Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Raven’s phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

It sat beside her on the couch, screen lighting up every few seconds with another notification. Short, impatient vibrations thudded against the cushion, each one more persistent than the last.

She didn’t pick it up. Just lay there, half-curled on her side, one arm flung over her eyes like the dim light in the room was too much. Through her lashes, she could still see the screen flashing.

The group chat was imploding. Again.

A week ago, Jackson and Miller had dropped the bomb.

 “We’re engaged!!”

Their message came with a blurry, tear-filled video of the proposal—Miller fumbling with the ring box, Jackson trying not to cry—and a series of close-ups of the rings, hands intertwined, soft lighting and everything.

Since then, the celebration hadn’t stopped.

Harper: STILL NOT OVER THIS.

Bellamy: Clarke’s already planning a Pinterest board.

Clarke: This is going to be amazing, trust me.

Jackson: See you all tomorrow—party starts at 7.

Miller: You’ll be surrounded by steamy doctors and hot policemen. Beware.

Harper: Have we ever told you how much we love your jobs?

Octavia: Let’s go, bitches!

Raven didn’t reply. Just let it buzz until the screen turned black and the silence settled back in.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy for them—she was. She loved them, and they deserved every bit of joy they had. But still, there was a twist in her gut. A bitter edge she couldn’t quite swallow.

At thirty-two, she felt like the last leftover piece of a puzzle where everyone else had already clicked into place. Clarke and Bellamy had been married for nearly a decade now, their six-year-old daughter Madi ruling every gathering with a kind of wild, unapologetic chaos. Monty and Harper were the stable, soft-spoken duo who looked like they’d walked straight out of a cozy indie film. Octavia and Lincoln were louder, but they’d built something solid beneath all the noise.

And now Jackson and Miller. The calm, quietly devoted pair that somehow made being grown-ups look effortless. 

They had all known each other for years. Most of them had grown up in Arkadia—a small city with too many memories and not enough room to escape them. High school had been their crucible: awkward dances, late-night bonfires, heartbreaks that felt world-ending. College had scattered a few of them, but they’d always found their way back.

Back to each other.

Raven had met Clarke in middle school, when they were both too smart and too stubborn for their own good. Bellamy had arrived a few years later, dragging Octavia in his shadow. Harper and Monty were science fair sweethearts by tenth grade, and Jackson had always been the quiet, observant one with a spine of steel no one saw coming. Miller had transferred in junior year, instantly gravitating toward Jackson like gravity had a say in it.

Somewhere along the way, they’d become a family. And like any family, they had their fractures. Their messes. Their seasons of silence and misunderstandings and distance. Their black sheeps.

Raven had always been a little on the outside. The storm child. The one with a past full of landmines and scars she didn’t like showing. Love didn’t always translate into ease. Not for someone like her. Not with everything she carried.

Sometimes, she felt like the family dog that had been rescued and was still half-convinced it might get left behind again.

And tonight? That feeling was clawing under her skin more than usual.

Her phone buzzed again.

And there he was—the final member of the crew. John Murphy, resident screw-up extraordinaire. The other stray in their little makeshift family. If she was the wounded one, the one who kept her distance, then Murphy was the wildcard, the grenade with the pin halfway pulled.

He’d always been on the fringes. The delinquent kid from the wrong side of town, the one teachers gave up on before he even opened his mouth. His father died when he was nine. After that, his mother drank herself into silence, eventually gone for good. Depending on who you asked, it was either a slow suicide or a fast one.

Back in high school, they barely interacted—except when Bellamy got involved. He’d taken a soft spot for that trainwreck of a boy, and Raven, by default, had to deal with him. The problem was, whenever she and Murphy crossed paths, it almost always ended in verbal warfare. They couldn’t be in the same room without throwing daggers.

Still, beneath all the sniping, there was a strange kind of understanding. Like two people who recognized the damage in each other and decided to punch it instead of name it.

Murphy left Arkadia—and his birth name—not long after graduation. He drifted from job to job, city to city, always on the move. For years, no one really knew where he was. The only thing they’d heard was that he’d ended up in Polis with a girl named Emori, and that he’d stayed there just long enough to vanish completely off the radar.

He’d come back two years ago—single, bitter, carrying more shadows than when he left.

And for some reason, that’s when something between them shifted.

They didn’t become close. Not like the others. No heartfelt confessions, no peeling back layers in dimly lit kitchens. Just… a silence that wasn’t uncomfortable. Sarcastic check-ins. Still plenty of late-night arguments about nothing and everything. And burritos eaten on rooftops, with the city sprawling out beneath a dark, indifferent sky.

She’d rebuilt his entire car for his birthday last year—restored it from scrap metal to something worthy of the road. In return, Murphy taught her how to throw a real punch.

“Your right hook is trash,” he’d said, barely dodging the clumsy swing she’d thrown at his shoulder. “And I say this as someone who’s been on the receiving end. More than twice. Come on, Reyes—let an expert show you how it’s done."

It had made her laugh—a sound she usually kept locked away. But somehow, it showed up more often around him.

They were the outliers in the group. The only ones not coupled off, not chasing some white-picket-fence version of the future. What brought them together wasn’t loud or obvious. It was the quiet unspoken loneliness, the hidden scars, and the understanding that some wounds never fully heal.

Two problems in a group of mostly-functional people. Birds of a feather, after all—they always end up flocking together. Maybe that’s why, lately, he was the only one who didn’t make her feel like she had to explain herself.

Murphy: “You alive, Reyes? Group’s still going nuts over the engagement. Where’s your snark?”

Raven finally felt a smile pulling at her lips.

Raven: “Too busy not giving a shit. You going to the party?”

Murphy: “Free beer. Obviously. You?”

Raven: “Maybe."

Murphy: “Weak. See you there.”

She dropped the phone onto the couch and rubbed her face, fingers pressing into her eyes like she could will away the restlessness clawing at her ribs.

The party.

She could already picture it—string lights casting a golden glow across the apartment ceiling, Jackson and Miller surrounded by a mix of friends and colleagues, all of them radiating that obnoxiously calm, grown-up kind of happiness.

And then her. The crippled genius who fixed everything but herself. Somewhere near the drinks table, trying to look occupied. Smiling. Brushing off questions she didn’t want to answer.

Just one more reminder of how messed up she was.

A part of her had wanted to skip the whole thing. But staying home, in this too-quiet apartment filled with half-finished gadgets and the kind of silence that made overthinking inevitable? That sounded worse.

Raven reached for a wrench on the floor. If she couldn’t fix the knot in her chest, maybe she could at least tighten a few bolts and pretend it helped.

-------------

So the next night, she climbed the stairs of Jackson and Miller’s apartment building, the main door propped open with a folded pizza box. Her hands were shoved deep in the pockets of her worn leather jacket, shoulders tight as the muffled thump of bass grew louder with each step. Pop music, laughter, it all spilled faintly through the hallway, too warm and too inviting for how she felt.

She paused outside the apartment door, eyes flicking to the light seeping from beneath it, her pulse ticking loud in her ears. Maybe she could still bail.

Then the door swung open.

Too late.

Murphy stood in the doorway, one hand braced on the frame, a beer dangling from the other, a sly grin already spreading across his face.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he said teasing, his blue eyes glinting with mischief.

Raven smirked, stepping forward.

“Yeah, and this bird’s got claws, so watch it,” she shot back, but her tone was warm as the familiar spark of their banter ignited.

He chuckled, leaning on the doorframe as she walked in.

“You clean up nice,” he said, eyes sweeping over her—and her stomach did that annoying thing again. Weird. She was probably hungry.

“For someone usually covered in motor oil,” he added.

She shot him a look. “I’d say the same, but I’m trying not to lie tonight.”

“Ouch,” he said, grinning. “You wound me. Can I get you a drink, or are you just here to insult me?”

“I can multitask.”

Inside, the apartment was alive—voices rising and falling over music, glasses clinking, someone laughing too loud. The space glowed with soft twinkle lights strung haphazardly across the ceiling, and framed photos of Jackson and Miller covered one wall: snapshots from road trips, holidays, lazy afternoons, and blurry selfies. It felt like stepping into a scrapbook.

Raven scanned the room, her gaze landing on Octavia by the far window, mid-argument with Bellamy. They both had drinks in hand, laughing even as they bickered.

Murphy followed her eyes, leaning in so she could hear him over the music. “They’ve been going at it so long, I’m starting to get scared.”

“Better not get in the middle of a Blake showdown,” she said, sidestepping a stranger balancing a tray of neon shots, her smirk twitching.

“Smart,” he murmured, voice low and teasing. “Stick with me—I’m the better kind of trouble.”

Raven gave him a side glance, amused. 

“At least you own it,” she said, a quiet laugh escaping as the tension in her shoulders finally loosened, his presence oddly calming. Before she could toss another jab, a high-pitched squeal cut through the noise.

“Raven!”

Madi barreled through the crowd, her dark hair bouncing, and launched herself into Raven’s waist like a missile. Raven caught her with a grunt, hand settling instinctively on the kid’s back, her smirk softening into a real smile.

“Hey, short stuff,” she said, ruffling her hair, the grin she got in return wide and unrepentant. “You wreaking havoc yet?”

“She tricked her dad into singing Let It Go in front of everyone in exchange for five gummy bears,” Clarke said, appearing beside them with a drink in hand and an amused glint in her eyes. 

Her hair shimmered under the twinkle lights, her smile half-exasperated, half-fond. “He’s currently trying to convince Octavia to do it instead.”

Raven barked out a laugh. “Oh, so that’s what all that was about,” she said, nodding toward the Blakes.

Across the room, Bellamy was still visibly trying to reason with his sister, who looked one drink away from giving in. Murphy's eyes sparkled with sly intent.

“No way,” he called out, flashing a wicked grin. “A deal’s a deal.”

Then he turned to Madi and held out a hand like they were partners in crime. “Come on, champ. Time to collect your prize.”

Madi whooped, grabbing Murphy’s hand and dragging him toward her flustered father like a tiny, vengeful queen collecting tribute.

Raven shook her head, grinning. “I live for this kind of justice.”

“Me too,” Clarke said with a laugh. “But don’t tell my husband.”

Then her expression softened as she looked at Raven. “I’m glad you came.”

“Yeah, well,” Raven said, brushing her hands on her jeans, “couldn’t miss Jackson and Miller’s big night. Where’s the booze?”

“Kitchen’s packed. Come on.”

They wove through the crowd, familiar faces flickering past like snapshots. Niylah—the pediatric nurse from the hospital—was deep in conversation with Abby near the hallway, both laughing over something Raven couldn’t hear. On the couch, David Miller sat with a couple of his fellow officers, still in their uniforms.

The kitchen was exactly what Raven expected: too small for the number of people crammed into it, counters covered in half-empty bottles and bowls of snacks. Harper and Monty were stationed by the island, mid-argument.

“I’m just saying,” Harper said, brandishing a spoon like a weapon, “you don’t measure guac. It’s a vibe.”

Monty looked scandalized, holding up a notepad. “Everything is science.”

Raven grinned. “Still married, huh?”

“Barely,” Harper muttered, giving her arm a quick squeeze. “Want a beer?”

“On it,” Raven said, reaching for the cooler, grabbing a cold bottle, the glass slick in her hand. A warm hand brushed her shoulder, and she turned, her smile breaking free before she could stop it.

“Hey, stranger,” Jackson said, his voice soft but bright, his pale blue button-down crisp, a quiet glow radiating from him—love, unguarded, fitting him like a second skin.

“Hey, doc,” she said, her smile widening, taking him in. “You look way too happy. It’s disgusting.”

“Don’t hate,” he teased, pulling her into a hug.

Miller appeared beside them, one hand resting lightly on his fiancé's waist, the other balancing two champagne flutes like a pro. His sleeves were rolled up, collar slightly askew, the usual sharpness of his look softened by the easy smile playing on his lips. Still, the steady protectiveness in his stance hadn’t gone anywhere.

“It’s our engagement party, Reyes—you’re contractually obligated to play nice,” he said, nudging her shoulder as he offered her a glass.

Raven glanced down at the beer already in her hand and raised an eyebrow. “Already got a drink, thanks.”

“You’re not toasting with cheap beer. Come on, let’s pretend we’re classy—just for tonight.”

With a dramatic sigh, she swapped the bottle for the flute, accepting it with a crooked smile. “Fine. But if I end up mixing drinks and dancing on a table, I’m blaming you.”

“Can’t wait. I’ll clear the table for you myself.”

He raised his glass, and she mirrored him. “To surviving med school, two near-death experiences, and four years of long-distance.”

Jackson leaned into him, laughing. “And still liking each other through it all.”

“What’s the trick?” Raven asked, smirking over the rim of her champagne flute.

“He does the dishes, I pretend to hate rom-coms,” Jackson replied, deadpan.

“I knew it,” Miller cut in, shaking his head. “You’re hooked on The Proposal.”

“You watch The Proposal?” Raven teased, raising an eyebrow at Jackson.

“Ironically,” he said, completely unbothered, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin.

Clarke, reappearing with a fresh drink in hand, lifted her glass. “To Jackson and Miller!”

The toast rippled through the kitchen—bottles and flutes clinked, laughter echoing off the tiled walls. For a beat, Raven just stood there, caught in the warmth of it. The glow of love. It wrapped around her slowly, and she tried to let it settle.Tried to smile like it didn’t make something in her chest pull tight. 

“So,” she said after the noise died down, leaning casually against the counter, “what’s next? Sappy photo slideshow or something equally unbearable?”

“Trivia game’s up soon,” Jackson said, his eyes lighting up. “And later—a dance-off.”

Raven laughed, a real one this time, bright and unexpected. “Alright. You convinced me. I’ll stay.”

And she did—despite the voice in her head that had told her not to, despite the usual weight that made her want to ghost halfway through.

The party moved around her in waves—music thrumming low through the walls, people drifting from room to room, the air thick with perfume, cologne, and the occasional whiff of something burning in the oven. She sipped. She nodded. She smiled.

It wasn’t forced. Not really.

For the most part.

At one point, Jackson called her over to meet a couple of his hospital colleagues—young, confident, with practiced politeness and expensive watches. Raven held her own, amused more than intimidated. 

“This is Raven Reyes,” Jackson said, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. “Old friend, mechanical genius, general badass. She’s the youngest mechanical engineer at Eligius Corporation.”

The woman offered her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you! I’m Josephine, and this is my husband, Gabriel. We’ve just been transferred to Arkadia General Hospital. We’re both surgeons.”

Raven shook Josephine’s hand, then Gabriel’s, offering a smile of her own. “Welcome to the chaos.”

Josephine laughed again. “So far, it’s been surprisingly charming.”

Gabriel, quieter, nodded. “Eligius, huh? Your work sounds fascinating.”

Raven gave a half-shrug. “It’s greasy and loud and things explode sometimes. Guess that’s my kind of fun.”

As they chatted, Gabriel’s gaze briefly dropped. His eyes flicked toward the brace on Raven’s leg—subtle, but not unnoticed. It was the kind of look a doctor gave without meaning to, more instinct than judgment. Clinical curiosity, tinged with something close to pity. She caught it immediately.

“Don’t worry, doc,” she quipped, lifting an eyebrow. “She doesn’t bite. Not unless provoked.”

Gabriel blinked, caught, and quickly looked up with an apologetic smile. “Sorry—I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” she cut in, her tone light, but final. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

Jackson, sensing the shift, stepped in smoothly. “Raven helped design the new exo-brace the rehab unit’s testing. Half their patients are practically begging for one.”

Josephine beamed. “That’s incredible! Honestly, we could use more people like you in the OR.”

Raven smirked, her confidence returning like a shield. “Unless your OR has jet engines and a welding station, I think I’ll pass.”

Gabriel chuckled, this time more relaxed. “Fair enough.”

She gave him a nod, already turning toward the bar. “Nice meeting you both. Good luck surviving Jackson’s bad jokes.”

As she walked away, Jackson followed her with a look that was part fondness, part apology. She didn’t mind. She’d had worse.

Way worse.

Raven Reyes hadn’t always walked with a brace.

When she was eleven, she still ran everywhere—barefoot on hot pavement, scrambling over junkyard fences, always moving. Her world was a mess, chaotic and unforgiving, but she could outrun it, or at least try. 

Until the night her mother got behind the wheel.

It was late. Raven was half-asleep in the passenger seat, seatbelt twisted awkwardly across her chest, the car smelling like old vinyl and cheap vodka. Her mother was singing off-key to the radio, slurring the words, knuckles white on the wheel. 

The crash came fast—too fast. A red light ignored, another car, the sound of metal screaming. Raven didn’t remember the pain, just the cold, and the blood, and the way her leg looked—twisted, wrong.

The doctors did everything they could, but the damage was irreversible. Severe nerve trauma, shattered femur, paralysis. For years, walking was out of reach. She relied on a wheelchair at first, then crutches on her better days.

It wasn’t until her second year of high school that she underwent her first major surgery—one that allowed her to stand and move with a brace, even though her leg remained completely paralyzed.

The second surgery came after college, a risk she took because she was tired of surviving instead of living. That one gave her back a sliver of control—just enough to move her upper thigh, to bear some weight again. From just above the knee down, though, it stayed numb. Dead.

She didn’t go home after the crash. Her mother was sent to rehab, and Raven was placed under temporary foster care. Jacapo Sinclair, an engineer who volunteered with the social services program, took her in. He was quiet, strict, but kind. Let her tinker with broken appliances in the garage. Taught her how to rebuild them. He treated her like she was capable—even when no one else did. He was the one who sparked her love for mechanics.

Eventually, her mother came back. Sober, for a while. Things were almost normal again. But by the time Raven started high school, the drinking returned. So did the fights. The slammed doors. The broken promises.

She stopped waiting for things to get better. Instead, she learned to build a life out of what she had—metal, grit, anger, and all. And she never forgave her mother. Not fully. Not even now, more than five years after she buried her.

It was fine, really. She was fine. She just needed a minute. Away from the buzz and the warmth and the normalcy. Away from the couples with their easy affection.

She found the balcony door half-open and stepped outside, another bottle of beer in her hand. the cold biting against her exposed skin.

The city stretched out beneath her, lights blinking like distant stars. The hum of traffic replaced the party noise, and for a moment, Raven let herself go still. She sat curled in one of the patio chairs, one hand rested on the cold metal armrest. Her leg ached. Her heart ached more.

All this happiness, this wholeness—it gnawed at her. Reminded her that while the rest of the world kept healing, moving forward, finding people to lean on… she was still holding herself together with spit and defiance.

She hated that she needed this much space just to feel normal.

She took a sip of her beer. The night smelled like smoke and winter. Behind her, the door creaked open. Footsteps. Slow, uncertain. Then—

“Figured I wasn’t the only one hiding out here.”

Murphy.

He lingered by the doorway for a second before stepping out fully, then dropped into the chair across from her with a quiet grunt. His beer clinked softly as he set it down on the ledge beside him. He looked like he hadn’t slept much—same as always—but something about his posture said he was just as worn thin as she was.

“Did the dance-off send you running? You could’ve pulled a Robocop move,” he quipped in that easy way of his, alluding to her leg. He never sugarcoated things or treated her like glass, and it was a blessing.

“Guess I missed my shot at eternal dance-floor glory,” she said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes—and he noticed.

“You good?”

She didn’t answer right away. She could’ve lied—should’ve, maybe. But it was Murphy, and she was tired.

“Depends on your definition.”

He didn’t look away. “Give me yours.”

A beat of silence stretched between them.

“Lot of shiny happy people in there,” she added then, finally meeting his eyes. “Not exactly my scene.”

He nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Yeah. Felt like I walked into a Hallmark movie. Thought I’d hang out here—with the more interesting crowd.”

She smiled, just a little. For a while, they said nothing. It wasn’t awkward. Murphy had this strange gift—he could be silent without it feeling like he was waiting for something. He just was, and it made the space next to him easier to sit in.

She glanced over. His face was tilted toward the sky, city lights catching on his profile. He looked older now. Broader, maybe. But also tired, in that quiet way only time and regret could carve into a person. His jaw sharper, eyes more distant. But underneath, he was still Murphy—still grins and sharp instincts, the guy who never asked questions he didn’t want honest answers to.

After Emori, he’d resurfaced with more bruises than explanations. Worked odd jobs. Slept even less. He didn’t talk about the in-between, but Raven had seen enough of the wreckage to know it was still there. She didn’t poke at it. And he didn’t poke at hers.

Until tonight.

“You ever think about it?” she asked suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Murphy turned, brow raised. “What, marriage? Hell no. I can barely keep myself alive, let alone someone else.”

She just shook her head. “Not marriage. Just… being with someone.”

He arched an eyebrow. “For more than a night of fun and regret?”

“For the real deal, yeah.”

He studied her then, the smirk slipping off his face. “What’s this about, Reyes?”

“Nothing. Just talking,” she answered, too fast. Regretted it instantly. “Forget it.”

“Nah,” he said quietly. “You don’t get to walk that back. Spill.”

Her jaw tightened. She didn’t want to open this fragile, jagged part of her. But he was watching—really watching—and for once, he wasn’t hiding behind a joke.

So it came out.

“Fuck, I’m not drunk enough for this,” she muttered, tipping back the rest of her beer. “I’ve never had that. A relationship. Sex. Any of it. And now I’m thirty-two.” She gave a dry laugh, sharp and humorless. “It’s not like I’m some teen girl still waiting for Prince Charming. It’s not cute anymore. It’s just... pathetic.”

There it was—what nights like this always brought to the surface. The reminder that while everyone else was busy building lives and falling in love, she was still stuck. A freak with a blank romantic record, standing alone on the platform, watching everyone else disappear on a train she missed a long time ago.

He blinked. For a moment, Murphy—John always-has-a-line Murphy—was speechless.

Raven let out a bitter laugh. “Wow. I shut you up. Must be a record. Thought you knew. It’s not exactly a secret among our little Brady Bunch.”

“Guess I missed the memo on Raven Reyes’ love life,” he said slowly. “I mean, I noticed you never brought a plus one to any of the Christmas parties… but hey, didn’t seem like my place to pry.”

“So you’re not gonna ask?”

He shrugged. “Are you gonna tell me?”

Her fingers tapped restlessly on the bottle’s neck. She stared out at the skyline, though Murphy could tell she wasn’t really seeing it.

“I mean… what’s the point? Saying it out loud doesn’t change anything.”

He didn’t move. Just leaned against the railing, face turned toward hers, something gentler in his eyes now. Understanding.

“Doesn’t have to,” he said. “Some things are just better out than in. And if you were gonna implode, I’d rather not be in the blast radius.”

That got her attention. She turned toward him, one brow lifting, the corners of her mouth twitching with the ghost of a smirk. “You know that’s not how implosions work, right?”

He blinked, then gave her a dry look. “What, you gonna give me a physics lesson now?”

“Just saying,” she shrugged. “Implosions suck everything in. There is no blast radius.”

“Yeah, well… emotional fallout doesn’t follow the laws of physics.”

She huffed a breath, something between a scoff and a laugh, and shook her head like she was brushing it all off. The kind of movement that usually meant this is where it stops.

Then, softer, almost like it surprised even her: “I don’t usually do this. The whole ‘opening up’ thing.”

“I’m aware,” he said, smirking just a little.

She gave him a look, but there was no heat in it. Just sadness. The kind she didn’t let anyone see. Maybe it was the beer. 

“I was in love once. Or I thought I was. It didn’t end well.”

Murphy just lifted an eyebrow, like he was giving her permission without saying a word. So she kept going.

"I was young. Dumb, reckless, and looking for anything that didn’t feel like home. He was a couple of years older. I was fixing junk bikes in Sinclair’s shop after school, near the tracks, and one day he just… wandered in. Said he needed a tire, stayed for hours. Talked about the stars like he owned them. Made me laugh. Made me feel seen.”

