The spacecraft hummed softly as it cut through the void, leaving the burning wreckage of the Central District behind. The cockpit was bathed in the dim glow of emergency lights, casting long shadows across the metallic interior. Mira lay slumped against the wall, her breathing shallow, the remnants of battle etched into the dents and scorch marks along her mechanical frame.
Caleb knelt beside her, his fingers tracing the jagged edges of her injuries with quiet precision. His expression was unreadable, but his touch was careful-almost hesitant.
"Hah... looks like they really went all out on you," he murmured, his voice carrying that familiar mix of dry amusement and quiet concern. His fingers brushed against a fractured panel near her shoulder, where the synthetic flesh had split open to reveal the circuitry beneath. "Not great, but could be worse. I'll patch you up."
Mira exhaled, a flicker of static distorting her voice. "How long do we have?"
"Long enough." He reached for the toolkit embedded in the ship's wall, his movements efficient. "We're clear of the Central District for now. They won't catch up-not unless they've got something real nasty waiting for us." A pause, then a quiet scoff. "Which, knowing them, they probably do."
She watched him work, her optics dimming slightly as her systems cycled through diagnostics. "You've done this before."
"Yeah, well." A faint smirk tugged at his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You're not the first one I've had to patch back together."
The silence stretched between them, heavy with things unsaid. The damage was manageable-wires reconnected, plating realigned, energy conduits stabilized. But beneath the physical repairs, something deeper unsettled him.
Their bodies were built from the same source-engineered to draw from the same core. A perfect symmetry, a balance. If one grew stronger, the other weakened. And right now, as Caleb felt the slow drain in his own reserves, he knew what it meant.
Mira's energy-Destructio-was growing.
Unrestrained, it surged within her, a force that didn't just destroy-it erased. And if it kept escalating, the first thing it would consume would be her.
His hands stilled for a fraction of a second before resuming their work. He couldn't let that happen.
"You're thinking too loud," Mira muttered, her voice cutting through his thoughts.
"Just admiring my handiwork," he shot back, but the usual teasing lilt in his voice was absent.
She studied him, her gaze sharp despite the fatigue. "Liar."
A beat. Then, reluctantly: "Your energy levels are spiking."
"And?"
"And if they keep rising, they'll burn you out from the inside." He said it casually, like he was commenting on the weather, but his grip on the tools tightened imperceptibly.
Mira's expression didn't change, but something flickered in her optics-recognition, resignation. "So that's why you feel weaker."
"Tch. Don't flatter yourself." He finally met her eyes, his smirk brittle. "Maybe I'm just tired of carrying you all the time."
She didn't rise to the bait. Instead, she turned her head toward the viewport, where the stars stretched endlessly ahead of them. Freedom, just beyond their grasp. But at what cost?
Caleb followed her gaze, his mind racing. They'd escaped the Central District for now, but the real battle was just beginning. And this time, they were handicapped due to asymmetric energy transfers.
It was a power that threatened to tear her apart-and the cruel irony that the only way to save her might be to let her go.