The guest suite door opened with a tired mechanical chime, and the cool, recycled air washed over her ankles first—sharp, filtered, and dry like hospitals always were. Mira stepped inside without waiting, eyes scanning the corners automatically. Beige walls. Pale flooring. A wide bed pressed against one side of the room, and a fold-out cot already made on the other, thin blanket smoothed into perfect corners. No paintings, just a mounted emergency instruction sheet in three languages and a tiny window carved into the upper wall.

  It was better than some places they’d stayed. But only just.

  She kicked off her shoes and padded across the floor in her socks, peering behind the curtain, checking the drawers even though she didn’t plan to unpack.

  “Dad,” she asked, twisting around, “what’s the plan today?

  Harrison placed his folder down, loosened his collar, and answered without looking up. “Take a rest first. We’ll have lunch at the canteen in an hour.”

  Mira made a face and flopped backward onto the cot, arms spread. The mattress gave a dusty sigh beneath her weight.

  “And after lunch?”

  “You’ll have free time to walk around the internal area. Just don’t open any doors that aren’t yours. Or jump into anyone’s room trying to introduce yourself.”

  She rolled her eyes, but grinned. “That happened one time.”

  He continued, unamused. “No cameras allowed in this sector, especially not the guest block. That includes your little pocket recorder.”

  Mira groaned, dragging a pillow over her face.

  Harrison pulled a small card from his jacket pocket and placed it on the table. “This is Rene. She’s one of the internal staff. I asked her to keep an eye out for you.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” Mira mumbled from under the pillow.

  “She won’t follow you,” he said mildly, “but don’t make trouble for her. She has other responsibilities.”

  Mira peeked out, pouting. “You say that like I’m going to steal classified files and blow up a lab.”

  “I’m saying it like I’ve met you.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him, but her heart wasn’t really in the rebellion.

  *

  The night had already softened by the time Harrison returned, the heat of the day slipping away into the hush of summer air. Marivena’s coastline stretched not far from the edge of the diplomatic quarters, a place where the city’s breath slowed—salt-washed, a little worn, and still recovering—but peaceful, especially after dusk.

  The air was cooler by the sea, full of brine and something sweet—maybe grilled corn from a street vendor nearby, or the tang of seaweed warmed during the day and cooling now under the open sky. The stars were just beginning to appear, soft and low like pinpricks of breath caught on velvet.

  They sat at one of the outdoor tables, Mira swinging her legs, eyes bright despite how long she'd been left on her own.

  “So,” Harrison said, resting his elbows on the table, “how was your day?”

  “I made a friend,” Mira declared immediately, chin high with satisfaction.

  That earned a raised brow from Harrison. “Did you?”

  She nodded. “There’s a boy. My age. Or maybe a little older. He’s staying here too. I think in a different block.”

  Harrison looked at her carefully for a moment before speaking again, his tone light but weighed.

  “You didn’t jump on him just to ask him to be your friend, did you?”

  Mira’s grin widened, completely unrepentant. “Unfortunately, I did.”

  Harrison let out a short breath that was probably supposed to be a sigh, but came out more like a laugh. He shook his head.

  “Mira.”

  “What? He was ignoring me. It worked.” Mira beamed, eyes dancing with triumph, as if ambushing boys into friendship was a perfectly acceptable diplomatic maneuver.

  Then, with the ease of someone who’d already made arrangements on behalf of nations, she added, “He wanted to go with me to the NGO center too. Can you register for both of us?”

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  Harrison paused mid-reach for his tea, brows knitting just slightly. “Are you sure that’s what he asked you?”

  “Yes,” she said, unflinching. “Surer than surer.”

  He studied her for a beat longer, like he was trying to read between the lines of a language only children spoke fluently. “Mira, what exactly did he say?”

  She tilted her head thoughtfully, then shrugged, all innocence. “Well, he didn’t say he didn’t want to.”

  “Mira…”

  “What do you need then, Dad? A signed document?” she grinned. “You can list me as his witness.”

  Harrison set down his cup. “Mira, I can’t just sign him up. I need to know who’s responsible for him.”

  She didn’t miss a beat. “So when will you need to meet him? Or them?” she asked, far too casually—except for the spark in her eyes that gave her away entirely.

  Harrison studied her a little longer, doubt still clouding his gaze. “I was busy today,” he said slowly, “but I’ll ask the NGO center tomorrow and let you know.”