Murphy’s jaw tightened. “Let me guess. It was all bullshit.”

Raven glanced sideways at him, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re catching on.”

She went quiet for a second. “He used me. Kept me close when it was convenient—when he needed something. Tech work. A problem solved. Someone to feed his ego. And I let him. Way too long. Damn, for years. Until one night, I finally asked him what we were.”

He made a low sound in his throat. “Always the kiss of death.”

“Yeah,” she said, voice flat. “He laughed. Told me I was ‘good company.’ Said I shouldn’t ruin it by getting emotional.”

“Asshole.”

She looked away. “He said I was intense. That being with me felt like carrying weight, and he wanted something light. Fun. Said he didn’t see that in me.”

Murphy’s eyes flicked toward her, sharp and unreadable. “That guy still alive?”

She turned her head slightly, that flicker of a smile again. “It was Finn.”

“Spacewanker? No shit.”

“Surprise.”

“Not really,” Murphy shrugged, leaning forward. “I always figured there was something there.”

Finn Collins had been the first boy to truly notice Raven Reyes in high school—her, not the wheelchair. He came from the wealthier side of Arkadia, all clean lines and golden boy charm—a stark contrast to Raven’s world of chronic pain and domestic misery.

He was in Bellamy’s class, but he never ran in the same circles. Still, for a brief stretch, he was part of the group, orbiting the edges with that easy smile and distant gaze, like he was always halfway to somewhere else. He and Bellamy never got close. He didn’t clash with anyone, but he didn’t click with them either.

“There was,” she muttered. “Some awkward kissing. Him pushing for more. Me being too needy. A week after he said he didn’t want anything serious with me, he was already sleeping with Clarke. Getting serious with her not even a month later.”

She didn’t sound bitter anymore—just tired. Like she’d carried the weight of it long enough to wear it smooth.

Murphy let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s cold.”

“Yeah.” She stared at her hands, voice dropping. “Felt like a betrayal. Even if we weren’t a thing, we were still friends.”

Clarke and Finn had been together through his entire senior year. The kind of couple everyone expected to last— Prince Charming and his princess, hand in hand at every school event, smiling like they’d already figured life out. He used to wait for her outside debate practice with coffee, and she’d wear his jacket like it was her second uniform.

By spring, he was talking about marrying her. Told their friends he wanted to propose before college, said he didn’t want to “lose her to the East Coast.” Clarke had hesitated. She loved him, sure, in that way teenage girls love boys who make promises too soon. But she was getting close to be chosen for a pre-med program out of state, and the idea of tying herself down before even leaving Arkadia terrified her.

So she broke it off—gently, but clearly. Finn didn’t take it well. He left town the week after graduation without saying goodbye to either of them.

He moved to Europe instead, maybe for the illusion of reinvention. He sent a couple messages that first year. Then nothing. No one really knows where he ended up.

Raven had never blamed Clarke. Not really. Not out loud. But the timing had always stung, like salt on an old wound.

Murphy was quiet for a beat. “You ever told Griffin?”

She shook her head. “What would’ve been the point? She was head over heels for him. And I was the girl who always had her shit together, right? No one wants to hear that the strong one’s falling apart.”

Her words lingered in the air, thick and unspoken, as the city lights blurred at the edge of her vision. She blinked hard, jaw tightening.

“After that,” she said, lifting her empty bottle in a mock toast, “I stopped giving a damn about love. Or dating in general. Threw everything into being the best damn mechanical engineer this town’s ever seen. And succeeded.”

Murphy clinked his bottle lightly against hers. “A dramatic exit. I approve.”

She smirked, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“So now you're thinking about getting back in the game?”

“Hardly. It’s not like there’s a line at my door.” She shrugged. “Finn was right. I’m a lot, the kind people don't want to deal with. Probably better off alone.”

Finn was right. My mother was right.

Murphy’s voice dropped, serious in a way that caught her off guard. “Finn was a fucking idiot, Reyes. You’re a lot—sure. But you’re also… kind of a lot. The kind people remember. Maybe you can’t see it ‘cause you’re not looking. Or maybe…” He paused, studying her. “Maybe you’re too busy running.”

She let out a short, startled laugh that slipped out before she could stop it. God, he was maddening. And worse—he was right. The knot in her chest pulled tighter at how easily he could read her. She was running. She always had been.

“Wow, Murphy,” she said, forcing a smile to mask the sudden ache, “you’re really nailing the pep talk thing.”

"Years of screwing up,” he shot back, grinning, that familiar shit-eating smirk lighting up his face. “I’ve got wisdom to spare.”

She snorted, leaning more into her chair, the metal cool through her sweater. 

And then it hit her—quiet, but seismic. Murphy hadn’t flinched once during her confession. No pity in his eyes, no judgment curled at the corners of his mouth, no careful silence meant to make her feel broken. Anyone else would’ve prodded—Why? What’s wrong with you? All that over one rejection? Come on, it's been years—or launched into some tired speech about soulmates and timing.

But not him.

He’d just listened, unbothered, like she’d said she hated olives or preferred whiskey to beer. Her damage wasn’t shocking to him. It wasn’t something to fix. And maybe that’s why it was him who ended up being the one to witness it tonight.

For a second, it looked like she might leave it at that—but then her laugh slipped out again, playful.

“Jesus,” she muttered, rubbing a hand over her face, “I’m really out here spilling my lack of a sex life to John Murphy. How the mighty have fallen.”

Murphy watched her like he wasn’t sure whether to be offended or honored. His smirk widened anyway.

“Hey, don’t knock it. I’ve been told I have a very comforting presence. Like a priest. If the priest was hot, morally questionable, and had commitment issues.”

He shot her a sideways glance. “Besides, I’ve heard Bellamy cry over Grey’s Anatomy. Nothing shocks me anymore.”

Raven let out a dry laugh, shaking her head slightly.

“So, Father John,” she said, tilting her head toward him with mock seriousness, “what about you? Still bouncing between beds?”

He shrugged, the usual grin slipping just a little, his gaze drifting to the street below. “Not lately. The bar keeps me busy. And… meaningless sex loses its charm after a while, you know? Not exactly something I’m proud of.”

She raised an eyebrow, teasing, “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Yeah, well… I’m a hell of an actor.”

“Back to the original question then—ever think about leaving the Casanova routine behind and going for the real thing?”

Murphy didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned back, stretching his legs out with exaggerated nonchalance. “Let’s not make this a therapy session, Reyes. Didn’t bring enough booze for that kind of honesty.”

“Seriously? I just told you I’m a virgin at our friends’ engagement party. Pathetic loves company—come join it.”

That earned her a real smile. 

“Sometimes,” he admitted with a sigh.“But I’m a walking red flag, so. Not exactly relationship material.”

“You’re not entirely wrong,” she conceded, a small smirk playing on her lips, but her tone was gentle. “Though you’re not a lost cause either.”

“High praise coming from you,” he said, nudging her knee with his. “We’re a hell of a pair, huh? You scared to start, me scared to stop.”

She nodded slowly, the words sinking in, honest and a little painful. “Yeah. Guess we are.”

Once again, silence hung between them, the city lights a blurry backdrop to their shared awkwardness in this moment of quiet intimacy. They were two people more familiar with battles than with tenderness. Raven shivered, drawing her sweater closer.

Just then, the door behind them groaned open.

“Found you two!” Clarke’s voice sliced through the relative quiet, a blend of relief and exasperation coloring her tone. “Speeches are starting—you’re about to miss your prime eye-rolling opportunity.”

And just as quickly as she’d appeared, she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her without waiting for a response.

Murphy stood, stretching with practiced laziness, the soft creak of worn leather breaking the hush. He offered her his hand.

“Come on, Reyes. Beer’s gone, you’re freezing, and you heard the Princess—someone in there’s about to get sentimental enough to kill what’s left of my soul.”

She let out a tired laugh and slipped her hand into his, letting him pull her easily to her feet. “Wouldn’t want to miss the fairy tale ending.” 

He didn’t let go right away. That familiar crooked smirk tugged at his mouth. “Alright then—if this is the fairy tale… who the hell are we supposed to be?”

Raven pretended to consider the question.“Let's see. I’m clearly the raven—sharp-tongued omen no one listens to until it’s way too late.”

Murphy raised a questioning eyebrow, intrigued by her impromptu characterization. “And that makes me…?”

“The cockroach. Annoying, indestructible, and perpetually the last one standing after the apocalypse. Plus your presence is usually good for a much-needed dose of dark humor.”

He clicked his tongue, his eyes narrowing slightly.“Harsh. Surprisingly accurate, but still harsh.”

Raven smiled—one of those rare, real ones that lit up her eyes and crinkled her nose. He caught himself staring as she pushed the door open, letting in the thumping bass of questionable pop music and the chaotic hum of half-drunk laughter.

“Come on, Roach,” she called over her shoulder, already stepping through the doorway. “Let’s go crash this love fest.”

Murphy followed her in, the door swinging shut behind them with a soft click—sealing out the city and, with it, just a little of the weight they carried.

Chapter Text

The walls were painted in soft, muted shades of blue and grey—colors that reminded Raven of the sea just before a storm. Calm, but with a tension beneath the surface.

The air smelled faintly of eucalyptus and ocean salt, subtle and clean, like something designed to lull the nervous system into trust.

A mobile made of driftwood and sea glass hung near the tall window, catching slivers of sunlight and scattering shifting reflections across the ceiling like water in motion.

The sound it made in the breeze was faint but rhythmic, a clinking whisper that filled the silences without intruding on them.

Raven had never liked the ocean. Too wide. Too open. Too many places to drown.

But something about Luna’s office always made her breathe a little easier. Maybe it was the warmth. Or the stillness.

She sat curled on one end of the couch, one leg tucked under her and the other stretched out awkwardly to make room for the brace. She hadn't bothered taking off the hoodie, even though the room was comfortably warm. A kind of armor, maybe. A habit.

Across from her, Doctor Luna Seawood sat in a wide, low chair with her usual steady presence. Her pen tapped gently against her notepad, not impatiently— soothing.

Long wild hair swept into a low braid, soft linen clothes in earth tones, no makeup except maybe a touch of something warm at the eyes.

Her posture was open, her expression calm in a way that felt deliberate. Intentional. Like no version of Raven scared her. Like she'd seen far worse and still chosen kindness.

Her whole energy said: You're safe. Speak freely. I’m not going anywhere.

Raven had met her years ago through the clinic. Roan King—her husband, and the father of their two absurdly polite kids—had been Raven’s physical therapist after her second surgery.

Stoic and solid, with a voice like gravel and hands that knew exactly where the scar tissue lived. He’d been the first person to make her walk again without making her feel like a failure when she fell.

Roan knew about the crash. Knew the angles of her injuries, the long chain of metal fused to her spine, the nerve damage no one could quite predict.

He didn’t know about her mother.

No one did.

It was Roan who first suggested Luna.

After a particularly rough session last summer, something in Raven had snapped. Roan had been guiding her through some core rebalancing exercises—nothing new—but something about the movement, the sensation of being physically trapped in her own body, had spiraled into a full-blown panic attack. The kind she hadn’t had in years.

She hadn’t meant to cry. But she had. Right there on the mat, gasping and shaking. And Roan, instead of prying or pushing, had just handed her a water bottle and said, quietly, “You might want to talk to Luna.”

She’d ignored him, of course. She always had a workaround. A patch. A distraction.

Until the panic attacks started coming back. Until sleep felt like a dare. Until the old tricks stopped working.

And so here she was. At the Seawood-King Wellness Institute, a few months into therapy, still pretending she didn’t need it.

Just another secret tucked away from the rest of her world.

“How did the party go?” Luna’s voice was gentle, as always—soft, steady, without pressure.

Raven stared down at her hands, her thumbs fidgeting in her lap. “Weird,” she said finally, voice tight.

“Jackson and Miller’s engagement?” Luna prompted.

Raven nodded, still picking at a hangnail. “Yeah. Big house. String lights everywhere. The kind of party where everyone’s glowing with joy. There was an actual dance-off. Clarke made a playlist. Octavia was too competitive about it.”

A small smile tugged at Luna’s lips. “That sounds fun.”

“It was. Loud, chaotic, full of energy—but not in a bad way. Just… a lot. Everyone’s building something. Buying homes, setting wedding dates. Meanwhile, I showed up solo with sarcasm, not even a bottle of wine. I forgot to pull it from the back of my fridge.”

“Did you feel out of place?”

Raven gave a noncommittal shrug. “I always do. That’s the default setting. Nothing new.”

Her voice shifted, sharper now. “Some of Jackson’s coworkers tried not to stare at my brace. One guy looked at it like it might explode.”

She huffed a laugh. “Rookie.”

Luna let the silence settle, then said, “Last week, you mentioned how their news made you reflect on your own relationships.”

“You mean the lack of them,” Raven corrected her, a bit too fast, her fingers still twisting the cuff of her hoodie.

Luna nodded slowly, giving her space to continue.

Raven didn’t. Not right away.

She just kept twisting the fabric like it might come undone, like maybe she would too.

"I told Murphy," she shot after a long pause, her voice tighter than before. "That I’ve never been in a relationship. Not a real one. Told him I’ve never had sex."

Luna didn’t react. No widening eyes. No tilt of the head. “That’s a vulnerable thing to share.”

Raven let out a dry, bitter scoff. “Yeah, no shit. It just kind of… slipped out. Wasn’t like I planned a therapy moment at a goddamn engagement party. I thought he already knew, anyway.”

“What made you tell him?” Luna asked gently.

Raven shrugged, then shook her head with a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know. We were both hiding out on the balcony, dodging the whole Hallmark nightmare going on inside. He saw something was off with me, and I just... said it. Maybe I was tired. Maybe I was testing him. Daring him to judge me.”

“Did he?”

“No.” Her answer came quickly, almost surprised. “He didn’t flinch. Just listened. No pity. No weird looks. He just… let me talk. I told him about Finn, how I thought it meant something back then, but it didn’t. And how I haven’t really let anyone in since.”

Luna leaned in slightly. “That sounds like a meaningful exchange.”

Raven pulled her knees up to her chest, boots pressing against the edge of the couch. “Or a pathetic one. I don’t know. I don’t exactly do... ‘meaningful.’ Not outside this room. And that’s what I pay you for.” She smirked faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Did John make you feel pathetic?”

“I did feel pathetic,” Raven answered softly. “But not because of him. He was…”

“A good friend?” Luna offered.

She huffed out a breath that was too soft to be a real laugh. “He’s Murphy. The other broken toy in the box. He probably has even more baggage than I do.”

“And maybe that’s why he understands you.”

Raven went quiet for a moment, thoughtful. Then: “People always say connection is a basic human need. Like oxygen, or water.”

“It is,” Luna affirmed, calm as ever.

“I usually ignore it. It’s easier. But lately, it’s like... everyone around me is building lives, futures. Together. And I’m just orbiting them. Floating around in my own little bubble.”

“What if you reached out? Just to see where it might take you?”

“ You mean a relationship?”

“ A something.”

Raven shook her head, eyes distant. 

“I’m a coward,” she muttered. “After Finn... after everything, it’s easier not to try. I mean, yeah, I’ve had crushes over the years, but I never acted on them.”

“And what about the people who might’ve been interested in you?”

“There weren’t any.” She said it fast. Too fast.

Luna raised an eyebrow. “None?”

Raven hesitated. “None I noticed,” she corrected quickly. “So it didn’t matter.”

She looked down, pressing her forehead to her knees. Then, almost too quiet to hear: “I don’t know why. Maybe I give off a vibe. Like, don’t even try. Maybe I don’t know how to see it when someone does. Or maybe I just... can’t believe anyone could.”

“What makes you believe that, Raven?”

The question hit harder than it should have. Raven’s whole body tensed.

Not a what, but a who.

She didn’t answer. In the silence, the echo of her mother’s voice rose like smoke from a fire that never really went out.

"You worthless cripple. No one will ever want you."

But she didn’t say that. Couldn’t.

So instead, she deflected. “I don't know. I guess... Finn’s behavior didn’t help.”

Luna didn’t push. She just nodded, respectfully. “Sounds like we’re sitting with more questions than answers today.”

Raven let out a breath. “Story of my life.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Not complety uncomfortable. Then Luna spoke again, her voice anchoring.

“We’ll get there, Raven.”

Raven looked up at her, doubtful. “Don’t give me hope, Seawood.”

The therapist smiled softly. “You’re a human being with a complex history. And maybe, for the first time, you’re starting to let someone see the whole picture. That’s healing.”

Raven blinked, then looked away again. She didn’t scoff. She didn’t smirk.

And that, in itself, meant something.

“Murphy said I’m running. That I’m scared to start anything real. And he’s right. I've been running for years. How the hell am I supposed to change that now?”

“Slowly,” Luna replied. “Safely. With support.The real question is, do you want to stop running, Raven?”

Raven stayed silent, her gaze fixed on the carpet.

But in that silence, her answer was already there.

“Why don’t we start with baby steps?” Luna suggested. “Not everything has to be a leap, remember?  Just think about what a first step could look like—for you.”

Right. Baby steps. That’s what Luna always said—small, steady movements forward. Nothing drastic. Nothing that needed to be perfect. Just a little momentum, enough to keep the past from pulling you back under.

Raven wrinkled her nose. “Is that the homework of the week?”

“Just... think about it,” Luna said with a small smile.

When you were Raven Reyes, even baby steps felt like free-climbing a cliff without a rope. Every inch forward scraped against old wounds, reopened scars you thought had finally scabbed over. Trust, vulnerability, even hope—they weren’t steps. They were ledges, and each one looked like it might crumble the second she put her weight on it.

And still… she stood at the edge, heart pounding, trying to decide if this time she might actually climb.

--------------------

After the therapy session—and a giant caramel macchiato with a pair of scones to nurse her tender soul and jumpstart the right kind of dopamine—Raven pushed through the glass doors of Eligius Corporation.

The familiar scent of motor oil and soldered metal greeted her like an old friend. The main floor buzzed with quiet energy: the low murmur of voices, the soft clatter of keyboards, the occasional hiss of a soldering gun.

It was the usual Monday morning scene—half-awake engineers clutching coffee, hunched over half-finished projects and blinking at their screens like they'd never seen them before.

The space was a chaotic blend of sleek cubicles and cluttered workbenches, blueprints pinned to every surface, and the glow of CAD software flickering on screens.

Her boots echoed on the polished concrete as she made her way to her station—a corner desk littered with schematics, soldering tools, and a half-disassembled hydraulic gear prototype she’d been fine-tuning for days.

She dropped her backpack beside her desk with a soft thud and gave a nod toward Ryker, who was already deep into his latest project. 

“Morning,” she said—clipped, but not unfriendly.

Ryker glanced up from his screen, the corner of his mouth twitching in a half-smile. “You’re late. Or I’m just too early.”

His desk, as always, was absurdly tidy—every cable coiled, every tool in its place. The only personal touch was a framed photo of his twin toddlers grinning in matching overalls, propped beside a stack of neatly labeled notebooks.

Despite the senior title, he was only a few years older than her. A decent guy, no-nonsense, and not a total corporate drone. She could live with that.

Raven just smirked and slid into her seat, already reaching for her tablet. “Traffic. Life. Mondays. Take your pick.”

“Survived the weekend?”

“Barely.”

She gave a shrug and cracked open her laptop, ready to lose herself in the hydraulic redesign.

But before she could fully immerse, Gaia from HR breezed past, her dreadlock ponytail swaying with each step, smooth and steady like a pendulum. She stopped at Raven’s desk with the kind of perkiness only caffeine and unshakable job security could explain.

“Hey, Raven,” she chirped, leaning a little too far into her personal space. “Did you see the email about the company dinner? It went out this morning. RSVPs are due by Friday!”

And just like that, she was gone—vanishing down the aisle in a cloud of citrus perfume and forced enthusiasm.

Raven’s fingers paused over her keyboard. Her shoulders tensed.

“Dinner?” she asked, feigning ignorance, though her stomach was already knotting. She knew exactly what Gaia meant.

The Eligius Annual Gala.

That polished, exhausting evening of small talk and white tablecloths, where people paraded their smiling spouses, polished rings, and eerily well-behaved children.

Conversations revolved around mortgage rates and private schools and weekend getaways. And Raven—lone, scarred, and pointedly unattached—never fit the picture.

Most years she found an excuse not to go. A “deadline.” A “cold.” Once or twice she’d shown up alone, clinging to a drink at the edge of the room like it was a life raft. No stories, no partner, no buffer.

One year, Jackson had gone with her—both of them wearing matching expressions of thinly veiled sarcasm. They’d had fun, in a this-is-bearable-if-we-laugh-at-it kind of way, but not enough to ever want a repeat.

She’d considered asking him again. Or maybe Miller.

But they hated these events just as much as she did—and worse, she didn’t want anyone showing up out of pity.

She wasn’t a charity case.

Events like this scratched at something she worked hard to bury. That nagging sense of being on the outside looking in. The engagement party had already split that wound wide open. The idea of another night pretending to belong—only to feel even more alone—left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Yeah,” Ryker said, rolling his eyes in mock sympathy. “Some fancy hotel downtown. They’re even covering rooms for the night so no one ends up drunk driving and tanking the company’s liability. Dress code says ‘black tie optional,’ which basically means everyone’s showing up like it’s the damn Met Gala.”

Raven forced a smirk. “Great. Another evening of pretending I give a shit about corporate politics and whose kid just got into kindergarten.”

Ryker chuckled, tapping the edge of his mug. “Delilah and I already made a pact—we’re ghosting after the second course. If we time it right, we’ll be halfway home before the CEO starts handing out those tacky glass plaques.”

“Smart,” Raven said, dryly. “Mind if I third-wheel that escape plan?”

Ryker chuckled, then turned his attention back to his screen. He wasn’t the type to idle—always focused, always moving forward.

Raven's eyes flicked to her now open inbox, where the event email glared at her like a bright red warning light. 

She clicked it open, skimmed the details—venue, dress code, RSVP link—and, without letting herself think too much, hit “Yes.”

She already knew she’d back out last minute. Blame a migraine. Or an apocalypse. Or anything, really. It wasn’t the first time.

By midday, the office was humming louder than the old cooling fans on the server rack. Conversations floated between cubicles—dresses, tuxedos, which plus-one they were bringing, which ones they were avoiding.

Raven tuned it out, fingers flying over her keyboard as she adjusted the gear ratios on a prototype, but the noise had a way of creeping in. Clawing under her skin.

Her phone buzzed.

At first, she ignored it—probably just another all-staff thread about carpool logistics or someone’s desperate plea for gluten-free dessert options. She was already over it.

But then came a second buzz.That was different. A picture.

Raven glanced at the screen, expecting something annoying. Instead, it caught her interest.

It was a photo of a napkin, clearly taken on a bar counter. Scribbled in ballpoint pen was a cartoonish drawing: a sharp-eyed raven perched beside a smug-looking cockroach.

Both were wearing tiny, lopsided paper crowns. The caption in the corner, scrawled in chaotic handwriting, read:

“Royal rejects. No ball, no glass slippers, just attitude.”

She stared for a second.Then, without warning, a laugh escaped her. Short, surprised. Real.

Murphy.

No text. No explanation. Just that dumb napkin. A callback to that half-drunk moment on the balcony at Jackson and Miller’s party, when she’d called herself “the raven in everyone else’s fairy tale”—and him “the cockroach that wouldn’t die.”

He remembered that. And he turned it into a stupid doodle.

Still smiling, she tapped out a reply:

Hate to break it to you, but the raven’s going to a ball. Company gala. Tux required. No escaping the fairy tale now.

