?

  A dreamlike wonder washes over Mira as her eyes flutter open to the swirling heights of the view. She is perched atop the squirrel, her small hands sinking deep into a thick sea of plush, copper fur. Each ginger strand feels like a silken thread of warmth against her skin, offering a grip as sturdy as the ancient, gnarled roots of the forest giants.

  The world transforms into a dizzying kaleidoscope of amber, ochre, and burnt gold. With a sudden burst of wild energy, the squirrel hurls itself into the void, performing breathtaking arcs from one towering limb to the next. Mira feels the powerful surge of life beneath her as the creature’s muscles coil and release in a magnificent display of forest grace. A biting, pre-storm wind whistles past her, thick with the earthy perfume of fallen leaves and the metallic tang of the coming rain.

  As they strike a heavy bough, the wood yields with a springy bounce, sending a flow of motion through her body like a small boat cresting golden waves. Her laughter rings out—a bright, crystalline sound that echoes through the rustling tiers of the forest. From this height, the earth is a tapestry woven from fire and shadow, where fallen maple stars and oak leaves spread out like a sea of embers. Patches of moss peek through the gold like scattered emerald islands, and the curves of a hidden stream glint like a silver vein catching the final light.

  Ahead, the rosehips hang like clusters of polished scarlet lanterns, the very last jewels of the season clinging to the briars. Each fruit is a heavy globe larger than Mira’s head and glowing with a deep fire against the leaden sky. To her tiny emerald eyes, the leaves have mostly vanished, leaving only a few translucent bronze shields that filter the light of the cloudy afternoon into a sea of muted gold. The squirrel pulls her closer to the harvest, where the fruit sways like heavy bells and a scent of sun-dried hay and fermented sugar surrounds her like a cloud of perfume.

  Mira eases herself down the copper slope of the squirrel's shoulder. She reaches out to grip the thorny branch for balance, but she slips over the edge, her small hands snapping shut around a secondary shoot just in time to arrest the fall.

  The sudden jerk sends the entire bough into a wild, springy dance. She hangs suspended in the air, swinging back and forth as her crimson doll dress flares out like a bell made of flower petals. A bright laughter rings through the autumn trees, echoing against the heavy rosehips that bob in the air. Her toes brush against the cold mist as the branch tosses her, and she watches the grey sky spin above her while she clings to her swaying wooden perch.

  The squirrel dips its head, catching the hem of her fluttering crimson dress in its teeth to steady her as the branch settles, then extends a nimble paw to scoop Mira from the prickly thicket. It leaps toward a fallen log and settles her onto a mossy log. The creature leans back toward the briar and snaps the stem of the ripest rosehip with a sharp click of its teeth. It carries the scarlet orb over and nudges it across the timber until the fruit rests against her knees.

  She looks up at the squirrel, which sits watching her from the edge of a branch, its tail flicking once in acknowledgement.

  “Thanks,” she smiles. “You didn’t have to share.”

  The giant fruit feels far too heavy for her to move. Mira pushes the scarlet globe to the side and enjoys the view of the squirrels playing and running through the thorny branches, snapping the stems of the last fruits.

  A moment later, she finds herself surrounded by a patch of glowing mushrooms when the squirrel carries her further into the forest. Dozens of them stand tall and slender, with caps like parasols. Each one is dusted with golden flecks that catch the light like powdered stars mid-twirl. The squirrel skitters ahead and stops beside the tallest one, lifting its tiny paws and chirping a single high note that sounds, unmistakably, like an invitation.

  With the ceremony of someone about to press a button marked Do Not Touch (But Also, Please Do), Mira climbs onto the soft curve of a fallen log. She reaches up and lays her palm gently against the mushroom’s smooth, moon-pale cap.

  There’s a pause. A blink of stillness.

  Then—pfft.

  A gleaming cloud bursts from the gills below, a hush of glittering spores that scatter into the air like snow if snow were spun from stars and moonlit dust. The particles drift in slow spirals, catching sunbeams and turning them into threads of gold, blush-pink, and lavender. “The spores…” she whispers, her voice small and awed. “They sparkle.”

  The squirrel, clearly pleased with its performance, leaps into another cloud and does a midair somersault like a fairy acrobat. A second puff blooms upward in a swirl before cascading down like a glittering curtain.

  They play for a while—just long enough to forget what worry feels like—as the dust settles in glimmering arcs around them. Eventually, the wind picks up, catching the drifting gold and carrying it skyward, trailing it across the treetops in long ribbons that unravel into the light.

  Mira collapses back into the moss, breathless with laughter, limbs stretched out, a grin caught in the corners of her lips. The squirrel flops down beside her like it’s run a marathon, legs splayed, tail curved over both of them like a feathery shield against the world.

  ?

  The sky roars with a long rumble like a provoked black cat as heavy clouds roll together to fill the space above the trees. A transparent silver sheet of rain starts pouring onto the ground, waking up the dance of exhausted leaves and withering branches.

  Far from the forest, rainwater sheets across the crystal glass ceiling and turns the surface into a liquid lens. In the warm dimness of the room, Adrian lies on his bed next to a tiny figure, his fingers swirling through the wild tangle of her hair with a wandering grace as the rain's chill remains trapped on the other side of the glass.

