific sight. Mia’s lifeless body hung from the pylon, her scarlet hair swaying gently in the morning breeze. Her head was tilted at an unnatural angle as it hung next to her shoulder, her neck grotesquely twisted. Her tongue had come out of her mouth, laying over her forehead. She had soiled herself. A synthetic rope was tightly gripping onto the shrunken mass that was once her neck.

  For a moment, Nye couldn’t breathe. The world around him seemed to tilt, the sounds of the enforcers and drones fading into a distant noise. His legs moved on autopilot, carrying him toward the pylon. He did not even hear Liz's calls from behind. As he approached, his eyes caught the bright, jarring splash of paint on the ground.

  Sprayed across the bridge in stark red letters was Mia’s final message: “My guilt won.”

  Nye froze, his mind a storm of disbelief and anguish. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the cold steel of the bridge. The tears came in a torrent, unstoppable and raw. He screamed—an agonized, guttural sound that seemed to echo across the bridge and into the endless sky.

  Liz, Vin, and Gema rushed to his side, enveloping him in a protective circle. “We’ve got you, Nye,” Liz whispered, her voice cracking as she fought back her own tears. “We’re here. We’re not going anywhere.”

  Time blurred after that. Nye wasn’t sure how long he sat there bawling his eyes out, his grief consuming him as his friends kept him snug in their hold.

  Later that day, after the officials meticulously removed Mia’s body, adhering to the strict protocol for coroner examinations, her friends were left to complete the excruciatingly clinical paperwork for her proceedings. The cold, bureaucratic process felt almost cruel in its detachment, as though it was trying to sanitize the raw, gaping wound left in her absence.

  When everything was finally done, they exchanged weary, solemn glances, silently agreeing on what needed to happen next. Vin and Gema volunteered to escort Nye home. “I’ll ride with him,” Vin offered firmly, his voice low but resolute. He wasn’t asking for permission—he was stating a fact. Nye wouldn’t be left to his own devices in his state of shock and silence.

  “I’ll follow in our glider,” Gema added softly, a trace of worry in her tone as her eyes lingered on Nye, who sat at the visitors’ corner away from them, uncharacteristically silent and utterly motionless.

  Liz, still pacing as though she could outrun the suffocating anxiety gripping her chest, stopped abruptly. “I’m going too,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. She grabbed her flight jacket and added, “In my own glider.”

  Nye, however, didn’t react to any of it. His friends’ plans and decisions were made as though he wasn’t even there—and in many ways, he wasn’t. His vacant eyes stared through the window, unseeing, as the distant hum of city gliders filled the air outside. He moved when guided, stopped when prompted, but his silence was deafening. It was more than shock; it was the void of someone slipping dangerously close to the edge.

  Vin caught Liz’s eye and gave a subtle nod, the unspoken fear weighing heavily between them. They didn’t dare say it out loud, but the thought hung in the air like an invisible specter. Nye was too quiet, too still, and it terrified them. Because silence, they knew, could be the prelude to something irreversible, like another suicide.

  They all silently vowed to ensure it wouldn’t come to that. And so, they all accompanied Nye to his housing unit. Nye's glider lowered gently at his driveway and the doors parted open. Vin got out first and helped Nye step out of the cockpit—his stare blank and lost.

  After Nye’s silent and hollow steps led him to the threshold of his front door, Liz, Gema, and Vin trailed behind him with hesitant resolve. The weight of the day hung heavy, suffocating even the air inside his modest yet sleek duplex unit as they all stepped inside. The door slid shut behind them with a quiet hiss, the biometric lock clicking into place. Nye exhaled sharply, his tone as curt as the swish of the closing door.

  “Thank you for bringing me back,” he muttered at last, not meeting their gazes. “I’ll be fine. I need space. You guys can go now.” His words were clipped, his voice brittle.

  Vin, towering and stoic but carrying his usual stubborn air of brotherly concern, folded his arms across his broad chest. “I’m not going anywhere, Nye. Not tonight.”

  Liz stepped forward, her usually snobbish energy dampened but not diminished. “Neither am I. Nye, you’re not okay, and I refuse to be the kind of friend who just leaves you to drown in your own head. Let's get you to your bed, okay?”

  “Agreed,” Gema added quietly but firmly, her gaze soft yet resolute. “We’re staying, and you should rest, Nye.”

  The collective defiance was enough to push Nye to the brink. His head snapped up, his emerald eyes blazing with frustration. “I said ” His voice echoed off the apartment’s transparent walls. The words reverberated with the rawness of someone standing on the edge of a crumbling ledge.

  Liz squared her shoulders, stepping closer. “No, Nye. I don’t care how mad you get. We’re staying because—”

  “Because what?!” Nye cut her off, his voice cracking. He spun around, his hand slamming onto the edge of the kitchen counter with a sharp thud. “You think hovering around me will magically fix things? Would that bring back?” His voice quaked, an agonizing cocktail of grief and anger bleeding into every syllable.

  Gema flinched at his outburst, while Vin tightened his jaw but didn’t move an inch. Liz, however, refused to yield. Her voice softened, but her determination did not falter. “No, Nye. I know nothing will bring her back. But being alone right now? That’s not the answer.”

  The sun had long dipped below the horizon, and the ambient lighting in the room automatically adjusted to a low, warm hue, casting long shadows on their faces. Nye’s fists clenched and unclenched at his sides as though he was fighting an invisible war within himself.

  “Just—leave me alone!” he bellowed, his voice ragged and strained, cutting through the stillness like a razor. He raised his hands in frustration, but as he tried to continue, his words faltered. His voice became slurred, disjointed, a jumble of sounds that didn’t coalesce into words.

  Liz froze, her eyes widening in fear. “Nye?”

  His body trembled violently, his knees buckling. Before anyone could react, he dropped to the floor, his limbs jerking uncontrollably. The seizure took hold with a ferocity that stole the breath from the room.

  “Nye!” Liz screamed, dropping to her knees beside him. “He's seizing! What do we do?!” She hollers in panic.

  Vin was already on his Voxlet, summoning emergency responders. Gema hovered nearby, her hands pressed to her mouth as panic etched across her face. Nye’s body convulsed violently as Liz began to cry at her friend's suffering.

  “Turn him on his side!” Vin barked, kneeling beside Liz and taking control of the situation. His voice was steady, but his hands trembled as he helped Liz shift Nye to his side to prevent him from choking.

  For Nye, the world became a cacophony of chaos as ripples of unimaginably excruciating pain surged through his body and he struggled to breathe properly. It was as terrifying for him as it was for his friends, until his consciousness drifted in a dark void before Mia’s voice rang in his ears one last

  time—