She hit send and locked her phone quickly, before she could overthink it.

 Nothing had changed since the party. Not really. This was just...their thing. Teasing. Half-truths under sarcasm.

And somehow, that felt like a relief. Like the world hadn’t shifted just because she’d let a piece of herself show.

Another buzz. She glanced down.

Still a napkin. This time, the raven was in full Cinderella drag—puffed sleeves, sparkly heels, a tiara tilted precariously on its head. Clutched in one wing was a pumpkin-shaped purse. The cockroach stood in the background holding a bottle of wine, waving goodbye.

Scrawled underneath, in all caps:

“AT MIDNIGHT, WE RIOT.”

Raven rolled her eyes, biting back a smile that was already winning.

Idiot.

She sent him a dramatic sigh sticker, then dropped her phone into her bag, still smirking.

Pushing her chair back, she stood and grabbed her jacket.

“Gonna grab lunch,” she said to Ryker, who barely looked up from his screen.“Need anything?”

“Nah, thanks,” he replied, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. “Gonna hit the gym during break. I’ll eat something on the way back.”

She was slipping on her jacket when Kyle Wick strode in, all smug confidence and cologne that smelled like a cheap nightclub.

He was a solid engineer, but as a human being, the jury was still out. Loud, flirty, and always a little too sure of himself, Wick had a way of turning every conversation into a performance. The kind of guy who thought a wink could fix anything.

He made a beeline for the admin intern—still new, still too polite to shut him down for good—then smoothly pivoted to Emily from logistics. Two divorces behind her, one more on the way, she gave him a smile so tight it looked like it might shatter her face.

Raven didn’t need to look to know what was coming next. She felt it—the way Wick’s presence slithered closer like a change in pressure. And sure enough, moments later, he leaned against her desk like he owned the damn thing.

“Well, well, Reyes.” His voice was a smug drawl. “Got a date for the big night yet?”

She didn’t look up, busy shutting off her laptop. “Pretty sure I blocked you on company chat. Wasn’t that a clue?”

He grinned, undeterred. “C’mon. You and me? We’d turn heads. I’m thinking classic black and silver. Coordinated. Bold entrance.”

She looked up slowly, giving him a flat stare. “Wick, if I ever need someone to ruin a perfectly good evening, I’ll let you know.”

Ryker, a few feet away, snorted into his hand.

Wick chuckled like she was joking, clearly not taking the hint. “I’ll take that as a maybe.”

“Take it as a no,” she said, deadpan. “A hard, definitive, possibly-carved-into-bedrock kind of no.”

Still, he pressed on, clearly enjoying the game he thought he was playing. 

“Ouch, Reyes. I’m not that bad. Could be good for networking, you know. Make some impressions. Shake the right hands.”

“Find another ego boost, Wick.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, but the smirk never left his face.

“Hey, you’re not my first pick either, no offense. You’re hot, sure, but you’ve got that... icy thing going on. All business. Tight ponytail, sharp sarcasm. Not exactly a turn-on. Still—” he winked “—when you’re ready to loosen up, you know where my station is.”

Raven didn’t answer. She just stared, expression unreadable.

Wick finally sauntered off, moving toward someone else who hadn’t yet developed the reflex to dodge him. Probably Angela in R&D. Poor thing.

Ryker leaned over once Wick was out of earshot, his voice low. “That guy gives secondhand embarrassment a new dimension.”

“One of these days, I’m gonna rewire the motion sensors so they recognize him as a threat.”

“You’d be doing the whole building a favor.”

They shared a quiet, understanding smirk, the hum of the office returning to its usual rhythm.

Then, as she turned to leave, Raven let out a long breath, the kind that scraped on the way out, and shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket. 

Wick wasn’t the problem. He was just another reminder of everything she didn’t want. And everything she still wasn’t ready for.

Sorry, Luna, she thought grimly, pushing through the side door and into the sunlight. Wick’s not the first step I want to take.

She tugged her hood up against the breeze and headed down the street in search of lunch and space to breathe.

--------------------

Later that night, the apartment was still. The only sounds were the low hum of the fridge and the occasional groan of wind against the windows.

Raven was sprawled on her couch, one arm draped over her forehead, a half-empty takeout container resting precariously on her stomach. The TV murmured in the background—a nature documentary about wolves. Or maybe foxes. Something wild, fast, and sharp-toothed.

Her brace was off, propped against the edge of the coffee table like a discarded exoskeleton. Her body ached in the familiar, bone-deep way it always did when the weather shifted. But tonight, it felt heavier. Like the ache had settled into her chest too.

The day had been long. Therapy session in the morning, which always left her spirit sore and raw, then a mess of code reviews and meetings at work that piled up faster than she could breathe.

And that fucking company dinner.

Her laptop sat open on the desk, screen dimmed but still casting a faint glow, frozen on a half-finished string of code. The deadline loomed—just two days away—but she hadn’t touched it in over an hour.

With a quiet sigh, she reached for her phone. The group chat was unusually quiet. The last message was a gym selfie from Octavia flipping them all off, captioned: Lazyasses, I lift while you nap.

Raven smirked, shaking her head, but didn’t reply. She wasn’t in the mood for banter.

Instead, she tapped over to her inbox—glanced at the unread work emails and closed it just as fast. Nope.

No more work for tonight, Reyes.

She sent Sinclair a simple "Good night" sticker and then did what she always did when her brain wouldn’t shut up—opened social media. The infinite scroll. Her favorite distraction and worst idea.

Instagram loaded up immediately, her feed a carousel of polished lives and carefully edited snapshots of people pretending they had it all figured out.

First up: Clarke and Bellamy.

A boomerang. Rooftop dinner. They clinked glasses with practiced ease. Bellamy’s arm was draped casually over the back of her chair, and Clarke was laughing like she hadn’t grown up with the weight of her mother’s expectations crushing her spine.

Caption: Work hard, wine harder.

Raven snorted. “Wow. You’re not even trying anymore, Griffin,” she said under her breath, but tapped the heart icon anyway. Muscle memory.

Next: Monty.

In his lab, goggles on, holding something small and gleaming.

Caption: Baby AI just blinked at me. Either I’m god, or it’s learning sarcasm.

Raven grinned and typed a reply:

Cool. I’ll send you a list of names for when it inevitably turns on us.

She kept scrolling. Someone from high school was pregnant again. An influencer claimed her skincare routine changed her life. A sponsored post for tactical knives caught her attention more than it should’ve.

Then—a reel. Someone had tagged her.

It was a shaky, overexposed video from the engagement party. The camera panned across fairy lights, a swirl of dancers, a blur of drinks raised mid-toast. Then—there she was. A quick moment, almost missed. Mid-laugh. Head tilted back. Beside her, Murphy leaned in to say something, mouth close to her ear, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

She didn’t remember what he said, but she remembered that moment. Her smile slipped in before she could stop it.

She scrolled past.

Stories. Ads. Memes. Ryker lifting something absurd at the gym. Harper cooking something elaborate, narrating like she was hosting her own Food Network show—complete with dramatic music and jump cuts.

Murphy’s story.

A dim shot of the bar counter. Just a drink, sweating slightly in the low light. A thin trail of smoke curled upward from a cigarette resting in an ashtray. The lighting flickered—soft, amber, almost intimate, like the bar itself was holding its breath.

And layered over it: music. “Don’t You Give Up on Me Yet” by Jonah Kagen.

Raven’s brow arched as the sound drifted through her phone speaker. She recognized it.

Murphy had introduced her to the song months ago, on one of those too-late nights he’d driven her home after a hangout with the others. he playlist had played low in the background. He’d said the lyrics were “something.” She hadn’t really listened then.

But tonight, she did.

Another morning light

And I ain’t slept in four damn nights

'Cause I been seein' ghosts out in the dew

I haven't felt like me

Can't find my way back home

Can't find a way to feel like I ain't in this world alone

No caption. No snark. No emojis. Just the song.

And something in it hit her like a punch—sharp, unexpected, too damn close to home.

She watched the story once. Then again. By the third time, her stomach had twisted into something she didn’t want to name.

She tapped into their DMs.

Scrolled up—memes, sarcastic insults, some chaotic gifs, half-finished conversations, the occasional surprisingly sincere message he’d dropped like he didn’t mean to.

She smirked a little and sent a gif: two overly dramatic emo teens staring out car windows in the rain, lost in their own angst.

Caption: Us. Every time we listen to sad boy music at 2AM. Next roadtrip, I’m in charge of the playlist.

A beat. Her fingers hovered. Then she added:

You okay?

And hit send.

She wouldn’t admit it—not out loud, maybe not even to herself—but she wanted an answer.

A flicker of connection.

"He’s Murphy. The other broken toy in the box. Probably carrying even more scars than I do."

“And maybe that’s why he understands you.”

The thought came with a sigh, almost a laugh. Do we bleed the same, John Murphy?

She stared at the message thread a moment longer, thumb hovering above the screen like it might answer her sooner.

Like he might.

Then she locked the phone. Moment of weakness over.

It was past midnight. Time to shut down her brain for good.

She turned off the lights, brushed her teeth on autopilot, then grabbed her phone from the couch and crawled under the covers.

Set the alarm. Saw the notification icon. Her chest gave a tiny, stupid, involuntary jolt—hope flaring before she could crush it.

But it wasn’t him. Just Monty, replying to her earlier comment with a robot emoji. She sighed and was about to close the app when an ad popped up.

Soft, ambient music. Gentle transitions. A video montage of fleeting, quiet moments:

A woman at a coffee shop, smiling faintly at her phone.

Two people walking slowly down a rainy sidewalk, not touching—just close.

A hand hesitating over a phone screen.

Then white text faded in, one line at a time:

Not wanting to rush?

Not ready to go deep?

Try a conversation.

Try a moment.

Try StepOne.

Dating for people who like a slow burn.

Raven blinked at it.

No airbrushed models. No screaming neon promises. No desperate captions about soulmates or “people near you.”

Just stillness. Quiet.

Soft things.

StepOne.

“Not everything has to be a leap. Think about what a first step could look like—for you.”

She scoffed. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

The ad was for some new dating app, because of course it was. The universe had a cruel sense of humor. 

She almost scrolled past it. Almost.

But her thumb hesitated, hovering just above the screen like it had a mind of its own..

She tapped the comments instead, expecting trash. Half of them were jokes—puns, bad date horror stories, snarky takes. The other half, though, caught her off guard. Real people. Tagging friends. Talking about soft starts, quiet connections. Starting again, even when it scared them. Especially when it scared them.

She stared at the post longer than she should’ve, her thumb still frozen.

It was stupid. Dating apps were loser material—the digital pit of despair. And yet, the ache Murphy’s song had carved into her chest still lingered, tangled with Luna's words. The ache, the silence, and the flicker of a maybe.

A beginning, disguised as a button.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she tapped Download.

The install bar crawled like it was mocking her, dragging its feet across the screen. She hated how her heart picked up anyway, how her breath caught. And when the icon finally appeared—soft blue, small, still—it looked harmless. Like nothing.

But Raven Reyes would have faced war zones and open flames with steadier hands than she had now.

So she didn’t open it. Not yet.

“It’s fucking dumb,” she muttered into the dark.

Downloading it had been impulsive. Distant. Something she could still pretend didn’t matter. But opening it?

That would make it real.

She tossed her phone onto the nightstand ike it had burned her fingertips and pulled the blanket tighter across her chest.

The app stayed there.

Waiting.

Like a first step.

Whatever.

Chapter Text

On Thursday night, she cracked.

Raven was sprawled across her bed in an oversized hoodie, bad leg dangling off the side, half-watching a grainy old action movie with the volume barely audible. The lights were off, her room cast in the flickering blue of her laptop screen, when her phone buzzed beside her.

Monty: Group call in 10. Jasper’s got news.

Well, that was unexpected.

Jasper Jordan. It had been a while.

Back in high school, he’d been Monty’s shadow—his best friend, his chaos twin, the one who showed up to chemistry class with cracked goggles and singed eyebrows. 

He had a gift for turning every science project into a borderline explosion, and Raven had ended up partnered with him more than once. He was brilliant in a way that bordered on reckless—always a little too loud, a little too fast, constantly deflecting with jokes.

But there was more to Jasper than the chaos. Underneath the laughter was a darkness few had seen coming. Senior year, it had nearly swallowed him whole.

He’d disappeared for a while after the attempt, and when he came back, he wasn’t the same. Not broken—just quieter. Sharper, in a way that didn’t cut outward anymore.

Eventually, he left everything behind. Moved continents. Started over in Africa with Maya Vie, the soft-spoken girl he’d crushed on since sophomore year.

Somewhere along the line, they'd found their way back to each other, and that had been it. Jasper had built a new life, far from the ghosts of the past.

He didn’t keep in touch much. A few group calls on birthdays, holidays, anniversaries of things none of them really said out loud. But when Jasper called a meeting, it usually meant something.

She stared at the message for a moment, thumb hovering. Then sighed.

“Let’s see what the mad scientist has cooked up this time” she muttered, and tapped Join.

One by one, the familiar faces of her circle filled the screen.

Bellamy was already there, clearly fresh off a long evening wrestling with bedtime. His hair was sticking out in multiple directions, and he looked both exhausted and victorious, slouched into the couch with a beer in hand.

“Of course you’re first,” Raven muttered.

He raised an eyebrow. “Some of us responsible adults like being on time.”

“Little spawn finally passed out?”

“Clarke’s at the hospital. I’m on single-parent duty tonight,” he said, the tired affection in his voice softening the sarcasm.

Then came Octavia, flopping into frame as Lincoln settled behind her. They were on the kitchen floor for some reason, surrounded by what looked like abandoned takeout containers and an energetic puppy trying to chew Lincoln’s sleeve.

“Tell me again why we’re doing this on a Thursday?” Octavia asked, pulling her hair into a bun.

“Because, you know, some people have schedules,” Lincoln said, pressing a kiss to her temple as he swatted the puppy away.

Monty and Harper popped in next, sitting side by side on their couch. Harper had a giant bowl of popcorn balanced on her knees while Monty was fiddling with a smart home gadget that clearly wasn’t cooperating.

“Still fighting your thermostat?” Raven teased.

Monty sighed dramatically. “I’m a software engineer, not an exorcist.”

“We don’t have ghosts,” Harper added with a smirk, “but our thermostat definitely thinks we do.”

Jackson joined next from what looked like his office. He was still in scrubs, hair damp like he’d rushed out of the shower. Clarke was behind him, tying her hair back with one hand while scrolling through something on a clipboard with the other.

“Hi, yes, we’re here, and yes,” Jackson said, “we’ve got about five minutes before another ER drama hits. Don’t judge.”

“Our very own Grey’s Anatomy,” Clarke muttered without looking up. “Except the interns are somehow even worse.”

“But at least the doctors are just as hot,” Octavia added with a grin.

Bellamy and Lincoln exchanged matching, mock-offended scowls.

“Nate’s on patrol. He says hi, but won’t be joining the party,” Jackson added.

Then Murphy’s square lit up.

He had his hood up, back pressed to what looked like a brick wall—probably the alley behind the bar. His face was half in shadow, a cigarette hanging from his lips. No smile. No words. Just a quiet nod to the group.

Raven’s breath caught—just for a second.

He’d finally replied to the message she’d sent a few nights ago.

You okay? Three words. No pressure.

He’d answered hours later, well past midnight, with a single thumbs-up emoji.

A wall. A closed door.

It stung more than she cared to admit. But she hadn’t pushed. She never did. If anyone understood the urge to shut the world out, it was Raven. So she’d let it go. 

They’d messaged a few times since—nothing deep. The usual snark, griping about work, sharing the random chaos of their days. No more cracks in the armor.

And now here he was, hoodie drawn like a shield, giving nothing away.

“Wow,” Bellamy said, raising an eyebrow. “Murphy, you’re a real ray of sunshine tonight.”

Murphy didn’t even blink. “Don’t get used to it.”

A few chuckles rolled through the group. Raven didn’t laugh—she just watched him in the square.

He caught her stare and held it, for half a second. So she gave him a small, crooked smile. He didn’t smile back, but he didn’t look away either.

Progress, maybe.

“So, Monty,” Octavia jumped in, leaning forward. “What’s the big news?”

“Not my secret to spill, Baby Blake,” Monty said, grinning. “But I promise—it’s a good one. Let’s wait for Jasper to connect.”

And right on cue, Jasper’s square lit up.

He looked like sunshine—tanned, grinning, his hair a little longer and tousled, standing in what appeared to be a bright, airy kitchen. White shutters framed the windows, and tropical light poured across the walls like it lived there.

Behind him, Maya appeared, radiant in a loose sundress, waving at the camera as she passed with a cup of something iced.

“Hi, losers,” Jasper greeted, his voice full of that old familiar mischief. “Glad to see you’re all just as ugly as the last time I saw your tiny pixelated faces.”

“Speak for yourself,” Octavia shot back, adjusting her camera. “Some of us aged like fine wine.”

Bellamy snorted. “And some of us just aged.”

“We missed you guys too,” Harper added with a warm smile. “Even if your background looks like a travel agency brochure. We’re freezing our asses off in Arkadia.”

“You’ll have to come visit someday,” Maya offered, her hand on Jasper's shoulder.

“Yeah,” Jasper grinned. “Not our fault the sun actually exists here.”

Then his gaze shifted, catching movement in another square on the call. “Hey, Jackson—congrats, man. I heard the news!”

Jackson blinked, surprised. “Thanks! Yeah… still wrapping my head around it.”

“Finally locking it down,” Maya said, smiling. “You deserve all the happiness, seriously.”

“I’ll eat to that,” Harper cheered, lifting her popcorn like a toast.

“You’re all getting way too sentimental,” Octavia muttered with a smirk. “Can we go back to roasting each other before I start crying?”

“Aww, did we hurt the Red Queen’s feelings?” Jasper teased.

“You wish,” Octavia shot back, grinning. “That would require me having feelings.”

Raven smirked, propped on one elbow. “So, what’s this ‘news’ you’ve got, Sunshine Boy? You call a council meeting just to insult us or…?”

Jasper raised his hands. “Okay, okay, you got me. I do have news. Big news.”

He glanced over his shoulder, and Maya stepped back into frame beside him, her eyes bright.

“We’re having a baby.”

For a moment, no one spoke. The silence stretched—one heartbeat, two—then the screen exploded.

Shouts, cheers, overlapping voices. Someone banged a pot in the background (probably Octavia). Bellamy whooped loud enough to distort his mic.

Murphy clapped once, deadpan as ever. “Well, shit.”

Clarke already had tears in her eyes. “Oh my god, Jasper.”

Harper just stared, stunned. Looked like Monty had kept her in the dark too.

“No way!” Raven said, grinning. “You’re gonna be a dad?”

“I know,” Jasper laughed, cheeks flushed. “Insane, right? But yeah. It’s happening.”

Bellamy leaned into the camera. “You’re gonna raise a tiny chaos gremlin. God help us all.”

“I’m actually happy for you,” Murphy muttered, like it physically hurt. “Which is deeply upsetting.”

“You’ll get over it,” Jasper shot back, smirking.

“Seriously, man,” Jackson added, shaking his head with a slow smile. “That’s... that’s amazing.”

“Thanks, guys. Really.”

“How far along?” Harper asked, her voice light but a touch too even, like someone aiming for neutral and landing just off.

“Due in July.”

The group launched into a new round of questions and jokes.

The conversation spiraled into baby name debates—some sweet, some borderline illegal—followed by terrible parenting jokes and half-serious vows to send diapers and wine across continents. But beneath the laughter, something tender held steady.

Years apart. Different cities, countries, lives. Yet somehow, still a family.

Raven leaned back, watching their faces glow against screens. Smiling. Growing. Healing.

Her own reflection stared back at her, the curve of her mouth held in a practiced smirk. But under it, something pulled tight in her chest.

Jasper Jordan. Expecting a child.

The same kid who once duct-taped sparklers to a model rocket in physics class. Who used to joke he wouldn’t make it to twenty-one and believe It.

Now here he was—alive, grounded, halfway across the world in Tanzania, working for a humanitarian org, in love, about to bring a whole new human into the world.

She should’ve felt nothing but happiness for him. And she did. Mostly.

But beneath it all, quieter and meaner, was that jolt—that familiar, hollow sting. The same one she’d felt when she heard about Jackson and Miller taking the next step.

Not envy exactly. More like a reminder.

That people could come back from the edge.

They could build again. Heal. Change.

Start over.

And once again, she was the one standing still.

Murphy left the call first, muttering something about work, though his expression had softened right before signing off. Jackson and Clarke went next, promising to catch up soon.

One by one, the windows disappeared from her screen. Laughter turned to static, then nothing. The silence that followed wasn’t new—but tonight, it sat heavier in her chest.

She didn’t move right away. Just stared at the ceiling,  phone still clutched in her hand. A beat passed. Then another.

Only when a soft vibration buzzed in her palm did she glance down.

Two notifications.

The first: a message from Sinclair.

“Drop by the garage tomorrow if you can. Got something for you.”

No punctuation, as usual. But she could almost hear his voice in it—calm, familiar, grounding.

The second was brighter, more insistent.

A pop-up from that stupid dating app she’d half-forgotten about.

StepOne: Ready to stop ghosting your own love life? Finish setting up your profile.

She stared at that one longer. No eye roll this time. No smirk.

It felt pathetic. Embarrassing, even—like signing up meant she was officially surrendering to the universe.

Yes, I’m thirty-two. Yes, I’m alone. And yes, I’m apparently desperate enough to swipe through strangers like I’m ordering pad thai at 2 a.m.

Her heart was thudding, traitorous and loud.

What was the alternative, really? Sitting here night after night, watching the years pile up like dirty laundry, hoping someone magically noticed her across the void?

Raven exhaled slowly. Shook her head.

“Fuck it,” she muttered.

And tapped Sign Up.

______________

The profile setup was a minefield.

Name: Raven Reyes.

Age: 32.

Location: Auto-filled. Great.

Bio: She stared at the blinking cursor like it had personally insulted her.

Mechanic. Sarcastic. Not here for games.

She chewed her lip, reading it back. Too harsh? Not exactly inviting. But she couldn’t bring herself to do the fake bubbly thing either. No “dog mom” or “wine lover” clichés. No soft-focus beach pics. That just wasn’t her.

She scrolled through her camera roll and settled on a photo of her standing in front of a black '87 Bentley, hands on her hips, chin up, covered in grease and pride.

She’d rebuilt the transmission herself and reworked the suspension over a long, stubborn winter. Not exactly date bait, but it was honest. If someone didn’t like it, they weren’t her kind of person anyway.

She hit Save.

A little loading icon spun. Welcome to StepOne.

She exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for weeks. And that’s when the real horror began.

There were... people. Lots of people. And not the good kind of interesting.

Some were just painfully predictable—duck face selfies in gym mirrors, or shirtless bathroom photos with motivational quotes in the captions.

Others leaned into unsettling—one guy had a close-up of his taxidermy collection as his profile pic. Another had a single sentence in his bio: “Looking for my submissive queen.”

Hard pass.

But then there were the familiar faces. And those were worse.

Bob from marketing. Fifty-two. Smiling in a wine bar, sunglasses on indoors. He was infamous at company events—left his wife last year for a nineteen-year-old he met at Burning Man, only for the girl to dump him for his own son. Kind of a hilarious story, if you ignored the moral collapse.

Next.

The guy from the bakery down the street. Kind, quiet, always gave her extra icing on her cinnamon roll. His wife had handed it to her just that morning, all warmth and small-town smiles.

Next.

Next. Next. Next.