  Tiny Mira is completely lost in a vivid, internal carnival, her bare legs thrashing against the fabric as if she is swimming through the air. Her hands grasp at the empty space above her to chase phantoms only she can see while high-pitched, melodic babbles and nonsensical trills fill the room. Adrian brushes the pad of his thumb against her flushed cheek, observing every roll and wiggle in the throes of her trance.

  What did she even get into to end up in such a hallucination and faint in the middle of the forest?

  Adrian finished his work hours ago, but the calls to Mira’s phone went straight to voicemail. He tracked her via GPS into the forest and found she was sprawled in the dirt beside two dazed squirrels.

  Mira slowly drifts across the mattress in her sleep, her body rolling toward the far edge of the bed until one leg nearly slips off the duvet. Adrian reaches out at once, sliding an arm beneath her back and lifting her carefully before she can fall.

  Mira’s body responds to the change as her restless movements begin to slow, her brows drawing together slightly while her fingers loosen from the empty air. The sound presses gently into her senses, pulling her away from the glowing dream and toward the warmth of the room.

  Her breath hits softly, a small, trembling sound, and then her eyes open—slowly, as if the world is still half a dream, the light too soft, the warmth too strange.

  A vast expanse of a familiar white shirt fills her vision the moment consciousness returns. The scent of cedar feels so cozy that staying put seems like the only option.

  "Uhhmmm," she lets out a small, happy sound, tightening her hug. Clinging to the warmth between reality and sleep, she nuzzles her head deep into his chest. The reality of the moment finally sinks in. Mira pushes against the cotton, pressing her palms into him to lift her head. Her gaze travels upward until she finds his smile and the kind curve of his face looking down.

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  “Adrian?”

  Her voice is small, barely a breath.

  “Am I dreaming?”

  She slowly sits up. Her eyes, wide and unsure, shimmer in the dim light, catching the reflection of the soft glow from the spores.

  “You’re not dreaming.”

  Adrian exhales softly, his fingers hover over her for a moment.

  “Where...?” Mira glances around the room, looking up at the rain as if she still stands beneath the forest sky. Then her eyes find him again, clearer this time. “Adrian... I feel... funny.”

  “Dizzy?” he asks. “Nauseous?”

  Adrian sits up, lifting her in his palm and resting his elbows on his knees to balance himself so they stay eye to eye.

  Mira blinks, as if the words float past her, then shakes her head, slow and dazed.

  “No... just... like I’m floating.”

  “How,” he asks, “did you end up asleep... with the squirrels?”

  Mira blinks up at him, still small and half-drowsy, trying to piece together the memory in the soft haze of the room’s glow.

  Mira tells her story like it belongs in another world. Her voice is soft and breathy, still warm with the fading shimmer of sleep as she talks about the squirrel and the snake. Words tumble out in slow, uneven breaths, her smile flickering like a candle’s glow. She describes how the squirrel “looked at her, really looked,” and how it “plugged the rosehips and then just... scooped her up.” She speaks of the trees, the moss, and the glowing fungus that “poofs” when she touches it—her hands mimicking the way the spores burst in the air, her cheeks flushed with the memory.

  “You played... seesaw... with... the squirrel?”

  Mira blinks, a tiny glint of laughter sparkling in her eyes as a soft smile touches her lips.

  “And the chipmunk too,” she says, her voice light and sure, because the whole world has always been meant for games like these.

  He had sprinted through the dark, every second hammering in his chest like a countdown. And she had been... what, exactly? Bouncing on a bark plank with chipmunks? He isn't sure whether she's recounting a dream or what actually happened. He’s caught between being worried and wanting to laugh. His lips twitch—just a small, helpless pull at the corners that he fails to keep in check.

  What is this? What is she?

  Adrian Vale, a prodigy born and trained to analyze, calculate, and predict—a man who can map neural pathways in his sleep and outthink any scenario, now defeated by the tiny, sleepy, impossible girl in his hand.

  "Where's my bag?" Mira asks as the memory suddenly rushes back to her.

  Adrian looks surprised. "I saw no bag with you. You lay in the middle of the forest with only your phone, next to two sleepy squirrels."

  Mira screams in panic. "Oh my Gosh! Did you search around?"

  "What do you have in it?" Adrian asks.

  "My laptop, and... a blank mysterious book," Mira answers. She feels torn between mourning the laptop and explaining the book.

  Adrian speaks as if reading her mind. "I bought you a new laptop anyway. Yours has a Trojan—a remote access bug that was basically hijacking your system and taking over the controls."

  Mira stares at him, her mind racing. "Wait, someone was controlling my computer?"

  "In a way," he explains, his tone shifting back to that efficient, focused energy. "It’s a nasty piece of malware, but I’ve already isolated it and transferred your files to the cloud last night."

  He pauses, connecting the dots with predatory eyes. "If you left your bag in the forest, the heavy rain likely destroyed everything inside by now. If someone took it, we will soon figure out exactly who they are."

  Mira slumps down on the mattress. Relief washes over her because her work remains safe.