  “Thank you!” she beamed, digging into her grilled rice with renewed delight, kicking her legs beneath the table like the deal had already been struck and signed in gold.

  Harrison exhaled and glanced out toward the dim coastline, the waves still whispering under the moonlight, wondering how—within twenty-four hours—his daughter had managed to rope an unknown boy into her orbit and start drawing up paperwork.

  *

  Adrian wasn’t supposed to be there.

  He had finished what he came to do hours ago. By all logic, he should’ve gone back to his block, rechecked the encryptions, maybe slept for three hours before starting again.

  But instead, his feet had brought him here. To the path lined with motionless lights, to the small, square building tucked between the dining hall and the administration wing. To the library.

  He hadn’t intended to go in. He had stopped at the door only for a second. Just to see. Just to confirm what he already knew: she wouldn’t be there. No one would wait that long.

  But the light was on.

  And so was she.

  He stepped inside silently, like a shadow out of habit. His eyes found her instantly—her shape small at the center table, arms folded like a barrier, her head resting atop them, as if the weight of belief had finally tipped her sideways. The stubborn sparkle in her eyes was gone, but her presence was louder than any shout.

  He stood still. That should’ve been the end of it. He’d seen her. That was enough.

  She was just a kid. Like him, technically. Except somehow more willing to believe in things that didn’t make sense. Like promises from strangers. Like a boy she barely knew showing up just because she said so.

  It would’ve been easy to turn around.

  But something about the way she was curled there—unguarded, alone, made it hard to walk away.

  He told himself it was rational.

  If she stayed here, asleep, someone would find her. Probably her father.

  He took a few slow steps forward. Maybe to wake her. Maybe to make sure she was breathing evenly. Maybe—just maybe—to say something. He didn’t know.

  But before he could do any of it, her hand moved.

  It rose, soft and sudden, and caught his wrist like she had been waiting for him to exist in that exact space.

  “Got you!” she whispered.

  His breath caught. Just a little.

  “…Are you supposed to be asleep?” he asked before he could stop himself.

  “I didn’t mean to. Just needed a bit of rest. For a second.”

  She still held on.

  And he still didn’t move.

  Mira beamed, her whole expression glowing with a mix of victory and something softer. “I knew you’d come around.”

  And then, without a second thought, she threw her arms around him in a swift, grateful hug.

  He froze.

  Like a statue suddenly faced with something warm and breathing. His hands hovered for a second—uncertain, unused to this kind of closeness—but he didn’t push her away.

  When she pulled back, she was still smiling.

  And he, silent as always, didn’t say no.

  At the door, he reached for the switch without hesitation.

  The overhead lights blinked out one by one—soft clicks echoing through the empty room until only the glow from the courtyard lights spilled in through the windows.

  Mira tensed, just a fraction.

  He glanced sideways. “You okay?”

  “Of course,” she said, quick and a little too proud. She puffed her chest slightly, trying to look older than nine.

  They stepped outside.

  The courtyard path was lined with low lamps—warm, golden light tracing the way back to the guest blocks.

  She took a few confident steps beside him.

  Then a rustle.

  Something moved—or maybe didn’t. A blur in the shadow of the hedge. A low click sounded—sharp and sudden, like a chameleon’s throat-pouch snap.

  Mira jerked, eyes wide.

  And then—she screamed.

  A sharp, high-pitched spark of pure panic—and bolted. Sprinting past the path lights like they were fleeing with her, her shoes barely touching the stone tiles.

  He blinked. Slowly.

  Then, as her flailing silhouette vanished ahead—arms and curls flying like chaos—a smile spreaded at the corner of his lips. The smallest smile of a boy who had spent days buried in silence and plans and serious things—watching a hurricane of a girl bring chaos to his night like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  *

  Little Mira lay curled beneath the thin summer sheet, staring up at the ceiling with the kind of triumph that only came after chasing down a storm and winning. Her cheeks still ached from smiling too much.

  She couldn’t sleep. She stayed like this—eyes wide open, basking in the glow of her brilliant plan, her perfect timing, her first mission completed. She had done it. He had agreed, and tomorrow they would begin their very official, extremely important summer adventure—maybe the first time she ever found someone who didn’t pull away from her.

  She would stay awake. Just like this. Just five minutes more.

  And five minutes later, she was already halfway into her dreams—where pinky promises glittered like crystal candy, and soda pop fizzed in the air like tiny fireworks. Aiden was there with her, chasing sugar sparks across the summer dusk, laughing as if he had always been meant to stay.

  *