Every swipe made her shoulders tense just a little more. Her expression turned sharper, colder, like she was deflecting bullets instead of browsing profiles. She wasn’t sure what she was hoping for—an instant spark? A miracle? A glitch in the matrix?

Her first few matches were, in a word, catastrophic.

One guy opened with, “Ever considered selling feet pics? Serious question.”

Blocked.

Another proudly listed his job title as “Crypto King,” and his hobbies as “hustling, grinding, and dominating the algorithm.”

Raven stared at the screen in horror, wondering if she should call a priest or a tax agent.

The third—whose profile photo was just a shirtless mirror selfie with LED lights in the background—had the nerve to message:

“You look like you’d ruin my life in a good way.”

She didn’t even block that one. She just laughed. Out loud. And then winced at herself for laughing.

Two swipes later, there was a guy who seemed normal… until he admitted he still lived with his ex “for financial reasons” and thought horoscopes were a government scam.

Raven let out a groan and dropped her phone onto the mattress like it had personally offended her. She flopped back against the pillows, arm thrown over her face, the weight of the day pressing down all at once.

Slow burn her ass.

This was supposed to be the app. The one that promised deep conversations and quiet meetings.

And yet here she was, a handful of swipes in, already considering celibacy as a long-term lifestyle.

“See, Luna?” she muttered to the ceiling. “I tried. I failed. I’ll never try again.”

The thing was—beneath all the snark, there had been a part of her that hoped. A flicker, stupid and small, that maybe this time, this weird digital ritual might lead to something that didn’t immediately suck.

But even now, the whole thing felt alien. Forced. Like trying on someone else’s life and realizing the sleeves didn’t fit.

With a sigh, she grabbed her phone again, half-thinking she’d delete the whole damn thing. But instead, she just set it on Do Not Disturb and tossed it back down.

Enough for one night.

She didn’t even bother changing out of her hoodie. Just curled up under the covers, the city glow spilling faintly through the blinds.

______________

A scream tore through the dark—metal shrieking, rubber burning. She’s back in the car, a second before impact. Headlights—too close, too fast. Her breath catches. The weight of the dashboard against her legs. Blood in her mouth. Then silence. A kind of silence that hums in her bones.

Cut.

Her mother’s voice, slurred and sharp. “You think you’re better than me?” A bottle crashes in the sink. Raven’s hands grip the edge of the kitchen counter. “Go on, run off to your genius school. See how far it gets you without your whore of a mother to clean up your mess.”

Cut.

A man with a cigarette leans in too close. The yellow of his teeth. The heat of his breath. “You’re gonna be a heartbreaker, just like your mom.” He winks. Raven’s maybe ten. She wants to punch him, but she stands still. Frozen. Learning the first rule: don’t react.

Cut.

The hospital light. The doctor’s face above hers, too soft, too sorry. “You’re lucky,” he says. “You’re alive.” But all she felt was the absence—just that hollow, ghost-like nothing where her leg used to be. Her luck bled out on asphalt.

______________

The morning light stabbed at her eyelids before she even managed to open them. Raven groaned, smacking the alarm off and blinking up at the ceiling like it had personally offended her.

Six a.m.

Another night dragged through the horror reel of her brain.

She’d woken more than once, chest tight, mouth dry, fists twisted in the sheets like she was holding on for dear life. The kind of waking that left you breathless, not because of the nightmare—but because part of you wasn’t sure it was one.

Each time she’d fallen back under, sleep came colder, heavier. Not rest. Just more noise. Static and half-formed memories, all sharp edges and shadows that slipped away before she could grasp them—leaving only the weight behind.

Her whole body ached, like the night had left bruises beneath her skin.

"Morning, sunshine," she muttered, exhaling as her fingers tightened around the sheets.

She reached for her phone—not out of need, but out of habit. Something to fill the silence, to keep her from sinking too deep into her own head.

One notification blinked at the top of the screen:

You’ve got a match!

She blinked again, squinting at it.

Great. Another idiot incoming, and she was in no mood to deal with one. Still half-awake, she tapped the alert, bracing herself for another abs-only crypto bro—

But the name made her pause.

Cage Wallace.

Huh. Right. He’d been one of the few profiles she didn’t instinctively swipe left on last night.

Late thirties, maybe. Clean-cut. Warm smile. His profile picture showed him hiking somewhere scenic—mountains in the background, a rescue dog at his side, flannel shirt rolled at the sleeves. Outdoorsy but not obnoxiously so. In his bio, he’d written:

“Director of outreach at a trauma recovery nonprofit. Avid reader. Occasional cook. Looking for something honest.”

Her eyebrows rose. A little too polished, maybe—but not awful. Not fake, either. His photos were consistent, no shirtless thirst traps, no group shots where she had to guess who he was.

She scrolled through the rest of his page. He’d gone to Georgetown. Moved back to the city five years ago. Volunteered regularly with veterans. He had a picture with his mom at a fundraiser and another one speaking at what looked like a panel.

Normal. Stable. Functional.

All the things she wasn’t. 

Raven snorted to herself. God, what was she doing?

Her phone buzzed again. This time it was the group chat.

Clarke: Just finished a 16-hour shift and still prettier than all of you.

[Image attached: Clarke and Jackson, both in scrubs, grinning, Clarke flashing a peace sign while Jackson held up a cup labeled “liquid life.”]

Raven smirked and typed back:

Raven: You are the most beautiful broom in a broom closet of broom.

She tossed the phone onto the bed and got up, stretching her sore neck with a quiet grunt. Her left leg was sore too. Phantom pain or just stiffness, it didn’t matter. It throbbed under the surface like a quiet threat.

Before anything else, she sank onto the floor and began the routine Roan had drilled into her—stretches, slow resistance movements, breathing through the burn.

Her muscles protested, but it was better than limping through the day. He’d told her consistency would save her. Most days, she didn’t believe that. But she did it anyway.

Only once she’d finished did she grab her crutches, get to her feet, and head to the bathroom.

Shower, teeth, hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Her usual armor. She made coffee, sat at the kitchen counter, spooned peanut butter onto a slice of toast.

Her eyes drifted back to her phone. Still there, that notification. Still Cage Wallace.

She stared at the screen, thumb hovering.

Then: Whatever.

She tapped the chat open and typed:

Raven: Hey. Looks like we matched. Still trying to figure out how this thing works, but here I am.

Short. Direct. No fluff. Very on-brand. She hit send and took a bite of toast, chasing it with a mouthful of lukewarm coffee.

This part was supposed to be the wait—the anxious pause, the checking and rechecking. But she didn’t feel nervous. Not really. Just... detached. Like she was completing a task. Moving a piece forward on the board.

Except apparently Cage Wallace was a morning person. His reply came less than five minutes later.

Cage: Hi Raven. I have to say, your profile stood out—in a good way. You seem incredibly sharp. And cool name, by the way.

She raised an eyebrow. Not terrible. A little formal. A little too rehearsed. But better than send feet pics or you’d ruin my life in a good way.

Raven: Thanks. You don’t get a say in your name, but I guess I got lucky.

Cage: True. Well, I’m the Director of Outreach at a trauma recovery nonprofit. Moved here about five years ago. What about you? What do you do?

She hesitated just a second before typing.

Raven: Mechanic engineer. Code, circuits. Stuff that doesn’t talk back.

She liked how that sounded. Cool. Distant. Functional.

Cage: That sounds impressive. You must be very intelligent. I’ve always admired people who can work with tech. I’m more of a theory and books guy.

Okay, so he was a compliment-dropper. Not in a creepy way, more in the trying hard to be respectful way. Like he’d read an article on how to properly flirt with independent women and was sticking to the script.

Raven: Guess that makes us opposites.

Cage: Maybe. But opposites attract, don’t they?

She rolled her eyes. Literally. Then sent an eyeroll emoji to make the point.

Cage: I’ll be honest, I’m not great at this messaging thing. I much prefer face-to-face conversations. Would you maybe want to grab a drink tomorrow evening? No pressure—just thought I’d ask before the small talk kills us both. Hope that’s not too forward.

She stared at his message a beat too long, thumb resting above the keyboard again.

Part of her wanted to leave it. Let the message sit. Think it through, weigh the risks, make a list—hell, maybe even build a pros and cons circuit board for good measure.

Raven didn’t operate in half-measures. She never had. She was all in or not at all—equal parts control freak and impulsive disaster.

And this time chaos won.

Raven: Sure. Tomorrow works.

She set the phone down, staring at the dark screen for a moment like it might flicker back to life on its own.

So he preferred meeting in person, even though he was literally using a dating app? On paper, it was a contradiction—but weirdly, it didn’t bug her. If anything, it made sense. There was only so much you could read through a wall of text. No body language, no tone, no micro-expressions to catch between the lines.

Face-to-face meant clarity. And Raven had always craved clarity.

She finished getting ready in the usual autopilot—boots, black jeans, a hoodie that didn’t smell like sleep. By the time she was out the door, the city had fully woken up, buzzing and sharp around the edges.

Somewhere on the subway between two forgettable stations, Cage replied.

Cage: 7 p.m., Iron & Salt on West 14th. Quiet place, good drinks. Hope that works for you.

It was real now—not some vague, maybe-later possibility. It had a time, a place. A timestamp in her calendar. A future.

Raven: Sounds good. See you there.

And just like that, Raven Reyes had a date.

She slipped the phone back into her pocket, but the buzz it left behind lingered in her chest. Like the fizz before an explosion. Not quite fear. Not exactly excitement. Just... something new. And new wasn’t something she did often.

At work, she tried to push it to the back of her mind, but it looped like faulty code. Every few minutes her brain circled back: You said yes. You’re going on a date. With a stranger. A date.

By lunchtime, the doubt had started to settle in, slow and creeping. Maybe it was stupid. Maybe she was being reckless, or worse—naïve. Who even was this guy, really? What if it was all bullshit? What if she sat down across from him and instantly regretted everything

She picked at her food absentmindedly, appetite gone, stomach in knots. Her mind kept drifting, wondering what Luna would say if she were here.

Probably something maddeningly calm, like: You don’t have to do it alone, Raven. You can ask for help. You’re allowed.

The words tasted foreign in her mouth, even just thinking them.

For half a second, she considered texting Clarke. Or Harper. Harper would probably go full spreadsheet mode with safety protocols and emotional risk assessments. Clarke would ask too many questions.

Instead, she found herself typing something else entirely.

Raven: You around?

She hit send before she could second-guess it.

Because if she was going to unravel, better it happen with someone who already knew how messy she was under the surface. And Murphy? Somehow he earned a front-row seat to that disaster.

The reply came faster than she expected.

Murphy: I’m always around. What’s up?

Raven stared at the message for a second. She hadn’t actually thought this far ahead. It wasn’t like she could just say “I’m spiraling because I agreed to a date with a guy I barely know and my brain is throwing a party in my anxiety center.”

So instead:

Raven: Ok, I downloaded a dating app. And I have a date tomorrow. Try not to die of shock.

The three dots popped up instantly, like he’d been waiting for her to give him something to mock.

Murphy: Holy shit. The apocalypse really is here. Should I stock up on canned goods?

She snorted, shaking her head. God, he was so predictable.

Raven: Shut up. I just figured... might as well try.

Murphy: And here I thought you were too smart for this world.

Raven: Sorry to disappoint. The guy seems normal enough. Might be a serial killer. We’ll see.

Murphy: Bold move. Let me know where to send the search party if you don’t text back by midnight.

Raven: You joke, but I could actually put you as my emergency contact.

Murphy: Just doing my civic duty.

There was a brief pause, then another message blinked in:

Murphy: You want a distraction? I’m off tonight. Come over. I’ll make risotto. You can panic in peace.

Raven smiled faintly despite herself. It wasn’t unusual—Murphy had cooked for her before. Sometimes after late shifts, sometimes on random nights when neither of them had anything better to do. It wasn’t a habit exactly, but it had happened enough that this didn’t feel like a big deal.

Raven: Risotto? Fancy.

Murphy: Yeah, well, you don’t get to be this charming on sarcasm alone.

Raven: Fine. I’ll bring wine. Try not to poison me. I have a date tomorrow.

Murphy: No promises. 

She stared at the screen for a second after Murphy’s last message, a crooked sort of smile tugging at her lips.

Relief, maybe. Or something close to it.

Talking to him was easy—predictable in the way you never really get tired of. He gave her shit, she gave it back, and somehow that always made things feel a little more manageable. 

The whole date thing still sat weird in her chest. But knowing she could see Murphy tonight, eat something decent, pretend things were normal for a few hours... it helped.

She didn’t have to be okay all the time. Just enough to get through.

She went back to her work.

One disaster at a time.

______________

After four more hours of work, a missed metro, and a quick shower, Raven grabbed the bottle of wine she’d meant to bring to Jackson and Miller’s engagement party and headed out. But before going to Murphy’s, she made a stop.

The worn, squeaky door of Sinclair’s Auto & Repair groaned open under her hand, and the familiar scent of motor oil, warm metal, and old rubber wrapped around her like an old sweater—familiar, a little grimy, and weirdly comforting.

The garage looked exactly the same as it always had—controlled chaos. Tools cluttered every surface, a gutted ‘98 Chevy hung suspended on the lift like a stubborn ghost from the past, and the familiar rasp of Springsteen played low on the beat-up radio tucked beside the tool drawers.

Late afternoon sunlight streamed in through the high windows, catching dust motes in the air.

Sinclair was under the hood, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, grumbling softly as he fought with some rusted part that refused to budge. His coveralls were streaked with a thousand stories’ worth of grease and time.

Raven stepped inside, two takeout coffees in hand—black for her, two sugars for him.

“Still trying to tame that Chevy?” she called, setting the cups down on the nearest bench.

Sinclair glanced over his shoulder, eyes lighting up behind scratched safety glasses. “Look who it is. Thought I smelled trouble.” He straightened with a grunt. “You’re late.”

“Got held up at work,” she said, shrugging off her jacket and tossing it onto a stool. “Ryker needed help with a compressor valve. You know, basic incompetence.”

He chuckled. “Kid’s too careful. You were rewiring engines before you could legally drive. That's why you are the best. Now come over here and work your magic—I’m losing the fight.”

Raven smirked, grabbing a wrench. “You mean to say this place doesn’t fall apart without m

“Held together with spit and luck,” he said, stepping aside. His tone was rough, but the affection was unmistakable.

For Raven, Sinclair’s garage had always been more than just a garage. After the accident, he had taken her in without hesitation—given her a bed, a quiet place to heal, and eventually, a way to put her hands back to work.

While her mother had come and gone in fits of guilt and addiction, Sinclair had stayed. Honest. Never asking for more than she could give.

“What’s the issue?” she asked, crouching to peer under the hood.

“Fuel pump’s acting up,” he muttered. “Swapped it out this morning, but it’s leaking like hell. Can’t figure out where I screwed it.”

“Let’s find out,” she said, sliding underneath the car like she’d done a hundred times before. Her fingers moved on instinct, tracing the fuel line. “There. You overtightened the clamp. See how it’s kinking the hose? It’s split.”

Sinclair let out a grunt of resignation. “Rookie mistake.”

“Should’ve called me sooner,” she said, grabbing a replacement from the shelf behind her.

They worked in easy rhythm—her hands quick and precise, his slower but steady. The years hadn’t dulled their synergy. When they’d first started working together, she’d been a broken teenager, furious at the world.

But here, under the hum of fluorescents and the smell of oil, she'd found something close to peace. It was there that she’d truly learned to love engines: the clean logic of them, the satisfaction of making something broken run again.

She’d started hanging around the shop back in high school, and even after everything, despite the pain and the leg, she kept coming back. 

Sinclair hadn’t tried to fix her—he’d simply given her a place to be herself.

After a while, he handed her a rag. “ Let's take a break. Coffee’s getting cold.”

Raven stood, stretching her sore back, and grabbed her cup. She leaned against the bench, letting the warmth seep into her fingers.

“Alright,” Sinclair said, eyes narrowing as he studied her face. “What’s going on?”

She blinked. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” he said, taking a slow sip of his coffee. “You’ve got that look again.”

“What look?” she asked, even though she already knew.

“The one you get when you’re holding something heavy and pretending it’s not crushing you.”

Raven exhaled through her nose, gaze dropping to her cup. “I’m just tired, Sinclair. Nothing new.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just kept watching her the way only someone who’d known her for years could.

And yet, even with him, she couldn’t bring herself to open up. Not about how strange she’d been feeling lately. Not about the quiet weight pressing on her chest some mornings. And definitely not about the date.

Habit, maybe. Or shame. Or just the old instinct to keep things locked up tight.

“You eat today?” he asked eventually.

“Coffee counts,” she said, raising her cup in a mock toast.

“Like hell it does,” he grumbled. “I’ve got half a sandwich in the back—ham and cheese. Go grab it.”

“I’m fine.”

He waved her off, insistent. “You’re not starving on my watch, niña. Go.”

She rolled her eyes but obeyed, heading into his cluttered office. Papers, old mugs, and a dusty photo of her from her first day on the job filled the space.

She snagged the sandwich and took a bite, leaning against the doorway.

 “Happy now?”

“Getting there,” he said, joining her with his coffee. “So, how’s that crew of yours? Clarke and the kid? The loud one—Octavia?”

“They’re good,” she said between chews. “Clarke’s drowning in mom duty, Madi’s a little tornado. Octavia’s still out there kicking ass. Oh—and Miller and Jackson are getting married.”

Sinclair’s eyebrows shot up, a grin tugging at his lips.

 “No kidding? Good for them. Took ’em long enough.”

“Yeah.” She forced a smile. “Party was last week. Everyone’s all mushy about it.”

He caught the edge in her voice, studying her.

 “And you? Not feeling the mush?”

She shrugged, gaze dropping. “Not really my thing. But hey—they’re happy.”

“I’ve seen you with your friends, niña. You light up, even when you’re pretending to hate it. You don’t have to shut that out, you know.”

“I don’t shut them out,” she said quietly. “I’m just… not good at the rest.”

“You’re better than you think,” he said, clapping her gently on the shoulder. “How’s Murphy? That boy still causing trouble?”

She smirked, grateful for the shift in topic.

 “Always. And still bartending, still wrestling with his demons.”

Sinclair chuckled. “He’s my favorite, you know. Got a soft spot for him.”

Murphy being Sinclair’s favorite made sense. She thought back to the first time they’d really met. It was last year—Murphy had stopped by to check on his car while she was fixing it up for his birthday, and she noticed he was bleeding.

Turned out he’d busted his knuckles in a bar fight, trying to defend a couple of his regulars from some drunk misogynists. His boss hadn’t exactly been thrilled with his method of handling things, but in the end, he gave Murphy a pass.

She’d dragged him inside, and Sinclair had patched him up—grumbling the whole time—while handing him a cup of coffee and a lecture about staying out of trouble. Murphy had just grinned, completely unfazed. Sinclair had been hooked ever since.

She smiled for real this time. “You’ve got a thing for scrawny, screwed-up kids.”

“Eh, I knew his father. Bad story. And with his mom… that boy didn’t deserve any of it.”

“Yeah,” she said softly, gaze distant. Sometimes she wondered how different things might’ve been for Murphy if someone like Sinclair had taken him in, the way he had with her.

“You two—same grit, same chaos. He’s a little shit, sure, but he’s got a big heart. Reminds me of you when you first started—nothing but attitude and no direction. Look at you now.”

“Still a mess,” she said dryly, though a quiet warmth bloomed in her chest at the words.

After a beat, she added casually, “He’s cooking for me tonight. Risotto, apparently—I’m heading over after this.”

“Good,” Sinclair nodded. “If he feeds you, I worry less. Tell him I said hi—and not to be a stranger.”

“Will do,” she said, finishing the last bite of sandwich. She brushed the crumbs from her hands, a little more at ease.

They finished the Chevy together, the leak fixed, engine purring smooth. 

“You’re a genius, niña,” he said, clapping her shoulder again. “Don’t forget it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm amazing,” she said, smirking. “You owe me coffee next time.”

“Deal."

They stood in companionable silence for a few moments. Outside, the shadows were starting to stretch across the pavement. Raven glanced at her watch.

“I should get going,” she said, pushing to her feet. “I’m late enough to annoy Murphy, but not so late he’ll refuse to feed me.”

Sinclair nodded, pulling a cloth from his back pocket and tossing it into the laundry bin. “You need anything, you call. Doesn’t matter what time.”

She met his eyes, and for a moment, the usual armor she wore slipped just enough for gratitude to shine through. “I know.”

“Be careful, niña”

“Always am.”

She grabbed her jacket and headed for the door, the scent of grease and metal lingering on her clothes. 

Chapter Text

Murphy’s apartment was technically a room above the old fish market—half storage, half afterthought—but it didn’t smell like fish anymore, and Raven had grown used to the chaos.

The stairs creaked, the floor sloped slightly to the left, and the walls were scuffed with old paint and older stories.

But there were plants in chipped mugs on the windowsill, a battered leather couch that he pretended wasn’t comfortable, and a functional kitchen that somehow always smelled like a balm for the soul.

She stopped in front of his door, still catching her breath. Stairs were a pain in the ass with her leg, and she hated that they always won.

She knocked once.

The door creaked open, and Murphy leaned lazily against the frame, one brow arched like he’d been expecting her for hours.

“Well, well,” he drawled. “Raven Reyes, dating app superstar, gracing my shithole with her presence. To what do I owe the honor?”

Raven snorted and stepped inside. The warm scent of garlic, butter, and something earthy hit her immediately, making her stomach rumble. She smirked.

“If I remember right, you promised to feed me.”

“Kinky,” Murphy muttered, closing the door behind her. “You’re late. Dinner’s exactly five minutes away from being ruined.”

“Which means I’m technically five minutes early.” She dropped her bag near the door and pulled out the bottle of red wine. “And I brought gifts.”

Murphy eyed the bottle with something close to approval. “Acceptable tribute.”

She wandered into the kitchen, peering into the pot on the stove. “What is that?”

“Mushroom and thyme risotto,” he replied, stirring with the kind of concentration most people reserved for bomb defusal. “Crafted with the finesse of a culinary snob.”

She grinned and collapsed onto the edge of the couch, her boots still on, jacket unzipped but not off. “Smells illegal. In a good way. I’m starving.”

“Too busy saving the techno-world to remember to eat?”

“Great powers, great responsibilities.” She rolled her eyes. “I had half a sandwich at Sinclair’s. Stopped by before coming here. He says hi.”

Murphy cast a quick glance over his shoulder. “How’s the old man doing? Still got a soft spot for me?”

“Unfortunately,” she said, stretching her legs out with a sigh. “Which means something’s clearly wrong with him.”

He raised an eyebrow, shaking his head. “We should send thoughts and prayers.”

He turned off the stove and started pulling out dishes, but Raven stood up and crossed the room.

“Wait,” she said.

He stilled, then looked at her knowingly. 

“Let me guess. You want to eat on the roof.”

She gave him a look, already reaching for the blanket draped by the coat rack. 

“Obviously.”

Murphy sighed. “We’re gonna freeze our asses off.”

“Come on, don’t be a baby.”

He muttered something under his breath about masochism and terrible life choices but didn’t argue further.

With practiced ease, he plated two generous servings of risotto, poured the wine, and handed her one of the glasses.

Raven grabbed the other plate and the blanket, balancing it all like a pro. 

Murphy slipped into his battered leather jacket, locked the door behind them, and followed her up the narrow stairwell.

The rooftop was small, wedged between rusting water tanks and buildings older than either of them, but it had character.

Strung-up fairy lights flickered along the metal railing, casting a warm, uneven glow.

An old, half-sunken couch sat under the stars like it had been waiting for them. The air was crisp and biting, the kind of cold that crept into your bones if you let it.

But the view?

It was magic.