  Adrian leans in. "What's the book about?"

  "It bloomed with mushrooms and flowers and... ferns," Mira says.

  Adrian sits up straight, his relaxed posture gone. "What does it look like?"

  "It’s an old one. No text inside. The paper looks like it's a hundred years old."

  "Where did you get it?" Adrian asks, his gaze narrowing.

  "An old man I met in the Meridian basement."

  "You went back to that place?"

  "Yeah," Mira says, her voice dropping. "I saw a lot of blue mushrooms down there and an old man, but then he just... disappeared."

  "I don't think there was anything like that in your bag," Adrian says, his voice turning clinical. "But... between your strange dreams and shrinking in the forest, you might be infected. It sounds like a hallucinating spore type."

  "Like what?" Mira asks.

  "Amanita muscaria," he explains. "People often report feeling drunk or experiencing 'Alice in Wonderland' syndrome—where objects seem much larger or smaller than they really are. It causes vivid hallucinations and a profound, dream-filled sleep."

  “Adrian!” Mira suddenly screams, her eyes popping as the memory of her new power hits her. “I can grow mushrooms!”

  Adrian looks at her, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “How, exactly?”

  Mira ignores the logic and prepares herself. She scrunches her face until it turns bright red, takes a deep breath, and throws her hands into the air with a dramatic flourish. She stands there, fingers trembling with effort, waiting for a fungal explosion to rock the room.

  Nothing happens. The air remains stubbornly mushroom-free. She looks like a tiny, very angry cheerleader trying to summon a spirit that isn't coming.

  Adrian watches her, his expression a mix of genuine concern and suppressed laughter. “Is this part of the 'Alice in Wonderland' syndrome, or are you just trying to threaten the ceiling?”

  “I’m serious!” she huffs, her face still glowing with effort. “It happened in the forest!”

  "I believe you," Adrian says, his grin softening as he watches her. "But that power probably doesn't just come out of nowhere. You likely need the right environment where spores are already heavy, and you might need to be at the peak of an emotion for it to trigger."

  Mira blinks, her arms finally dropping to her sides. "The peak of an emotion?"

  "Adrenaline, fear, joy—biological catalysts," he explains, his eyes glinting. "So, unless you're planning on getting very excited or very scared in the next few minutes, I think the mushrooms are staying in the forest."

  Mira huffs and crosses her arms, looking away. "Just you wait. When I have a giant mushroom throne, you're not invited.”

  Then, suddenly, he stands up so fast the air swirls around him, the silence snapping like a dry branch.

  Mira blinks, looking small and confused.

  “Adrian? Where are you going?”

  “You need a bath,” he says flatly, already heading for the door. “Hot water. Full immersion. Antibacterial soap. Top to toe.”

  Mira’s eyes go wide. She watches as he grabs a small bottle, checks the label with a glance, and sets it down with a click before opening the cap. The scent of medicinal herbs and sterile chemicals fills the air.

  She stares at him, her mouth hanging open. “…Why?”

  Adrian doesn’t even look at her. His hands move with focus—unrolling a sterilized cloth, filling a small container with water from his flask, and adjusting the heat with his fingers.

  “You had direct contact with wild animals,” he answers calmly, like explaining a lab result to an inattentive assistant. “Fox fur, squirrel dander, chipmunk saliva. Vectors for leptospirosis, tick-borne encephalitis, avian influenza variants, rodent-borne bacteria, and ectoparasites. Plus, the risk of secondary fungal infections from decaying moss environments.”

  He adds calmly without looking up, “Tomorrow, we’ll go to the hospital for the vaccine updates.”

  “But we have class tomorrow,” Mira protests.

  “Our class starts at ten-thirty,” Adrian answers, leaving no room for argument. “You have the entire morning.”

  “I have a makeup class on Human Rights Law at eight,” Mira says.

  “We’ll go at six-thirty and get you back in time for your class,” Adrian counters.

  “No hospital is open that early,” Mira insists.

  “Private ones are. If you have the right connections.”

  “But my studying,” she says, her brows knitting. “I still have so much to get through.”

  “We’ll study afterward.”

  “But what about the stuff for tomorrow’s workshop?” Mira presses.

  “I already picked everything up while you were asleep.”

  Mira exhales slowly, feeling the ground slip from under her.

  “Fascist. Tyrant,” she mumbles, crossing her arms and turning away.

  Adrian pauses at the sink and lets out a short breath. “How about a meeting with the former Secretary-General of the International Council for Global Cooperation?”

  She spins around. “Are you serious?”

  Her voice is breathless, caught between disbelief and sudden excitement.

  “How? He doesn’t just meet students. You’re not messing with me, are you?”

  "I would never joke about your career," Adrian says, his voice dropping into a softer, more playful tone.

  Mira catches his eyes, suddenly realizing he successfully negotiated everything he wanted while she was distracted by her own ambition, which made her heart race.

  Five minutes later, Mira finds herself in a tiny bathtub in the bathroom—warm water swirling up to her shoulders, soap bubbles clinging to her skin like a strange, sterilized dream.

  Outside the door, Adrian’s already scheduling her vaccination for the next morning.

  ?