Arkadia stretched out below, skyscrapers like jagged teeth against the sky, their lights winking through the low haze.

The hum of distant traffic rose and fell like a heartbeat. It was rough and chaotic, yet somehow peaceful—like the world had hit pause, just for them.

Raven sank onto the couch with a soft sigh, pulling the blanket around her. It was cold—but she wouldn’t say it. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Murphy settled beside her, stealing a corner of the blanket like it was his by birthright. He handed her a fork, his fingers brushing hers.

“Bon appétit,” he murmured.

She took a bite of the risotto—and froze.

The rich blend of mushrooms, thyme, and sharp parmesan melted on her tongue, creamy and perfectly balanced. Her eyes widened.

“Holy shit, Murphy,” she said, swallowing. “This is… actually amazing. Even better than the burritos.”

He rolled his eyes, but his smirk wavered, just slightly. “Don’t start.”

“Seriously,” she took another bite, her voice more earnest now. “You should do something with this. You’re way too good for bar gigs.”

He leaned back against the couch, the string lights catching the sharp angles of his face.

“Nah. Cooking’s just… something I do. Keeps me sane.” 

His tone softened, losing some of its usual edge.

“I learned back at Jaha’s place in Polis. Real upscale spot, weird-ass owner. Worked the line for a while—total chaos. But the kitchen? That was the one place that made sense.”

He glanced down, absently turning the ring on his finger.

“You control the heat. The timing. The knife. Everything has rules, rhythm. It’s order. When the rest of the world’s spinning out, that kind of control—it's everything.”

Raven watched him, quiet. She knew exactly what he meant. It was the same way she felt about engines and code—systems with logic, with outcomes you could predict if you just understood the pieces.

Then he added, almost like he was talking to himself, “And if I screw it up, it’s just food. No one dies.”

She just let the silence settle between them like a shared truth. Then, softly: “Yeah. I get that.”

She looked down at the plate in her lap.

“You cook like someone who gives a damn.”

Murphy shrugged. “It’s just food.”

“It could be something more.”

“Like what?”

“Like a reason.” She smirked, tilting her head. “Like—‘Murphy’s Hell Kitchen’. Open your own place. Cook, yell at customers, be your grumpy self. It’d be perfect.”

He scoffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying him.

“Sure, I’d last maybe a week before someone chucked a chair my way—or I did the honors."

“Please. That’s part of the charm. You’d go viral in two days.”

Her voice dropped, gentler now. “You’re allowed to want things, you know.”

He didn’t say anything. Just looked at her. That look he sometimes got—like he was listening, really listening, but afraid of what he might hear.

They ate in silence for a while, the city humming softly around them. The wind picked up, tousling their hair. Above, the rooftop lights swayed like lazy fireflies.

“It's so peaceful up here,” she said eventually. “Still the best part of this place.”

“Pretty decent,” he agreed. “You know, when you can still feel your fingers.”

She gave him a sideways glance and tugged the blanket tighter around him.

“My place doesn’t have this,” she murmured. “Just a crappy view of a parking lot. And a fridge that screams every time you close it. Here you can see the stars.”

“You always say you’re never home long enough to care.”

She nodded, then added more softly, “Doesn’t mean I don’t want something better.”

For a moment, she let her gaze linger on the sky, eyes reflecting distant constellations.

“I’ve always liked the stars,” she admitted. “When I was a kid, I used to dream about walking in space. Just… floating out there, far from all the shit down here. Thought maybe if I got far enough, it wouldn’t follow me.”

Murphy said nothing, just watched her.

“But rocket programs cost money,” she added with a half-smile. “And I had enough reality to deal with. So I built engines and coded systems and told myself it was close enough.”

She shrugged, trying to make it sound casual, but her voice had softened. “It wasn’t.”

Murphy looked over at her, eyes unreadable in the dark. “Maybe it never is. But that doesn’t mean you stop reaching.”

That made her glance at him, something caught between surprise and affection in her eyes.

A beat passed.

Then she smirked. “Maybe I’ll get a place like this someday. Big penthouse. A view of the stars. Right above ‘Murphy’s Hell Kitchen.’ That way I’ll always have my grumpy personal chef on call.”

Murphy huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he set down his fork. “You want gourmet risotto at three in the morning, you better tip. Generously.”

Without asking, she reached over and stole a bite from his plate, lifting it with deliberate slowness, like a challenge.

He scowled, swatting lazily at her hand but making no real effort to stop her.

“Who raised you—wolves?” he muttered, watching her chew with a smug little grin.“You’ve got your own plate.”

“Yours tastes better,” she replied with a shrug.

She was teasing, but her eyes lingered on him a second longer than usual. He was more relaxed now—shoulders loose, expression open in a way she didn’t see often.

Not like last night, during the video call, when shadows had clung to his face.

“So, let’s get to the main event of the season—this date tomorrow. You said it’s someone from an app, but that’s all I know. Spill. You’re not exactly the swipe-right type.”

Raven exhaled, pulling the blanket higher over her legs. “I’m not. I still hate it. But… I don’t know, it was the easier way to start, I guess.”

Murphy tilted his head, studying her. “Thought you were good flying solo. What changed?”

She hesitated, her gaze drifting over the edge of the roof, watching the city lights flicker far below.

“It’s been a weird few weeks. Stuff piled up.”

He didn’t press, just waited in that way he sometimes did, letting the silence stretch, unbothered.

She didn’t fill it though, so, with the perfect mix of deadpan and mock concern, Murphy broke it.

“Since you made the highly questionable choice of listing me as your emergency contact, I need a few details before this date ends with your body in a ditch. Description, last known coordinates, maybe a blood type.”

She rolled her eyes. “You just want gossip to make fun of me later.”

“Now that’s offensive. I’m asking purely out of concern for your safety.”

“Sure you are.”

He held up a hand solemnly. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout.”

“Exactly. So take me seriously.”

She huffed a laugh, then gave in with a shake of her head.

“Fine. His name’s Cage Wallace. Director of Outreach at a trauma recovery center. Georgetown alum. Likes hiking, drives a hybrid. We’re meeting at that swanky place on West 14th.”

Murphy gave her a flat, unimpressed look. “So… a pretentious asshole.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Right, sorry—a boring, pretentious asshole.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t need to. That bar charges twenty bucks for a drink that tastes like regret and crushed petals. He picked it on purpose.”

“Maybe he’s just a nice, stable guy,” she said, trying not to smile.

“I bet he’s got long, luscious hair and that tragic little puppy-dog expression. You’ve got a type, Reyes, admit it.”

She elbowed him. “And you’re a dick.”

He grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Just calling it like I see it.”

She let the smile linger, letting it stretch just a little longer before giving him a curious look.

“You’re in a good mood tonight. It’s weird. Where’s the usual grumpy emo self?”

Murphy gave a casual shrug, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Must be the company.”

For a moment, there was a flicker of softness in his eyes—unspoken, unexpected.

“I mean, you’re fun when you’re spiraling,” he added, like a deflection.

And just like that, the softness was gone.

Raven narrowed her eyes, lips quirking with amusement. “Wow. Thanks.”

He smirked, unbothered. “Hey, you bring the entertainment, I bring the snacks and commentary. It works.”

“Yeah, yeah. Until you start handing out Yelp reviews on my love life.”

“I would never.” He lifted a hand in mock offense. “I take my role as Emergency Contact slash Life Disaster Witness very seriously.”

She shook her head, but the warmth in her eyes betrayed her fondness.

The city buzzed quietly below them, but up here, it felt like their own little pocket of calm. Just teasing, wine, and this new, strange, easy closeness.

For a moment, all the tension of the last few days seemed to fade into the background.

Before she could say anything else, Murphy added, voice light but with just enough edge to feel like more, “Anyway. Hope he’s not a complete disaster. Though if he is, I’ll be here. With food and judgment.”

“Lasagna?”

He looked down into his glass, swirling the last of the wine with exaggerated thoughtfulness, like he was weighing a life-or-death decision. “I’ll consider it. If you beg.”

She smiled. “Deal.”

Just as the moment began to stretch—soft, unspoken—Raven suddenly sneezed, sharp and unexpected.

Murphy blinked, then raised an eyebrow. “Bless you. Finally catching on that it’s freezing up here?”

She sniffed, rolling her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are, Elsa.” He sipped the last of his wine, smirking. “Just let me know when you start singing about letting it go.”

She gave him a sideways glare, tugging her sleeves down with exaggerated defiance. “You’re hilarious.”

“I try,” he said, smug and pleased with himself.

They stepped back inside, the warmth of Murphy’s apartment a welcome contrast to the chill outside. He shut the door behind them, shrugging off his jacket while Raven tugged off her boots.

Murphy gave her a sideways look. “You heading out or…?”

She smirked, already making herself at home.

“Depends. You up for a movie?”

He arched a brow but dropped onto the couch anyway. “Depends. What movie?”

She snatched the remote from his coffee table, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Frozen."

He groaned, his head falling back against the cushion. "You're killing me with the comedy."

"Well, I do aim to please... and I nail it.”

He muttered something under his breath that might’ve been agreement as the Disney logo flickered onto the screen.

Raven plopped down beside him, grinning smug as hell.

“I’m not ready for another round of that frosty soundtrack,” he sighed.

“Let it go, Murphy,” she shot back without missing a beat.

He groaned again—louder this time.

______________

Raven was late. Of course she was.

It was Saturday, and she’d promised herself—sworn, really—that she’d take the day off. Do something normal. Like shower before noon. Maybe meditate. Mentally and emotionally prepare for the night ahead. Try not to hack into encrypted networks or start soldering custom drone parts just for the thrill.

But the damn project had called to her from the workbench—the table in her kitchen—like a siren. Just a quick check-in, she’d told herself. Thirty minutes, tops.

Two hours later, she was elbow-deep in circuitry, grease streaking her cheek, completely oblivious to the time.

Now she stood in front of her closet in a towel, staring at her clothes with a creeping sense of panic.

Exactly twenty-three minutes to leave the apartment if she wanted to be fashionably on time. In her world, that counted as a miracle.

Her phone buzzed on the bed.

Cage: Looking forward to it. Let me know if you’re running late!

She rolled her eyes, muttering, “Already am, golden boy.”

She yanked open a drawer like it had personally offended her. Most of her wardrobe screamed mechanic who could win a bar fight—not exactly first-date material.

She’d rather show up in a pair of jeans and a hoodie than pretend to be someone she wasn’t… but still, first impressions mattered.

Kind of.

What outfit said, I’m cool but not trying too hard, while also whispering, yes, I own at least one dress that doesn’t reek of engine oil?

After muttering half a dozen curses and rejecting three outfits that were either too polished or too her, she finally settled on a black wrap dress.

Soft jersey fabric. Long sleeves. Just above the knee. Simple. Clean. Surprisingly flattering.

She paired it with sheer tights. Shoes were a non-choice—nothing fancy worked with her leg—but she had a pair of boots that didn’t look like they’d survived a crash landing from space.

It would have to do.

Her favorite red jacket went on top—because some things weren’t up for debate.

Her hair, miraculously, was cooperating tonight: loose waves with just enough volume to look intentional.

A quick sweep of eyeliner, a hint of mascara, and she was out the door.

As she locked up behind her, the rush of movement gave space for something else to settle in.

This felt… off.

Not the dress. Not the makeup. Not even the fact that she was voluntarily meeting a stranger for drinks.

It was the flicker beneath her skin—restless, on edge, like something was waiting to go wrong.

Maybe it was just nerves. Or maybe it was something she and Luna had talked about once, how trauma rewires you to expect disaster, even in the quiet moments.

Especially in the quiet moments. Like your body doesn’t trust peace anymore. Like calm is just the hallway before the next fire.

She shook it off, one boot in front of the other.

It was just a date.

A normal, boring, hopefully-not-terrible date.

Right?

She got in the car and started the engine, then checked her phone one last time. No messages. No missed calls. No emergency excuses to cancel.

You’re doing this, she told herself, staring into the rearview mirror. Just a normal night out. With a nice, stable guy. Who probably pays taxes early and flosses.

She snorted and pulled out onto the street.

Yeah. What could possibly go wrong?

______________

The bar was sleek, high-ceilinged, and smelled faintly of aged wood, money, and expensive cologne. The kind of place where people went to be seen, not to drink.

Raven stood just inside the entrance for a beat, trying not to feel like a tourist. She tugged at the hem of her jacket as she looked around, trying to find her date, already regretting the whole thing. 

Everything was dim and curated—low jazz, sculptural lighting, and furniture that looked like it had been stolen from a magazine spread titled Discreet Luxury for the Discerning Sociopath.

Murphy was right. This place screams flower-petal regret.

She finally spotted Cage near the back, already seated at a table with a panoramic view of the city.

He stood as she approached, smiling—white teeth, tailored blazer, watch that cost more than her rent.

“Raven. “Glad you made it.”

She forced a polite smile as he kissed her cheek, just a little too familiar for a first date.

“Yeah. Nice place.”

“It’s one of my favorites,” he said, sitting back down. “Quiet, elegant. Not too loud.”

Not too human.

“You look…” His gaze flicked over her, lingering just a beat too long on her leg. “Well. You look like the picture.”

Her jaw tightened—barely noticeable, but there. What the hell was that supposed to mean? It didn’t exactly land like a compliment.

Still, she said nothing. Just draped her jacket over the back of the chair and sat down, cool and composed.

The server came by. Cage ordered a bourbon with a name she didn’t recognize, something that sounded aged and expensive. She asked for the cheapest thing on the menu. The server blinked like she’d asked for tap water.

Cage smiled politely.

“So,” he said, swirling his drink like he was performing a ritual, “tell me about your work. Engineering, right? Not many women in that field.”

The tone was neutral. The undertone wasn’t.

Raven kept her expression smooth. 

“Yeah. I design systems and software integrations for sustainable infrastructure.”

“Impressive,” he said—though it sounded more like surprising. “Very… hands-on.”

"I don’t mind getting my hands dirty."

"Clearly," he commented, glancing at the less-than-pristine state of her jacket.

She let that roll off, but her drink went down colder.

As the conversation limped on, she noticed he didn’t ask a single follow-up about her work. Not one.

He was much more interested in his own. His nonprofit, his leadership team, the VIP donors they were courting this season.

She now knew about his vineyard tour in Tuscany, his preference for a four-day workweek, and his gluten intolerance. What she didn’t know was why the hell he’d downloaded a dating app.

And he kept looking at her leg.

Eventually, mid-sip, he gestured casually toward it.

“Do you mind if I ask—what happened?”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Your brace.” His tone was casual, as if he were commenting on the weather. “Ski accident?”

Raven’s spine stiffened, a sharp chill slicing through her chest. “No. Car crash. Years ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He paused, then added, “Does it hold you back much?”

She exhaled sharply, her eyes narrowing with irritation.

“I’ve adapted,” she snapped, her voice edged with a don’t-push-it bite, clearly done with the topic.

He waited, expectant. When she didn’t elaborate, he chuckled. 

“Well. Just curious. You’re very confident—most women would try to hide it.”

“That’s not really my style.”

“I can see that,” he said, sipping his drink as though he’d just paid her a compliment.

When the topic shifted to relationships—prompted by his casual mention of an ex-fiancée who “couldn’t handle his schedule”—he leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“What about you? Been on many StepOne dates?”

“First one,” she said honestly. “I usually don’t bother.”

He chuckled. “Same here. I prefer to meet people through circles, but… well, trying new things.”

Of course he did. Circles. Code for old money, legacy friends, people who owned horses before they could walk.

“And past relationships?” he asked.

The air seemed to tighten. Raven paused, running a finger around the rim of her glass.

“Not much to say. Never had one.”

Cage blinked. His smile faltered, just slightly.

“Never? Not even a fling?”

She shrugged and took another sip. Jeez, that shit really tasted like flower petals and regret.

“That’s… unusual. You’re, what, thirty?”

“Thirty-two,” she said flatly.

“Right.” He nodded slowly, like her actual age somehow made it worse. “You’re cool—smart, obviously. Just didn’t expect that.”

“Yeah, well,” she muttered. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

He didn’t laugh. Just stared, a flicker of judgment behind his polite smile.

“Just how it worked out,” she added, voice tight. “Busy life, you know?”

“Sure, sure.” He trailed off, then chuckled. “I suppose everyone has their quirks.”

Quirks. Jesus.

Her tight smile didn't reach her eyes, and her grip on the glass intensified.

Inside, she pictured the satisfying jab of her cocktail umbrella through his tie. Outside, her gaze flickered towards the exit as she took another measured sip.

What the hell am I doing here?

When the check arrived—already paid by Cage, of course—he stood and buttoned his jacket, movements smooth and practiced.

“Well,” he said, glancing at his watch, “I’ve got an early meeting with the board, so I’ll have to call it here. ”

“A meeting? On a Sunday?” she asked, one brow raised.

“You don’t get to rest when so many depend on you, I’m afraid.”

Then, without missing a beat, “I’ll call you a car. You shouldn’t be walking far. Not with the brace.”

“I’m good,” she replied, sharper than intended.

He blinked, then nodded like she’d just confirmed something he’d already decided.

“It’s been nice, really. You’re... unique.”

Unique. Great. The final nail in the coffin.

“Right,” she said, standing only after he turned to go. “Good luck with the board.”

No hug. No parting smile. No nothing. He just left.

She sat down again slowly, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

Did I just get ghosted in real time?

Her eyes dropped to the barely touched, pastel cocktail still on the table.

She pulled out her phone, snapped a photo.

Text to Murphy:

 boring pretentious asshole

 [Photo: the ridiculous, untouched cocktail in its overpriced crystal glass]

She stared at the screen, then added:

 Left me at the table. Try not to be too smug when you say “I told you so.”

She hit send, exhaled, and flagged down the server.

Chapter Text

Monday came with a headache.

Not from alcohol—she hadn’t touched a drop since Saturday—but from everything else.

Shame, irritation, disappointment, and that nagging sense that she’d made herself vulnerable for nothing.

Luna didn’t speak at first. She just offered that soft, patient smile Raven had grown used to, her pen unmoving in her lap.

The silence in her office felt familiar by now—comforting, in a way—but it still clashed with the noise Raven carried inside.

“I did the homework,” she muttered finally, arms crossed tight over her chest.

Luna gave a small nod. “How did it go?”

“I downloaded a dating app. StepOne. Saw the ad on Instagram. Thought the name was ironic, in a really cruel way.”

“That was brave.”

Raven scoffed. “It was stupid. I didn’t even want to use it at first, but I lost the last shred of my sanity when an old buddy from school announced he was going to be a father. Another one moving forward while I’m still... here.”

Luna stayed quiet.

“I felt stuck,” Raven went on. “So I figured, fine. One step. One date. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“And you took that step. That’s progress, Raven.”

“It was pathetic. The app’s supposed to be for ‘slow dating,’ whatever that means, but apparently slow still means you’ve got to send a sexy selfie to prove you’re worth talking to. And I’m not... good at that. I thought I found one decent guy—his name was Cage, which should’ve been my first clue. But he seemed normal. Polite. Lived in some fancy part of town, stable work. I figured, why not? Saturday night, low expectations, no strings.”

She looked away, jaw tight. “Huge mistake.”

“What happened?” Luna asked gently.

“He picked this ultra-trendy cocktail bar downtown. The kind of place where the drinks have foam and people wear watches that cost more than my rent. I showed up in boots and this jacket, and he looked at me like I was a stray dog that wandered in from the wrong alley.”

Raven’s tone turned sharp. “He spent the entire night talking about himself. I don’t think he asked me a single question—unless you count, ‘So what kind of ski accident messed up your leg?’”

Luna’s expression shifted subtly. “That must have been painful.”

Raven just shrugged.

“And then I made the mistake of being honest—told him I’d never really been in a relationship. He looked at me like I’d just admitted to drowning puppies.”

She leaned back on the couch with a sharp exhale. “He bailed after that. Said he had an early meeting. Then he blocked me on the app the next morning. I didn’t even get the courtesy of a ghost. Just—boom—deleted.”

“I’m sorry you went through that,” Luna offered quietly.

Raven gave another stiff shrug. “Whatever. Boring, pretentious asshole.”

Luna didn’t speak immediately. When she did, her voice was steady, calm. 

“It sounds like you experienced rejection. Not just from him—but from the entire process. That’s a lot to carry.”

“Yeah,” Raven muttered. “So much fun.”

“How did you cope with it?” the therapist prompted, still not writing anything down.

Raven leaned back further into the couch, arms folding tighter. “I didn’t drown myself in tequila and spiral into a pity party, if that’s what you’re asking.” She gave a flat smile. “Besides, the drinks at that bar tasted like crushed petals and regret.”

Luna chuckled. “That’s a vivid image. I like it.”

“Let’s not say that out loud, please. Murphy doesn’t need the ego boost.”

“John?”

“Yeah.” She tried to sound nonchalant. “I texted him after. We made fun of the whole date fiasco.”

“Did it help?”

Raven brushed at her jeans, as if removing dust that wasn’t there. “A bit, yeah. But it’s not like it was a big deal or anything. Just a shitty date. No need to dwell or… bitch about it.”

There it was—that familiar script, worn from use. Sarcasm as armor, deflection as reflex.

Luna remained composed. “You’re allowed to feel hurt, Raven.”

“It was just one date,” she insisted. “Not the end of the world.”

But it was.

Not in an obvious, cinematic kind of way, but in that quiet, internal spiral no one sees.

The way he’d looked at her. Like she was a mistake. Like her body, her words, her everything was a reason to turn away.

It confirmed every reason she had to stay away in the first place.

Her posture betrayed her, shoulders drawn tight, jaw locked, fingers curling in on themselves like she was holding back a storm.

People don’t know what to do with you. You’re too blunt. Too broken. Too much.

“It wasn’t just one date,” Luna said softly. “It was you taking a risk. That was the brave part. I’m proud of you, Raven.”

Raven let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, great job, Reyes. Really nailed it. Blew it all up in my face like a damn pro.”

“You’re very hard on yourself.”

She didn’t respond right away. Her gaze dropped to the rug, her jaw working like she was chewing glass. The silence that followed was thick with memory.

“I was raised to get over it,” she murmured eventually. The words came slow, like they’d been pried loose.

Crying got you laughed at. Getting hurt got you blamed. My mom didn’t do comfort. She did mockery and guilt trips.

She didn’t need to say the rest. Luna could see it.

“So yeah,” she added. “I don’t do the whole ‘let’s feel our feelings’ thing. It never helped.”

Luna didn’t rush to fill the pause. She let it settle, quiet and safe.

“It helped today. You’re here. You said it out loud. And I’m here, if you ever want to keep going.”

Raven gave a noncommittal grunt. “Maybe some other time.”

But the tension in her shoulders loosened. Just a little. Enough to count. In therapy, sometimes that was the win.

“Alright then,” Luna said, with a gentle smile. “Let’s talk about the next step.”

“Delete that fucking app and marry God?

The therapist smiled with a playful glint. “Could be a plan. How do you want to put it into action?”

Raven gave a reluctant smirk, but it faded into a sigh. “I don’t know. Part of me just wants to rewind a few weeks and pretend none of this ever happened. Like I didn’t try. Like I didn’t care.”

“And the other part?”

She looked at her, eyes tired but clear. “The other part’s screaming at me that Raven Reyes doesn’t quit.”

“Which one’s going to win?”

Raven gave a dry laugh. “The wolf you feed, Seawood.”

“Exactly. Change means leaving the comfort zone behind. And I know you can do that.”

Raven didn’t smile, but she nodded. Just once. And that was enough.

-------------

Then it was straight to work—like every other morning.

Raven shrugged off her jacket, already mentally cataloging her tasks for the day: finalize the intake design, check the torque simulation results, answer a dozen emails she didn’t want to open.

Same routine. Same coffee in the same chipped mug. Same half-finished schematics on her desk. Predictable. Controlled. Just how she liked it.

Until she saw the package.

It sat dead center on her workstation, like it had been placed there with intention—wrapped neatly in silver foil, a folded note taped precisely on top. 

Clean edges. Centered. Too careful to be random.

She stopped mid-step, brows narrowing.

“Morning, Ryker. Should I be worried there's a bomb on my desk?”

At the neighboring workstation, Ryker barely glanced up from his monitor, where a CAD model of a custom gearbox was spinning slowly.

The glow of the screen lit the grease smudge on his cheek and the half-empty thermos in front of him.

“Morning, Reyes. Nah, not a bomb. Some guy came by earlier asking for you. Told him you weren’t in yet, so he said he’d just drop that off and head out.”

She tilted her head. “What guy?”

Ryker finally leaned back in his chair, cracking his neck with a loud pop before glancing at her.

“Six feet tall, confident, dressed in black and leather. Not really my type, but I get the appeal.”

Raven raised an eyebrow. “So, are you warning me or trying to play matchmaker?”

“Neither,” he replied, smirking as he took a sip of his coffee. “Didn’t leave a name. Just said you’d know who it was. Then walked out like he owned the place.”

“Great” she muttered, finally sitting down.

Raven eyed the mystery parcel for another beat. She hated surprises.

She peeled the note off carefully and opened the foil, half-expecting glitter or some juvenile prank.

Instead, she found a single, perfectly cut square of lasagna. Still warm. Still fragrant.

The smell hit her first—savory, layered, rich with garlic and something that might’ve been fresh basil.

She unfolded the note.

“Told you so.”

Her lips twitched before she could stop them.

Murphy.

That smug little shit.

-------------

Wednesday, 11:00 AM

Clarke: Hey, I know it’s super last minute... but is there any chance you could watch Madi tonight?

Raven: Depends. Are we talking demon summoning or just kitchen chaos?

Clarke: Just kitchen chaos, I hope. It’s Bellamy’s and my anniversary—we had dinner reservations and everything. But the babysitter canceled last minute. Fever.

Everyone else is tied up. It’s basically down to you… or Murphy.

Raven: Sophie’s choice.

Clarke: You know I trust you with her. And I really don’t want to leave her with Murphy again. You remember how that ended last time.

Raven: "Oh, I do. He taught her poker and she hustled Bellamy."

Clarke: So… could you? Please?

Raven: Yeah, I’ve got her. Drop her off whenever.

Clarke: You’re the best. I knew I could count on you.

Raven: To have no life and zero plans? Always.

Clarke : I owe you so many drinks.

Raven: Add them to my tab. It's starting to look biblical.

Clarke: <3

Raven stared at the screen for a moment, lips pressed together.

She always did this. Jumped in when people needed something—patched the leaks, filled the gaps, played the dependable one. She was good at it. 

Because when you fixed everyone else’s emergencies, no one ever noticed you were drowning in your own.

-------------

There was a knock at the door just after six. Right on time.

Raven wiped her hands on a dish towel and opened it to find Clarke on the threshold, her coat hanging open, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. 

Beside her stood Madi, already grinning, a backpack nearly the size of her strapped over one shoulder like she was preparing for battle.

“Hey,” Clarke said with a smile. “Thanks again for doing this.”

Raven stepped aside to let them in. “Don’t thank me yet. I might teach her how to hack the Department of Defense.”

Clarke gave her a mock-glare as she walked in. “Please don’t. She’s impressionable.”

“You raised a curious kid. That’s on you.”

Madi bolted past them into the apartment, kicking off her shoes with practiced precision and heading straight for Raven’s shelf of gadgets and half-disassembled tech like a moth to flame.

“Hi, Raven!” she called, eyes wide.

“Hey, Mad. Rules still apply: nothing that looks like it might explode.”

The little girl gave a melodramatic sigh and crossed her heart. “No boom. Got it.”

Clarke handed over the backpack. “Snacks, pajamas, toothbrush, toys, coloring book. If she fights you on bedtime, bribe her with marshmallows—just one, though, or she’ll try to trade her soul for more.”

Raven raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like someone learned that the hard way.”

Clarke sighed. “Let’s just say I’ve seen things.”

Raven smirked but didn’t press.

Clarke crouched to hug her daughter tightly. “Be good, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’m always good,” Madi replied with an exaggerated eye roll, returning the hug fiercely.

Clarke straightened, hesitating at the door. Her gaze flicked briefly around the room like she was searching for something, but in the end, she just tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Text me if you need anything. We’ll be at that sushi place near 6th.”

“We'll be fine. Have fun and eat something raw and overpriced.”

She laughed, gave her one last grateful glance, and stepped into the hallway, heels clicking with that familiar purpose only Clarke could carry off.

The door closed with a soft click, sealing out the winter chill and leaving the apartment in a cozy, familiar hush. 

Raven leaned against it, letting the quiet settle around her like a blanket—broken only by the rustle of Madi dragging her backpack down the hallway.

Moments later, she returned, wearing the look of a kid on a mission. Raven watched as she headed straight for the bookshelf and zeroed in on the thick astronomy volumes lined up like treasures on display.

Raven crossed into the kitchen, pulling her hair free from her ponytail and tossing the dish towel onto the counter. 

She opened the fridge and took stock of its contents, just as she caught Madi—small hands already on the spine of one of the heavier books.

"Careful," she called over her shoulder.

Madi grinned and backed off, throwing herself onto the couch in a dramatic sprawl, legs swinging and innocence dialed up to eleven.

Raven shot her a faint smirk, already pulling a pan from under the stove.

“So,” she asked, “frozen pizza or pancakes for dinner?”

Madi propped her chin on her hands, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Why not both?”

Raven snorted. “Atta girl.”

Later, the apartment was rich with the scent of bubbling cheese, maple syrup, and the kind of questionable dinner decisions you only get to make when adults are winging it.

Raven flipped pancakes one-handed while sliding a bubbling pizza from the oven with the other.

Madi perched on the counter, legs swinging, watching her like she was performing some kind of alchemy.

 “You’re really good at this,” she said, grabbing a slice before it had fully cooled.

“I’m good at multitasking,” Raven replied, mock-serious. “Comes with being chronically overqualified and severely underappreciated.”

The little girl tilted her head. “What’s that mean?”

Raven laughed, shaking her head. “Adulthood, kid. It’s like a group project where everyone else leaves and you still get blamed.”

“Sounds awful.”

“Oh, it is.”

They ate dinner in a blanket fort they built using two chairs, a broomstick, and every pillow in the apartment.

The coffee table became their kingdom; the pancakes were cut into stars. Raven even made hot chocolate, drowning it in tiny marshmallows despite Clarke’s earlier warnings about sugar.

Madi was sprawled across the cushions like she belonged there, crumbs dotting her pajama shirt. Raven didn’t mind. For once, the place didn’t feel so empty.

They settled in for Wall-E, Madi’s choice. The little kid was quiet at first, eyes fixed on the screen, then broke the silence during one of the quieter scenes.

“Could you build one?” She asked, her voice soft, eyes wide with wonder. “Like Wall-E? If you wanted to?”

Raven didn’t answer right away. On the screen, the little robot was stacking trash with determination, his movements tinged with something that felt too human for metal and code.

“Yeah,” she said eventually, still watching. “If I had the right materials. And a little time. But he’d need more than just wires and gears.”

“Like… fluffy fur?” the kid asked, resting her cheek against a pillow.

Raven’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Like feelings.”

They sat in companionable silence after that, the glow of the screen washing the room in soft light.

Wall-E rolled through the ruins of Earth, carrying the weight of solitude in every frame. Raven felt it echo somewhere deep in her chest, like an old bruise she’d learned to ignore.

Madi shifted beneath her blanket, eyes still on the movie. “Is that why he’s sad? ’Cause he’s alone?”

“Yeah,” Raven murmured. “It’s hard, being the only one.”

Madi didn’t answer right away. Then she quietly scooted closer, curling against Raven’s side and letting her head rest lightly against her ribs. She reached up and began absentmindedly playing with her hair, tiny fingers combing through the strands.

Raven let out a soft breath, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder. “So. How’s school?”

The little girl shrugged. “It’s okay. I like science. Lunch is gross, though. And this kid Ryan keeps trying to steal my pudding.”

Raven arched a brow. “Want me to teach you how to rig his lunchbox so it sprays glitter every time he opens it?”

Madi lit up. “You can do that?”

“Kid, please. I’m a professional.”

Their laughter rang out together, light and easy, breaking the spell of the lonely robot on screen.

By the time the clock crept past nine, Madi was curled up on the bed, surrounded by stuffed animals: one tucked under each arm, a few more nestled around her, and one balanced on her forehead like a ridiculous, fluffy crown.

Raven snorted softly at the sight, then reached down to gently move it aside.

"You good, kiddo?”

Madi nodded, eyes heavy with sleep but still fighting it, as kids always did. 

“Mhm. But…”

“But what?”

She blinked up at her from under the covers, a little frown tugging at her brow.

“How does the raccoon vampire story end?”

Raven paused mid–tuck-in, puzzled. “The what now?”

“You know, the one Uncle Murphy told me,” Madi explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “He said the vampire raccoon was hiding in the mayor’s attic, but then daddy came to pick me up and I never got the end. I’ve been waiting forever.”

Raven stared at her for a beat, then let out a quiet laugh. “He really told you that?”

“Yeah. And he said I couldn’t know the ending until I brushed my teeth every day for a whole week.” Madi sat up straighter, clearly proud. “I did. Even the gross back ones.”

Raven rolled her eyes, lips tugging into a smirk. “Guess you’ll have to wait a little longer for your reward, munchkin.”

“But can we send him a message? With the voice thingy? Like we did with mom and dad earlier?” 

She was already reaching for Raven’s phone.

With a mock sigh of defeat, Raven handed it over. “Fine. But one message. And then you sleep, little gremlin.”

Madi grinned, hit record, and leaned in close to the mic.

> “Uncle Murphy! I’m at Raven’s house and we built a fort, and she let me eat marshmallows even though Mom said no. Also, she’s not as scary as you say—she’s awesome! But she doesn’t know the raccoon vampire story. And I brushed my teeth all week, even the back ones like you said, so now you owe me. What happened to the raccoon vampire? Is the mayor still alive? Did the raccoon eat his secrets? I need to know!”

Before Raven could protest, Madi hit send and flopped back against the pillows with a triumphant grin.

“Okay, now try sleeping,” Raven offered, taking the phone and setting it on the nightstand. “Dream of heroic raccoons or whatever.”

“But we need to wait for his answer!” the little girl whispered, eyes wide. “What if it’s important?”

Raven smiled, smoothing her hair. 

“He might be working. You know, doing grown-up stuff. You can hear it in the morning if he answers late.”

But it didn’t take long.

The phone buzzed softly a minute later. Raven raised an eyebrow and tapped play.

> “Madi Blake, official Toothbrush Champion—congratulations. The raccoon vampire did not eat the mayor. He hypnotized him and stole his secret chocolate stash. Classic raccoon behavior. But the story’s not over. He’s planning something big for the next full moon. Sleep with one eye open. Especially if there are marshmallows nearby.

And Awesome Raven Reyes—glad to know you’re still corrupting the youth. Keep up the good work.”

Madi clutched the phone like it was some sacred relic, eyes wide and sparkling with conspiratorial joy.

Raven just rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth tugged upward.

Another vocal message was sent.

> “Okay, but what exactly is he planning for the full moon? Is he gonna turn into a bat and fly into people’s fridges? Does he have minions?”

Murphy’s reply came almost immediately, like he’d been waiting for the question.

> “His minions are three disgruntled squirrels and a retired pigeon named Gary. And yes, there will be fridges. But only the ones that hold chocolate pudding. Don’t tell anyone I told you this. It’s classified.”

Madi let out a gasp, then collapsed into giggles, curling into the blankets. “He’s the weirdest adult I know.”

“Yeah,” Raven murmured, watching her with a softness she’d never admit to. “Same. Now let's say goodnight, time to sleep.”

Madi blinked sleepily at the screen, then sat up just enough to press the button and record one last message.

> “Goodnight, Uncle Murphy. Don’t let Gary steal your snacks.”

She handed the phone back to Raven with a yawn and burrowed into the pillows, already halfway to dreaming. Within minutes, her breathing had evened out.

Raven stood there for a moment, just watching her. Then she gently pulled the blanket up to Madi’s shoulders, tucking it in around her like Sinclair used to do for her.

Only when the little girl sighed and settled deeper into sleep did Raven pick up the phone, step quietly out of the room, and shut the door behind her.

She padded barefoot into the living room, the rain tapping steadily against the tall windows, soft and rhythmic like a lullaby.

Outside, the city was blurred behind streaks of water—lights smudged, colors muted, everything slow and hushed beneath the downpour.

Inside, the quiet wrapped around her like a second blanket.

She unstrapped her brace, set it carefully aside, then curled up on the couch with a sigh, blanket tugged over her legs. The hum of the heater filled the silence.

Her phone lit up on the coffee table. She hesitated, then reached for it, thumb hovering for a beat before tapping into StepOne. She hadn’t opened it since the whole Cage disaster.

“Alright, Luna,” she murmured, eyes narrowing. “Let’s feed this damn wolf one last time.”

A few notifications blinked at her. She accepted the pending requests without much thought and scrolled down to the messages.

The first was exactly what she expected: a crude line that didn’t even qualify as innuendo. Raven grimaced.

“Seriously?” she muttered. “Is it a dare? Is there a contest I don’t know about?”

She deleted it without replying.

The second message, though, made her pause.

Ilian: Hi Raven, I’m Ilian. Nice to match with you :) How’s it going?

No lewd comments. No ego on display. Just… basic politeness. Raven blinked at it like it was a glitch in the app.

Curious now, she clicked on his profile.

Ilian, 29. Horse instructor. Likes nature, reading, and volunteers at a local shelter.

His photo showed him beside a chestnut horse, smiling at the camera like he didn’t care how he looked. No gym mirror. No filters. Just a guy and a horse.

Raven let out a breath. Not quite a laugh—more like disbelief.

“Well, Ilian,” she said, “let’s see if you can restore my faith in humanity.”

She typed back, fingers uncertain:

Raven: Hey Ilian, nice to match too. Just chilling, I guess. You?

The response came faster than expected.

Ilian: Hey, out with some friends for drinks. What’s your vibe tonight?

She frowned, thumb hesitating. What’s my vibe?

Trying to wind down after a sugar-fueled Disney meltdown, mildly existential over a robot movie, and low-key allergic to emotional intimacy?

Not exactly app-chat material.

She sighed and typed:

Raven: Babysitting a friend’s six-year-old. Too much sugar. Emotional devastation over Wall-E.

The reply came within a minute:

Ilian: I get that! I work with kids at the riding center. They’re little chaos machines, but fun.

Raven bit her lip. It was a nice response—friendly, maybe a little basic. Now it was her turn to reply, and her brain stalled. She stared at the screen, half-hoping it would type something on its own.

Her fingers hovered. Then dropped.

Raven: Yeah, I saw your bio—horse instructor, right?

Ilian: Yeah! Been doing it for a few years now. I really love it. The kids, the animals, being outside.

 You’re an engineer, right? That’s so cool.

 I suck with tech stuff.

Raven raised her brow. “At least he’s honest.”

Still, there was a beat of discomfort in her chest. She could take apart a server blindfolded, but this made her feel like a malfunctioning chatbot.

Raven: Don’t worry, half the people I fix things for say the same. Cables confuse them. WiFi is witchcraft.

Ilian: :)

She stared at the smiley for a while.

It was… nice.

But even that felt like foreign terrain.

Raven set the phone down on her chest and closed her eyes, listening to the rain. Just for a minute. Just to breathe.

But it buzzed again.

She glanced down at the screen, expecting another polite ping from Ilian.

It wasn’t.

It was Murphy. A new voice message.

Her thumb was already moving before her brain caught up, muscle memory overriding hesitation. She tapped play.

>“Night Monster. Tell your awesome aunt not to leave pudding on the windowsill. You didn’t, right?”

The corners of her mouth twitched. She snorted softly, the sound muffled beneath the fleece blanket pulled over her lap.

The light from the screen cast a faint blue glow on her face, the only illumination left in the room. 

She leaned back against the couch cushions, thumb already moving as she typed back.

Raven: Awesome aunt here. The Little Monster is officially out. Probably dreaming about Gary and his crime-fighting squirrels as we speak.

His reply came almost instantly.

Murphy: Every child deserves a mildly unhinged imaginary friend.

 Even if he’s a retired pigeon with a vendetta.

She rolled her eyes, but the grin crept up anyway, uninvited.

Her fingers danced across the screen.

Raven: Now you went with the story of the raccoon vampire, but what about the ancient tale of the Raven and the Cockroach?

 I hear it’s a tragic horror-comedy.

Murphy: Is that the one where the cockroach refuses to die no matter how many times the raven boots it across the room? Sounds familiar.

Raven: Exactly. Could win an award if someone filmed it right.

Murphy: Guess I’ll start working on the screenplay. So, you're on babysitting duty tonight?

Raven shifted, letting her head fall back against the couch, her neck resting at an awkward angle but not caring. The weight of the day pressed gently against her limbs—tired.

She looked toward the hallway.

Madi’s door was cracked open, the soft glow of a nightlight peeking through.

Raven: Princess and the King are off for their anniversary. It was either you or me—and let’s be real, I’m the more qualified adult in this equation.

Murphy: Right, because bedtime went so smoothly without my award-worthy storytelling skills.

Raven: Congratulations. Clarke says you’re officially funding Madi’s therapy now.

How about you? What’s the thrilling tale of Murphy’s Wednesday night?”

Murphy: Let’s see…

 Refilled napkin holders. Burned my hand making toast.

 Had to mediate a fight between a drunk guy and the jukebox after it refused to play Nickelback.

 And now I’m on my deeply earned cigarette break.

Raven: Ah, the glamorous life.

By the way, that shit will kill you, you know.

Murphy: It’s a gift. I contain multitudes. Like being immortal.

Raven: Still disgusting.

Murphy: You spelled ‘hot’ wrong.

Raven huffed a laugh, thumb brushing idly across the edge of the screen.

Her eyes were heavy now, but she didn’t want to close them—not yet.

The soft hum of the fridge filled the silence, accompanied by the distant city sounds outside the window.

The light from the phone still lit up her face, the chat thread still open, Murphy’s name glowing at the top.

She didn’t remember the exact moment it happened.

One minute she was half-grinning, half-typing.

The next, her breathing had slowed, her fingers slack.

 Phone still in hand.

 Blanket curled tight around her.

The last thing she felt was a kind of calm she usually didn’t trust.

But tonight, she didn’t fight it.

-------------

The second date was safer by design.

After their first match, Raven had assumed Ilian would fade away like the rest—either too intense too soon or so boring she’d forget his name within a day. But he surprised her.

They kept talking. Nothing dramatic. Just… easy.

He told her about growing up on a family ranch just outside Arkadia, about helping raise his two younger brothers after their dad died. He hadn’t gone to college—not because he couldn’t, but because classrooms made his skin crawl.

He liked working with his hands, being outdoors, watching horses move like poetry over an open field.

There was something disarming in how simply he spoke, how he didn’t seem to be performing for her.

Eventually, he asked if she wanted to go on a hike.

That’s when she had to tell him.

She stared at her phone for nearly a minute before typing out the message—blunt, no sugar-coating, no apology.

Raven: I’d be down, but just so you know: my leg’s a mess. Hiking’s not really an option.

Ilian replied almost immediately:

Ilian: Thanks for letting me know. No problem at all. Want to grab coffee instead?

Just like that. He just adjusted course, like it was no big deal.

So they did.

They met at a small café near the edge of downtown, the kind of place that smelled like cinnamon and old books. No dress codes. No maître d'. No quiet humiliation tucked into overpriced wine lists.

Raven wore her usual—jeans, jacket, zero effort—and didn’t care. Ilian showed up in flannel and boots, like he’d walked straight out of a fall postcard. Apparently, he had come directly from the stables.

He stood when she walked in and smiled like he meant it.

“Hey, Raven. I got us a table by the window. Hope that’s okay?”

She blinked, caught off-guard by the small courtesy. “Yeah,” she said, nodding. “That’s perfect.”

They ordered—black coffee for her, chai latte for him—and settled into a kind of tentative rhythm. The conversation started with light topics: work, traffic, the absolute hellscape of dating apps.

“It’s not all bad,” Ilian said eventually, hands wrapped around his mug. “I met my last girlfriend on StepOne. We were together over a year. We were happy.”

There was a softness to his tone. His gaze dropped to his drink like the memory pulled at him.

“She was terrified of horses at first. Can you believe that?” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “But by the end, she was better than me.”

Raven tilted her head. “What happened?”

“She moved to London. Job offer she couldn’t turn down. We talked about trying long distance, but… we knew it wouldn’t work. Ended on good terms.”

He shrugged like he’d made peace with it, but something in his eyes lingered—unfinished.

You haven’t let go yet, have you? Raven thought, sipping her coffee.

“Sorry,” Ilian said with a sheepish rub to the back of his neck. “Probably not ideal first-date material—bringing up an ex.”

“It’s okay, I get it.”

She didn’t. Not really. Not the clean ache of a soft ending. Not the kind of goodbye that didn’t burn down the whole house. But that wasn’t the point.

Ilian looked at her a little more closely. “You too?”

There it was.

She kept her expression neutral. “Yeah. I’ve had my share of complicated relationships.”

Technically true. Though hers weren’t romantic. Most weren’t even really relationships in the traditional sense.

Just a neatly folded version of the truth.

She didn’t owe him everything. Not now. Last time she’d tried to be open from the start, it hadn’t exactly ended in her favor.

Ilian didn’t press her. Instead, he just smiled again, warm and easy.

“It’s a nice day. Want to walk a bit? There’s a park nearby. Little lake, couple ducks.”

Raven hesitated. Her leg was stiff, her knee already aching from sitting. But having come this far, she might as well finish the job.

“Sure,” she said, standing with her coffee in hand.

The air outside was soft and golden. Trees filtered the sunlight onto the pavement in leafy patterns. The world smelled like grass and city stone.

As they crossed the street, Raven glanced sideways at him.

“Just a heads-up,” she said, dryly. “If we get attacked by geese, I’m out. Every woman for herself.”

Ilian chuckled—a genuine sound. But he didn’t volley back. Didn’t try to top her line or turn it into a joke-off.

That alone made her blink.

Part of her missed the game—the sparring, the verbal quickfire she knew how to win. A part of her wanted to provoke, to push him into banter until one of them snapped.

But Ilian didn’t rise to it. He didn’t play.

Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Just different. Maybe different was okay.

They walked slowly along the gravel path, the soft hum of the city weaving through birdsong and the occasional distant bark of a dog.

Ilian pointed to a cluster of pale blue flowers blooming beside a bench. “That’s chicory,” he said. “Grows wild out here. My mom used to make tea with it.”

Raven nodded, her gaze skimming the petals. My mother used to make tea with vodka, she thought wryly.

 “Pretty.”

He smiled and gestured toward a tall tree ahead. “That one’s a red maple. My ex used to call it the fire tree. She loved walking under them in the fall. Said it made her feel like she was inside a painting.”

Raven raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She let him talk, occasionally nodding, sipping from her now-lukewarm coffee.

Every few minutes, Ilian circled back to a memory—his ex learning to saddle a horse, his ex getting lost in the woods, his ex laughing at one of his terrible puns.

She kept her expression smooth, unreadable. But inside… something sank.

Not jealousy. Just clarity.

This wasn’t a spark. Not even static. It was nostalgia, clinging to the air like perfume after someone’s already gone.

She wasn’t sure if he was trying to impress her, or if he just hadn’t realized he was still speaking to a ghost.

By the time they made it back toward the café, the sun had dipped low behind the buildings, the sky stained orange and pink.

They stopped near a row of parked cars, and Ilian turned to her, a nervous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I had a really nice time,” he said. “You’re easy to talk to.”

“Thanks,” Raven replied, polite but distant.

He stepped a little closer. Barely a breath.

Before she could fully register the shift, his hand brushed her arm, and he leaned in—pressing a soft, tentative kiss against her lips.

Gentle. Respectful.

But Raven’s body didn’t register it that way.

Her muscles locked up instantly. A warning siren flared behind her ribs. Her breath caught mid-inhale. The air grew thick, like she was underwater.

Don’t freeze.

Don’t flinch.

He’s not hurting you.

But it was too late.

Her mind split—one part registering the kindness in the gesture, the other crashing into memory like glass shattering.

Her mother’s shrill voice cutting through slurred curses.

Finn’s hands not stopping.

The hollow feeling after being used.

Headlights.

The way her body stopped feeling like hers.

The loss of control. Again.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Her skin prickled with something sharp and cold and old.

Ilian pulled back right away, sensing the shift. “I—I’m sorry. I thought—”

“It’s fine,” Raven replied quickly, trying to regain her composure. “You didn’t… It’s not your fault.”

His expression twisted with concern. “I misread. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she repeated, this time slower. “Really. I just… I’m not there.”

Not yet.

Not ever.

They parted with an awkward hug and a vague promise to stay in touch, something they both knew would dissolve quietly in the days that followed.

That night, Raven sat on the edge of her bed, arms wrapped tightly around herself like they were the only thing holding her together.

The room was quiet. The sheets were cold. The silence felt like a weight on her chest.

She brought her hand to her lips. They still felt foreign.

It hadn’t been a bad kiss. Not aggressive. Not cruel. But something in her recoiled anyway.

It was like her body had made the decision before her mind caught up. A lock clicking into place. A warning:

This isn’t safe.

She lay down fully dressed, staring up at the ceiling. Her thoughts spun in circles, trying to find an answer, a reason.

Why even when the touch was gentle, her body still reacted like a trap had been sprung.

It wasn’t fair. Not to Ilian. Not to herself.

She reached for her phone, seeking distraction—music, messages, anything—but ended up just staring at the dark screen, her reflection barely visible.

Eventually, she closed her eyes and took slow, careful breaths, like Luna had taught her, trying to remind herself that she was safe. That no one was hurting her now. That the room was hers.

For tonight, that would have to be enough.

Chapter Text

“It happened again.”

Raven sat stiffly, arms crossed, jaw clenched like she was trying to hold the words in. But they came out anyway.

“I panicked. Not as bad as when I first came here, but still.”

Luna didn’t react with surprise or pity. Just a quiet nod, an open invitation to continue.

“Tell me what happened.”

Raven exhaled sharply through her nose.

“It was just a kiss. Soft. Nothing aggressive. He was… kind. Respectful. And still—my body just—” She shook her head, fingers curling into the fabric of her jeans. “It shut down. I wanted to pull away and disappear.”

“Did you want that kiss?”

“He caught me off guard. I wasn’t ready. It was too fast, too sudden, and…”

Luna waited, letting the silence stretch, giving Raven space to find the truth beneath the hesitation.

Her voice was quieter when she spoke again. “Ilian’s not a bad guy. But the moment his hand brushed my arm, I wasn’t there anymore. I was back in every moment where I didn’t get to choose.”

Her throat bobbed with the effort to hold it together. “It’s like what happened with Roan. I hate it. That my body still reacts like I’m in danger when I’m not. That no matter how much I want to be present, something inside me slams the brakes the second it feels too close.”

Luna tilted her head gently. “Your body isn’t betraying you, Raven. It’s protecting you—even when the threat isn’t real anymore. That freeze you felt? It’s your nervous system doing exactly what it’s learned to do. Based on what you’ve been through, it thinks it’s keeping you alive. Would it help if I explained again how trauma works?”

Trauma. That word. The one that had wrapped itself around her identity like barbed wire, something she wore and resented in equal measure.

“Yeah,” she muttered. “Lay it on me. Why’s my wiring so messed up?”

Luna smiled softly, setting her notebook aside and leaning forward with that patient, grounded calm Raven had come to associate with her.

Like she wasn’t just a therapist, but someone who understood what it meant to break and rebuild.

“Think of your brain like one of your machines—a finely tuned system, always running, always calculating. It’s built with survival circuits designed to detect danger and protect you. When you experienced trauma, those moments weren’t just emotionally painful, they were like electrical overloads. Power surges. They rewired the system, left it stuck in emergency mode.”

Raven frowned, the metaphor hitting home with a clarity that made her stomach twist.

“So I’m basically short-circuited,” she muttered. “Constantly running worst-case scenarios.”

“Exactly,” Luna confirmed gently. “And that response lives not just in your memories, but in your body. It doesn’t always understand the difference between past and present. So when Ilian kissed you, your nervous system didn’t register a gentle gesture—it registered a threat. That’s why you froze.”

Raven’s fingers drifted to the brace on her leg without thinking.

“Freeze response,” she repeated in a low voice, like she was testing the term on her tongue.

“It’s one of the body’s built-in survival strategies. Fight, flight, freeze, or fawn. Freezing is what happens when your system slams on the brakes. It pauses everything: movement, breath, thought. That’s why your body locked up. That’s why your mind went blank. It wasn’t weakness. It was your body trying to survive the only way it knows how.”

Raven looked away, her jaw tight, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “But I wasn’t in danger. I wanted to feel something. Why can’t I just override it? Why does it still win?”

“You can override it, but not by fighting it. Your nervous system’s been stuck in overdrive for years. It doesn’t need force. It needs safety. Patience. Recalibration. Not a hard reset.”

She paused, her tone gentle but direct. “Can I ask you something? How do you feel about physical intimacy?”

Raven froze—not the trauma kind, but the kind that came with knowing exactly where this was going and still not knowing how to answer.

“You mean… sex?” Her voice was flat, guarded.

“Not just sex. I mean all forms of physical closeness—hugs, kisses, touch.”

All the things Raven never had. Or had, maybe, but never truly welcomed.

She shifted uncomfortably, her gaze falling to the floor. “I mean… I’m not afraid of the idea of sex. But I’m not comfortable with it either.”

The therapist didn’t say anything, just nodded, giving her space.

Raven hesitated, then spoke before she could talk herself out of it. “Back with Finn… there were a few moments. Just making out, touching. Stuff we were supposed to enjoy.”

Her nose wrinkled at the memory. “It didn’t feel good. I didn’t like it. And I blamed myself because I thought I should be into it. That something was wrong with me because I wasn’t.”

“Did you feel safe with him?”

Did she ever feel safe with anyone?

Raven’s voice dropped. “As safe as I could, I guess. But… I don’t really trust people. Not all the way. I always have to be in control. Every second.” She swallowed hard. “And sex? That’s the one place you’re supposed to let go. And I—I don’t know how to do that. I don’t even know what that feels like.”

Luna leaned forward slightly. “Control is what you learned to use to cope. It kept you safe from vulnerability, from pain, from the danger around you. That’s why you still cling to it—it’s familiar. It’s armor.”

Raven’s throat tightened. Luna was right. Control had always been more than just a habit—it had been survival.

As a child, she'd learned early that staying quiet, staying good, meant fewer bruises and fewer broken things. Her mother’s moods were a volatile storm, shifting with the hour, the drink, the man in the house.

Raven couldn’t stop the chaos, but she could anticipate it.

If she kept the apartment clean, if she didn’t talk back, if she did well in school, maybe the shouting wouldn’t start. Maybe the door wouldn't slam. Maybe the man her mother brought home wouldn’t look at her too long or too close.

Control meant order. Safety. A small illusion of power in a world that had made her powerless.

So she learned to master it—her emotions, her body, her voice. She measured every reaction, locked every door behind her.

Control became the only thing no one could take from her. And now, Luna was asking her to question even that.

Her hands curled into fists in her lap, knuckles white.

“I don’t want to be made of armor,” she whispered. “But I don’t know who I am without it. If I take it off, there’s nothing underneath but fear.”

The therapist’s voice stayed soft. “Then that’s where we start. Not by ripping the armor off all at once, but by learning when it’s safe to take off a piece. Just one at a time.”

“Easier said than done. I think my system’s just busted.”

“It’s not busted, it’s just wired for survival. And the good news is—your mind can learn new patterns. You start small, gradually exposing yourself to what feels manageable. Then you work your way up to the harder stuff, until the scary things start to feel... familiar.”

Raven gave a dry, skeptical look. “Well, guess we can rule out Step One—didn’t exactly go great.”

Luna didn’t flinch. “Then we change the plan. What matters is that, when you do feel safe—with certain people, in specific moments—you learn to notice it. That’s the first step. Just recognizing when you’re calm, when something feels okay. That’s how you start sending your mind new signals. That’s how you begin to rewire it.”

Safe. Raven’s chest tightened around the word.

“And what if I freeze again?” she asked, quieter now. “What then?”

“You notice it. Say it to yourself—‘I’m freezing.’ That alone helps. Then breathe. Slow, steady. That tells your body it’s not in danger. And if the person you’re with is someone you trust, tell them. Let them in. It’s not about stopping the freeze. It’s about learning how to move through it.”

Raven let out a dry laugh, but there wasn’t much humor behind it. “You make it sound almost… doable.”

“It is, but only if you stop expecting yourself to heal on someone else’s timeline. Even your own. This isn’t a race. It takes time. It’s about figuring out what you need to feel safe—emotionally, physically—in any kind of closeness.”

“Yeah,” Raven murmured. “I guess I just haven’t found that part yet. The safety.”

Luna didn’t push. She just let the silence speak for both of them.

Raven’s eyes dropped to her hands. 

Where the hell was she supposed to start?

________

Monday, 2:45 pm

harpergram: Are throwback Mondays a thing? Whatever, I’m making it one. Love you, my delinquents!

[1st photo swipe] a group photo taken at their high school prom. Clarke and Bellamy stand in the center, dressed formally, arms around each other. Monty and Harper are next to them, holding hands. Octavia is between Jackson and Miller, all three smiling. On the far left, Raven sits with crutches leaning beside her, wearing a sleek dress and offering a restrained smile. On the far right, Murphy stands slightly apart, hands in his pockets, wearing a black button-up and dark jeans, his expression unreadable.

[2nd photo swipe] The group is gathered in a cozy living room decorated with warm lights and holiday ornaments. Madi sits on Clarke’s lap, wearing a green elf hat. Lincoln stands behind Octavia, his arms wrapped around her shoulders. Murphy and Raven sit side by side on the couch, laughing as Raven tries to put a Santa hat on Murphy, who pretends to protest. A plate of cookies sits on the table in front of them.

#throwback #highschoolfeels #foundfamily #promnightvshow #merrychaos

________

Later that night, the session with Luna still echoed through her like a low hum she couldn’t shake.

Raven lay sprawled on the couch, one arm draped over her eyes, her laptop resting, untouched, on her stomach. She hadn’t moved in over twenty minutes—just breathing, thinking, spiraling.

She hated this part. The stillness. The vulnerability. Sitting with feelings she didn’t know how to name, let alone process. She was built for movement, for fixing, for solutions—not for this slow, suffocating heaviness.

Trauma response. Letting go of control. Rewiring. Exposing yourself to fear. Practicing in a safe environment...

Luna’s words looped in her brain, and with them came the tightness in her chest.

Connection—real, open, honest connection—came at such a steep cost.

Did she really want to go through all that?

For what? For sex? For a moment of closeness?

No.

The answer came quiet, raw.

To not be lonely anymore.

To not be broken anymore. To stop surviving and start living.

She was exhausted. Bone-deep, soul-deep tired. The kind of fatigue that didn’t come from lack of sleep but from carrying too much for too long.

Her demons didn’t wait for nightfall anymore—they haunted her in daylight too, dragging her down when she was just trying to breathe.

She clenched her fists, eyes screwed shut. No. This wasn’t helping. She was overthinking, and she knew too well where that led. Overthinking never fixed anything—it only built new cages.

So she did what she always did when the noise got too loud: she reached for structure. For logic.

Luna had said she was like one of her machines, right?

Fine. Then she’d treat herself like one. 

“Okay,” she told herself. “You don’t know how to let go. You freeze. You’re uncomfortable. Let’s break it down.”

She sat up, grabbed a pen and notebook. Emotional territory made her crave spreadsheets.

Step one: define the problem.

What do I need to feel safe enough to let go with someone?

Her pen hovered over the page.

Nothing came.

Too abstract. Too many variables. Too many years of pretending she didn’t even care about that stuff. 

She circled back. Re-centered.

What’s the simpler, more manageable part of the equation?

Sex.

It was just… mechanics, right? A physical interaction. Something the body did. It should be learnable. Like welding. Like coding. Like walking again after the accident—painful, slow, but doable.

She flipped to a clean page.

Problem: Physical intimacy triggers a freeze response.

Hypothesis: The issue is a lack of positive experience.

Goal: Gain baseline comfort with physical intimacy.

Solution: Practice in a controlled environment to create familiarity.

She smirked faintly. It looked ridiculous written down—but it was her process. It helped.

Mastery through understanding. That was her way.

“Okay, Reyes, here comes the brainstorming,”she muttered. “So. You’re a virgin, not a prude. You’ve watched porn. You know the theory. You’ve got the masturbation part covered. And you can enjoy it. So it’s not like your body doesn’t work.”

But actual sex? Being touched by someone else? Letting go? Trusting someone with that much vulnerability? That was the part that broke the system.

Her brainstorming stalled.

She tapped the pen against the page. “You’re a machine, Reyes. What do you do when you don’t know how to fix a machine?”

That’s when it hit her.

If this were an engineering problem, she thought, I’d take a class. I’d get a mentor. Learn the skill. Break it down. Apply the knowledge.

Her eyes narrowed.

Could you… take sex lessons?

It sounded insane. But was it?

She pulled her laptop closer and started typing. Five minutes of half-hearted Googling told her all she needed to know: nothing out there fit what she needed. She didn’t want a sugar daddy. She didn’t want a sex worker. She didn’t want to be out of control.

She wanted boundaries. Structure. Safety. A learning environment with rules. Like a lab experiment—with emotional guardrails.

And that meant one thing: it couldn’t be with strangers.

The date with Ilian was proof. Her body defaulted to high alert the moment things shifted.

No. It had to be someone she knew.

Raven mentally sorted through the people in her life like files in a database—efficient, ruthless.

Colleagues? Hell no. Too messy.

Friends? She didn’t have many. And the ones she did? All taken.

She flipped through the list again.

Married. Too intense. Married. Gross. Very gross. Married and gross.Definitely not.

Frustration burned in her chest, rising fast—but then she remembered what Luna had said about rewiring.

“Notice when you feel calm.”

So she paused. Took a breath. Scanned again—but this time, not with logic. With instinct. She tried to feel her body. To listen instead of override.

And then—

A name surfaced. Quiet at first, like static at the edge of a signal.

Murphy.

It flickered through her thoughts like a glitch in the system. There and gone. But it came back, stronger this time. 

John fucking Murphy.

Raven blinked, stunned at herself. Was she seriously considering him?

Apparently… she was.

She didn’t shove the thought away. Instead, she let it settle, like a new variable in a problem she hadn’t solved yet. Just another part of the process.

Okay—pros first.

He wasn’t a creep. 

Yeah, he was a smartass. Yeah, he got on her nerves at least once a day. But not in a threatening way. In a familiar way. She could always predict the beat he'd move on. There was comfort in that rhythm.

He never pushed. Not once.

All these years—through drunken nights, sharp banter, quiet truths—he'd never crossed a line. Not even lately, when she was spiraling. Not even when she admitted things most people would’ve weaponized. Murphy had every opportunity to take advantage, and he never did.

And okay, obviously the guy knew what he was doing.

She could probably interview half of Arkadia and get glowing reviews, if she were the type to ask—which she wasn't. Plus, he was single.

He didn’t scare her.

That was the most important thing.

He got under her skin—constantly. Teased her, challenged her, made her roll her eyes so hard it gave her a headache. But not once had he made her feel small. Or weak.

Not once had she flinched around him, even when he was close. If she said stop, he’d stop. No questions. No power play. No guilt or manipulation.

He was... safe.

“What the fuck,” she murmured. “I can’t be serious…”

But the process had already begun, and she couldn’t seem to bring herself to stop it now.

Of course, there were cons. Big ones. And if there was one thing Raven Reyes knew how to do, it was run a risk assessment.

First of all: it was Murphy—her former enemy turned into an unexpected friend. Messing with that dynamic? That was a risk all on its own.

Sex—even careful, intentional sex—could shift the balance. Not necessarily in a bad way, but in ways she couldn’t predict. And unpredictability was dangerous when your nervous system treated any surprise like a threat.

If it went sideways, they could lose that ease between them. And honestly? That terrified her more than the awkwardness of the sex itself.

And it could be awkward. Even with him. Especially with him. How do you have sex with someone, then go back to bantering like nothing happened? Could you even do that?

Okay, sure—people did it all the time. It was technically possible. They just needed to figure out how.

And there was the fact that he might say no.

He told her that he was over meaningless sex. That he didn’t want to be that guy anymore. And how was this not going to look like that?

It wasn’t, not really. She wasn’t asking for something meaningless. Hell, it wasn’t even about sex. What she was asking for was safety. Space. Trust. A place where she could let go without fear.

But if he didn’t see it that way—if it came off like she was using him, or treating him like some kind of experiment—he’d be hurt. Offended.

And that was the last thing she wanted.

But even with all that—

Her body didn’t tense at the thought of him. Not her chest, not her hands, not her throat. And that… that mattered more than any list of pros or cons.

Murphy wasn’t perfect. Far from it. But maybe he was perfect for this.

She leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees, rubbing her temple like she could massage the idea out of her brain.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe I’m actually considering this.”

But she was. She might actually ask him.

The thought made her heart pound. Adrenaline. A jolt of reckless, sparking energy she hadn’t felt in a long time.

She stared at the wall for a while. Then—

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, it’s crazy. I can’t. I…”

Her voice faltered. “I’ll find another way.”

But even as she said it, the words didn’t sit right in her chest.

And that was a problem.

________

Turned out she didn’t find another way.

Not because she didn’t try. She absolutely tried.

For the next forty-eight hours, she went into full systems-failure-panic mode, running through every possible workaround like it was a mission-critical problem she could debug into submission.

She even downloaded one of those AI apps, typed in her entire situation, and waited for the algorithm to spit out a miracle solution.

It didn’t.

In fact, the AI’s answer came dangerously close to what she already knew: emotional safety is key; trust your body; it’s okay to ask for help.

Yeah. Thanks for nothing, overpriced robot.

By the time the second night rolled around, the tension in her chest hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had gotten worse—like her body was bracing for something, and the only way out was through.

So now here she was, standing outside The Dropship, ready to throw her dignity out the nearest metaphorical window.

It was a Thursday night—early enough that the bar wasn’t packed, but late enough that the regulars were beginning to drift in.

She pushed open the door and stepped into the familiar haze of low lighting, classic rock, and the unmistakable scent of beer, sweat, and fried food. 

She spotted him instantly—behind the bar, sleeves rolled up over his forearms, wiping down a pint glass with casual ease.

He was half-smirking, half-listening to a guy in a worn leather jacket who was definitely flirting. Like, leaning-over-the-bar, full-eye-contact, biting-his-lip flirting.

Murphy tilted his head at something the guy said and gave a polite laugh, all sharp edges and non-committal charm. His eyes flicked up—and locked on her. 

For a second, nothing moved. A subtle shift crossed his face. Nothing dramatic, but enough for the guy to notice.

The would-be suitor followed his gaze, turned, saw her, and promptly backed off with the defeated air of someone who knew when they’d lost.

Raven raised an eyebrow as she crossed the floor and slid onto one of the stools, letting her fingers drum restlessly on the wood.

“You should really start telling them you’re not into guys,” she remarked, nodding toward the door the guy had just disappeared through.

Murphy grabbed another glass from the shelf, spinning it in his hand with practiced ease.

“But I’m very into flattery,” he replied, tone light, the corners of his mouth curving into that familiar smirk. “Be a shame to cut off the supply.”

She smirked back—automatically—but the spark behind it was off. Dimmed. Like she was flickering at half-voltage, holding something back.

His brow lifted, just a little. He set the glass down with a soft clink and leaned in, bracing his hands on the bar.

“So, what brings you here, besides interrupting my ego massage?”

The question cracked through her hesitation like a blade. Her fingers curled around the edge of the bar, gripping like she needed the grounding.

Murphy caught the shift, the way her whole body tightened by a fraction. He didn’t comment. Didn’t make a joke. Just picked up a small bowl of pretzels, set it in front of her like he always did, and turned back to his lineup of glasses.

She gave him a look.

“I know you didn’t eat dinner,” he said, without turning.

“You don’t know that,” she muttered, even though she knew he was right. Food and nerves didn’t exactly make the best mix.

“I know you.”

That landed harder than she wanted it to.

God, this could go so wrong.

She dropped her gaze and scanned the room, buying herself a few seconds. 

The place had started to fill in—some college kids taking over the pool table, a couple at the corner booth deep in a low-lit argument, the jukebox still bleeding old Zeppelin into the air like it had a contract with the seventies.

It was familiar—loud, messy, alive. A welcome contrast to the chaos inside her head.

Her good foot started tapping under the stool. She hated this—the hesitation, the build-up, the way her mind spun out every worst-case scenario like it was gearing up for battle.

Come on, Reyes. It’s just a question, not a war strategy. Worst case? He says no. And you go back to dealing with your shit, like always.

Eventually, she found the breath.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, voice low but clear. Like yanking the pin on a grenade.

Murphy stilled, just for a second. Then his eyes met hers. 

“Alright,” he said after a beat, nodding toward the back of the bar. “Let’s go. Before someone else decides I’m flirtable.”

He waved down his coworker and muttered something about covering the bar for a few minutes.

Then he gestured for her to follow,.They slipped through the narrow hallway behind the bar and into the break room.

It was cramped and dim, lit by a buzzing fluorescent light that gave everything a tired, washed-out hue. A beat-up couch sat beneath a coat rack, and a vending machine blinked sadly in the corner. The table wobbled when Raven brushed past it.

She didn’t sit. Instead, she paced—once, twice—then turned to face him, her fists clenched at her sides.

“Okay,” she said, more to herself than to him. “I’m just gonna say it. No stalling.”

Murphy leaned back against the wall, folding his arms with that maddening calm. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

She inhaled sharply. “I want you to teach me how to have sex.”

For a beat, the room went still. Even the hum of the vending machine seemed to fade.

Murphy blinked, his mouth slightly open, then blinked again—slower this time, like his brain needed buffering.

“I’m sorry—what?”

“I said,” she repeated, firmer now, “I want you to be my... sex tutor.”

Another beat of silence.

Murphy stared at her like she’d just spoken fluent Martian. His brow furrowed, then lifted, then furrowed again as he tried to form a response.

“Ok, you have definitely lost your damn mind,” he said finally. “All those oil fumes finally fried something up there.”

“I’m serious.”

“Clearly,” he muttered, throwing his hands up. “Reyes, what the actual fuck? You don’t just walk into someone’s bar and ask them to—what, give you private lessons in banging? What do I look like, your personal gigolò?”

“It’s not like that—”

“Then what is it like?” His tone was sharp now, more defensive than angry. “And why the hell me?”

She lifted her hands, palms facing him. “I know it sounds crazy, but I swear I’m not trying to treat you like an object. The last thing I want is for you to feel used.”

She searched his eyes, her voice sincere.

“If this feels wrong to you, if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll drop it. I’ll walk away right now. But before you decide, I want you to at least hear what I’m actually asking.”

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t bolt either. Just that intense, unreadable stare.

Encouraged, Raven took a shaky breath and went on.

“I’ve told you about my issues. How I’ve never tried to get close to someone after Finn. And now it’s like I’m frozen in place, like I’ve fallen too far behind everyone else. I want to change that. I’m tired of living in fear.”

Murphy’s expression shifted—just slightly. “Good for you, Reyes, but you don’t need me—or this insanity. Just go back to one of those pretty boys from your app.”

“I tried,” she snapped, sharper than intended. “I couldn’t do it. That’s the problem.”

She crossed her arms tightly, trying to hold herself together.

“They don’t feel safe. I don’t feel safe. My brain just… won’t let me.” Her voice softened, but her jaw remained tense. “I need someone I trust.”

He rubbed a hand over his jaw. Still quiet.

“And I trust you, Murphy.”

He looked away at that, exhaling slowly. 

That word—trust—hit him harder than he’d anticipated. 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he muttered. “But it’s still a no.”

Raven’s chest tightened. She flinched, hard.

“Wow. You’ve slept with half the damn town and I’m here practically begging you—” Her voice cracked, and she cursed herself for it. “Am I that repulsive to you?”

His eyes snapped back to hers, sharp now. “Don’t. Don't go fishing for compliments, Raven. That’s not what this is, and you know it.”

“Then what is it?”

He hesitated. “We’re friends.”

“Exactly.That’s why I’m asking.”

He laughed, bitter and low. “Yeah? You think this won’t change things? You think we can just... go back to normal after?”

“I know it might change things,” she admitted, voice steady despite the storm beneath it. “And yeah, that scares me too. But I’ve thought it through. People do the friends-with-benefits thing all the time. We’re not kids. We’ll set rules. If one of us wants out, we stop. No drama, no weirdness. Just the same two assholes who annoy the hell out of each other.”

She stepped closer, close enough for him to see the tension braced in her shoulders, the tight way her hands clenched to stop them from shaking.

“Believe me, if I had a better option, I wouldn’t be here throwing my pride at your feet. But I don’t. This... fear—it’s eating at me. And I deal with problems the only way I know how: study, practice, solve. Sex is just another thing I never learned how to do without flinching. But I can, with the right terms.”

Murphy didn’t move. He stood rigid, arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight, like holding himself together required effort.

“I trust you,” she said again. The words hovered in the air like something fragile. “I trust you not to hurt me. Not to push. Not to take more than I’m offering. I know you’d stop if I asked. I know that with you, I can expose myself without losing control.”

Everything laid bare. No more armor. Just truth.

Still, silence.

And for a second—just a second—she thought he might say yes.

“I need you to say something,” she whispered.

He exhaled, dragging a hand down his face like the weight of the moment had finally landed.

“Raven, I’m not—” He paused, voice strained. “You don’t need to do this. You don’t have to prove anything. You’re not broken because some asshole didn’t know how to love you right.”

"You don’t get it, Murphy," she said, frustration lacing her voice. "It’s more complicated than that. I just need your help with this part. Please."

She hated how desperate she sounded.

He shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, Raven. But this isn’t the way. I’m not the guy. This whole thing—it’s a bad idea. For both of us.”

His tone had softened, but the rejection still landed like a blow.

A door shut. A chance lost.

She swallowed hard, blinking fast. “Right. Got it. Forget I asked.”

“Raven—”

“No, it’s fine,” she cut him off. “You don’t owe me anything. This is my mess to clean up. I never should’ve brought it to you.”

I am not your mess, she wanted to scream.

But she didn’t. Instead, she turned, hand already on the door.

“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable,” she said, eyes fixed ahead.

“Raven, please, wait—”

But she was already gone.

And Murphy stood alone in the silence she left behind, the weight of her trust pressing on his chest like a loaded gun he didn’t know how to hold.

________

A week later...

Harper: Game night this Saturday at our place. Who’s in?

Monty: Prepare to lose, losers.

Jackson: We’re in.

Bellamy: Clarke and I are good. Madi’s staying with Abby and Kane, so we’re distraction-free.

Octavia: So what you’re saying is—you’ll have no excuse when you lose.

Bellamy: I never lose.

Clarke: You always lose.

Lincoln: Wow, love that you’re all having fun while I’m out of town for work.

Octavia: That’s what you get for leaving me behind. Next time, I’m coming with. That’s your punishment.

Raven: Can I bring someone?

Harper: …WAIT, WHAT

Octavia: WHO EVEN ARE YOU

Bellamy: Hold up—are we finally meeting your secret boyfriend?

Clarke: Wait—is it a guy? Raven, I need answers.

Miller: What kind of gathering do you think this is? No normies allowed.

Jackson: He’s kidding. You can bring whoever you want. But seriously—who is it?

Monty: Plot twist: she built herself an AI boyfriend.

Harper: Honestly? I’d be impressed.

Raven: Not a boyfriend. Just a date. Someone from work.

Harper: Since when do you date?!

Clarke: Do I know him??

Octavia: Do we get to interrogate him?

Miller: That’s not even a question.

Harper: This is gonna be so good.

Harper: Murphy, you’re coming too, right?

Bellamy: Murphy, we can see you reading this. Don’t pretend you’re not here.

Octavia: What’s wrong? Too scared to lose again?

Harper: …Murphy?

Harper: Murphy?????

Chapter Text

Raven stood in front of the mirror, eyeliner in hand, staring at a reflection that didn’t feel like hers.

The tight red dress clung to her body like a dare. It was short—strategically so, just enough to catch the eye but not so much that it exposed the scar tracing her thigh and hip, the lasting souvenir of the accident and the surgeries.

The neckline was loud and unapologetic, her breasts nearly spilling out. Something bought just for tonight. 

A costume.

Her eyebrows were darker than usual, lips painted the same red as her dress—bold, defiant. Her hair was down in loose waves, earrings big silver hoops she’d only worn once, years ago, for a Halloween party where she’d pretended to be someone fearless.

That was the whole point.

She didn’t want to look like herself tonight. Herself was guarded. Wary. Always two steps ahead, always calculating the risk.

Herself was the girl who had spent hours in physical therapy, retraining a body she no longer trusted.

The woman who locked every door of her soul and learned to sleep beside her demons.The woman who had finally found the courage to ask for something she needed—help—and got told no.

It had been ten days since Murphy had turned her down. Ten days since he looked at her with those goddamn soft eyes and said he wouldn’t help her

Said it like he was doing her a favor. Like his restraint was some kind of mercy.

She’d barely spoken to him since, dodging his calls, keeping it to curt group chat replies. 

She hadn’t reached out to Luna either. Their last session had ended with Raven promising she’d try. That she’d take it slow. Test the waters in a safe, controlled way. With someone she trusted.

Murphy had been that someone.

And when he stepped back, the whole plan collapsed.

So she built a new one.

In engineering, when a design fails, you scrap the prototype and start again from scratch.

That’s what this was. A new prototype. Different inputs, different expectations.

If she couldn’t do it the right way—the soft, careful, Luna-approved “listen to your body, notice when you feel calm” way—then maybe she didn’t need calm.

Maybe calm was bullshit. A lie people told themselves so they wouldn’t have to face the reality of damage.

She was done waiting to feel safe.

Safe hadn’t saved her from the accident. Safe hadn’t kept her from waking up screaming in the middle of the night. 

So fuck safe.

If she couldn’t have everything under control, she could do the opposite.

She could go numb.

She could drink.

Enough to drown the nerves. Enough to quiet the screaming in her head. Enough to let her body move without her mind sabotaging every step.

She’d get through it. Rewire the circuits. Prove she could.

The mission wasn’t aborted—just adjusted.

So two days ago, when Harper had texted them about the game night, Raven hadn’t thought much. She hadn’t let herself. She had just seen an opening. A chance. The right kind of chaos.

She’d grabbed her phone, walked straight to Wick’s workstation, and leaned against the frame like it was nothing.

“Game night at my friends’. You wanna come?”

He’d grinned like it was already a done deal. “Knew you’d cave eventually, Reyes.”

She hadn’t responded. Let him think what he wanted.

Because that was part of the plan too.

If she couldn’t do this with someone she trusted, maybe she could do it with someone she didn’t give a damn about. 

Someone whose opinion didn’t matter. Someone who couldn’t hurt her—because she’d already decided not to care.

She didn’t like Wick. She barely tolerated him.

He wasn’t kind. He wasn’t careful.

But he was always eager. Always loud. Always looking like he wanted something.

And that was enough.

That was noise. And noise was better than silence.

Better than fear.

She turned back to the mirror, reassessing the girl in red.

Not Raven Reyes, engineer, survivor, fighter. No. This was a version of her that didn’t flinch.

A girl who laughed too loud and said yes without thinking. A girl who didn’t freeze up at the idea of touch. A girl who didn’t carry years of fear and guilt and shame in her spine.

And maybe, if she had hated the way Finn’s hands had felt on her—too fast, too selfish—and had frozen at the gentleness in Ilian’s… maybe Wick would hit the sweet spot of indifference. 

Just mechanical enough to get through it. No real connection. No risk of anything real bleeding through.

Tonight, she’d play the part.

Be confident. Be reckless. Pretend this was something she’d done a dozen times before. Let Wick believe she was just another wild card in a tight dress with a dirty laugh and a few drinks in her system. Someone easy. Someone with experience.

And when he found out she wasn’t—when it was too late to back out—he’d keep going anyway. Because that’s who Wick was.

And she’d be done. No more burden. No more tension. No more feeling like a broken thing no one wanted to touch.

Just one bad night, and it’d be over.

She could go back to ignoring him at work like nothing ever happened. Back to shutting it down.

Because this wasn’t about intimacy. This was about surviving it.

She went to the kitchen and took a long pull from the vodka bottle she kept under the sink. Let the burn coat her throat. Took another.

“Thanks, mom,” she muttered under her breath, bitter. “You were good for something after all.”

She grabbed her jacket and keys, pausing only once more at the mirror. The smirk she gave her reflection didn’t reach her eyes, but it was good enough.

If she could just make it through this night, maybe the fear would loosen its grip.

Maybe next time wouldn’t be so terrifying. Maybe next time she could pretend better.

Or maybe there wouldn’t be a next time

Her fingers tightened around the keys. One last drink. One last breath.

Time to play.

-----------

Wick was meeting her there.

She’d sent him the address. Told him to keep it casual.

He was already leaning against the hood of his car when Raven pulled up. 

He straightened at the sound of her engine, and when she stepped out, his eyes dragged over her body with zero subtlety.

“Well, shit,” he muttered, low and unfiltered. “Didn’t know it was that kind of party. You clean up filthy, Reyes.”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t let herself roll her eyes or punch him in the throat, even if both instincts flared hard.

She just shut the door behind her, adjusted the hem of her jacket, and walked up the path like she didn’t hear him. 

Like she wasn’t wearing someone else’s skin.

Her boots clicked on the concrete. Her heart didn’t beat faster—it had already slowed. Detached. Everything was muted, a step behind.

She rang the bell.

“Hey family, Raven’s here!” Harper’s voice chimed as the door swung open, her blonde braid bouncing, smile bright and ready—until it wasn’t.

Her eyes caught on Raven’s silhouette. The tight crimson dress hugging every curve, the kohl-rimmed eyes, the dark lipstick, the hoops that dangled with practiced defiance.

Harper’s smile faltered, just for a second, like her brain was buffering.

“Oh,” she said. Then quickly, “Wow, you look… different.”

Raven offered a nonchalant shrug, breezing past her before that hesitation could sink its teeth in. “Needed a change. You said drinks, right?”

“Yeah,” Harper said, pulling herself together. “Of course. Come on in—everyone’s already in the living room.”

Wick brushed past Raven, close enough that his arm grazed hers.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t let it register. Just kept walking.

The living room buzzed with the cluttered ease of people who had known each other a long time: blankets and cushions on the floor, open chip bags, beers half-drunk, Cards Against Humanity scattered across the coffee table.

Clarke and Bellamy shared the couch, their knees touching; Monty sat cross-legged on the rug with Octavia beside him. Jackson perched near Miller, who had his arm slung behind him with casual intimacy.

The second Raven stepped in, the noise cut out like someone hit pause.

Heads turned. Eyes widened. The shift was instant.

Monty blinked, like his brain needed a second to process. “Raven?”

Jackson straightened, brows drawing together in quiet, clinical concern.

Miller let out a low whistle, brows raised. “Well, damn.”

“Hot,” Octavia amended with a smirk. “Damn, Reyes.”

Raven didn’t meet their eyes. She pasted on a brittle smirk. “What, you guys don’t recognize me when I actually try?”

Bellamy glanced at his wife, his mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to smile or question it.

Clarke stared for a beat too long, then offered, gently, “You always look good.”

Before Raven could reply, Wick’s arm landed across her shoulders like a brand.

“Yeah, but tonight she’s next level,” he said, flashing teeth at the room. “Kinda a shame she doesn’t dress like this at work. Might make those meetings a little more tolerable.”

Her jaw clenched—but she smiled. Like it didn’t bother her. Like it was all part of the bit.

She gestured vaguely. “Everyone, this is Kyle Wick. We work together.”

The group offered their hellos and their names one by one—some polite, some stiff, a couple amused.

But Raven wasn’t really listening.

Because the entire time, there was one presence she hadn’t dared look at. One pair of eyes that burned like coals.

Murphy.

He stood a few feet from the fireplace, a bottle of beer in hand, posture loose but far from relaxed. His eyes had been on her from the moment she entered, taking her in piece by piece.

He didn’t move. He didn’t speak.

But she could feel it—his gaze peeling her apart like he already knew the armor was fake.

And worst of all, her skin reacted to it. Heat pooled low in her belly, tension coiled in her spine. Fury, maybe. Shame, definitely.

She told herself it didn’t matter. He had no right to look at her like that. He was the one who said he didn’t want to be part of her mess. He didn’t get to judge her now.

So she ignored him.

“Yo,” Wick said, raising his hand lazily in greeting. “Nice place. Gotta say, I was surprised when Raven invited me. Not exactly the charming, social type, this one.” He nudged her with his elbow, grinning like they were in on some joke together. “Honestly didn’t even think she had friends. But I guess she’s all bark, no bite.”

The room stilled again.

It wasn’t just the words—it was the way he said them. Like he thought he was being funny. Like he didn’t realize the knife he’d just dropped into the center of a very old wound.

A beat of silence followed, heavy with unspoken questions and subtle frowns.

Clarke’s smile flattened. Jackson exchanged a glance with Miller.

It’s fine, Raven told herself. Let them think what they want. They don’t know. They’ll never know.

But then—Murphy.

Murphy let out a soft, low laugh. Disbelieving. Sharp enough to cut glass.

It drew every eye toward him. He didn’t say a word—just stood there, eyes narrowed like he was watching a slow-motion car crash he couldn’t quite look away from.

They don't know. But he does. Yet he hadn't given a damn.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bellamy murmured at last, breaking the tension with a half-smile — polite, but not quite real. “She’s got a hell of a bite when she wants to.”

Raven shot him a glare, but Octavia just grinned, leaning back against the couch like she was enjoying the show. “Don’t worry, Reyes. We won’t tell your date all your secrets.”

The word date landed wrong. Her skin prickled.

This wasn’t a date. It wasn’t anything. It was a calculated choice. 

Without a word, she crossed the room, snagged a cold beer from the coffee table, and dropped onto the loveseat. 

Wick flopped down beside her a moment later, his thigh brushing hers, too close. She didn’t react. Just twisted the cap off her bottle and took a long drink.

“So—Cards Against Humanity?” Harper said, trying to inject cheer back into the room, her voice a touch too high. “Wick, you in?”

“I thought this was more of a poker and booze kind of night,” he said, settling in with a lazy grin. “But hey, I’m good at dirty games.”

Once again, he draped his arm over Raven’s shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

She took another sip, then another, willing the alcohol to blur the edges of everything she didn’t want to feel.

The game started off as it always had—wild, crude, hilarious.

Cards Against Humanity had been their tradition for years: a go-to when life got too serious, when they needed to laugh, to forget.

There was a rhythm to it. Monty dealt the cards, Miller heckled from his seat, Bellamy played referee when things got too heated. Clarke picked the most twisted answers with a disturbingly calm expression. Octavia thrived in chaos.

Raven laughed when the others laughed. Smiled when she was supposed to. But her eyes kept straying forward.

To him.

Murphy hadn’t moved. Still by the fireplace. Still silent. But she could feel him. That stare. That judgment.

Or worse—understanding.

She drank again. Beer bitter and cold. The room was too warm.

The first few rounds were easy. Raunchy punchlines, inside jokes, exaggerated groans. Wick played along, fitting in well enough—he was used to banter, to fast-paced games and dirty humor. But then…

He started getting bold.

One round, he leaned over to read one of her cards, his breath hot near her ear.

Another, he let his hand rest on her lower back a little too long when he reached past her for a drink.

Another sip.

She was laughing too loudly now. Her skin too hot. Her brain too quiet.

Perfect.

“Hey, Reyes,” Wick said with a wink after her particularly vulgar combo won a round. “Is this what you’re like after just two drinks? That’s all it takes to crack the Ice Queen act? No wonder the guys at Eligius keep asking if you’re single.”

Murphy’s grip on his bottle visibly tightened.

Raven let out a breathless, tipsy laugh, shoulders swaying slightly as she reached for her beer again. “Maybe they just like a woman who knows how to use a wrench.”

“Among other things,” Wick added smoothly, clearly enjoying the way her flush deepened.

The joke was loud. It hit like static in her skull.

She kept smiling.

Because if she didn’t, she might burn the whole damn room down.

Octavia raised an eyebrow, ever the opportunist when things got uncomfortable. “So, Wick—are you also an engineer? Or are you just tagging along to enjoy Raven’s glory?”

Wick chuckled like he’d been waiting for the spotlight. “Oh, I’m more than an engineer. I keep the Eligius rigs from falling out of the damn sky. She might have the brains, but I’ve got the hands.”

Raven didn’t react. Second bottle was half-empty now.

Clarke offered a polite smile, her tone light but edged with something unreadable. “Eligius, huh? That’s intense. We’re all so proud of Raven—she’s kind of our lifesaver when it comes to anything mechanical or technical.”

“Guess you guys aren’t fellow mech nerds, huh?”

“I’m afraid not, Raven’s the genius. Jackson and I are overworked doctors, Miller keeps the city clean of crime, and my husband here teaches high school.”

Bellamy gave a casual wave from the couch.

Monty lifted a hand. “I’m the closest thing to a translator. Software engineer.”

“And I’m his brilliant data analyst,” Harper added with a wink.

Wick’s eyes slid toward Octavia, his sly smile widening. “And what about the lovely lady?”

Octavia raised an eyebrow, amused. “I teach women how to kick the crap out of men.”

“She’s a personal trainer,” Bellamy clarified quickly, “specializing in self-defense classes.”

Wick laughed. “Noted. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Octavia tilted her head. “Funny thing, Wick—Raven’s never mentioned you before.”

Without warning, he reached over and gave her cheek a playful pinch, grinning like it was a badge of honor. “Trying to keep me a secret, Red? We’ve been working side by side for over a year—every damn day. Can’t blame her for getting attached.”

Raven still said nothing. But her jaw tightened slightly.

And across the room, Murphy’s bottle tapped once against the fireplace mantle.

There was a strained pause.

Then Monty, trying to be helpful, added, “It’s been a while since we’ve had someone new join one of these nights. Actually, I think Raven’s never brought anyone before.”

Octavia nodded. “Yeah. She’s usually the one who ghosts after the first hour.”

Raven tipped her bottle up again, ignoring them all.

Let them talk.

“I feel honored,” Wick said, clearly oblivious to the weight in the air. “She must really like me, huh?”

Murphy shifted.

It was slight—just the tilt of his head, the movement of his fingers on the neck of his bottle—but it was enough to change the temperature in the room.

“Or maybe she just needed someone disposable.”

His voice was calm. Too calm. Wick turned toward him, blinking. “Excuse me?”

Murphy didn’t smile. “You know. Temporary. Convenient. The kind of person you don’t mind leaving behind when shit gets messy.”

The silence that followed was razor sharp.

Wick’s grin faltered. “Wow. Harsh, dude. You always this welcoming, or is it just me?”

“Let’s just say that tonight, I feel pretty inspired,” Murphy replied coolly, not bothering to look at him.

Bellamy shot him a warning glance—one of those not now, don’t start looks he’d perfected over the years.

“Okay,” Jackson jumped in quickly, raising his beer with a forced smile. “Wedding talk, anyone? Still haven’t picked a song for the first dance.”

Miller leaned forward, seizing the chance to drag the conversation away from the growing tension. “We’re going classic. I told him if he picks anything sappy, I’m walking out.”

“You wish,” Jackson replied with a grin. “You’ll cry halfway through and blame the lighting.”

Laughter bubbled around the room—relieved, grateful. The tension thinned, smoothed over by warm voices and old stories.

The conversation flowed more easily now, circling through hospital horror stories, dream vacations no one had time to take, and the latest wild thing Madi had said at school.

But Raven… Raven stayed quiet. The room around her spinning.

Harper noticed.

She leaned in during a debate about the newest The Conjuring movie, voice low. “Seriously, Rae. You should eat something. I don’t think I’ve seen you touch a plate all night, and that’s your second beer.”

“Third,” Raven mumbled, not looking up. She was too busy wrestling with her rebellious stomach.

Harper frowned. “Rae…”

“I’m fine,” she snapped. Her voice slurred at the edges, her hand knocking the bottle as she tried to set it down. It wobbled. Her fingers didn’t quite catch it in time.

Murphy's eyes tracked the motion from the couch armrest, silent.

Let the game go on, Raven told herself, letting the numbness crawl higher up her spine.

Wick chuckled beside her, leaning in again with a teasing grin. “She’s a badass, Harper. Look at her—a girl who knows how to handle her tools.”

He was too close. The air felt too warm. She needed… she needed space.

“Bathroom,” she mumbled, pushing to her feet.

The room tilted sharply.

She blinked, reaching out instinctively, her fingers gripping the back of the seat, knuckles going white against the leather.

Damn it. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She’d gone too far.

Her legs felt like water. She barely registered Clarke saying something as she stumbled down the hallway, shoulder grazing the wall for support.

She made it to the bathroom just in time.The sound of retching echoed behind the closed door.

Back in the living room, an uneasy silence had settled.

“Ouch. Guess that’s my cue,” Wick said with a shrug, already patting his pockets for his keys. “I’ll take her home. She’s clearly not okay.”

“No.”

Murphy’s voice cut through the room like a blade. He rose to his feet, tension crackling off him like a storm. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

Wick froze, blinking in surprise. “What’s your problem, man? She’s with me.”

Murphy’s tone dropped, low and unyielding. “No. She’s drunk. She’s staying.”

In the bathroom, Raven sat slumped on the tile floor, forehead resting against her arm.

The world tilted and spun, the sound of voices drifting through the ringing in her ears—muffled, distant, like they were speaking underwater.

“… Raven, can I come in?”

“… go home, Wick…”

“… fine, not worth it anyway…”

The words blurred together, and she couldn’t tell anymore who was saying what.

Everything was dark.

The cold tile against her cheek was the last thing she felt before it all slipped away.

-----------

She woke up feeling like absolute hell.

Her skull throbbed with a merciless pulse, her mouth was dry as sandpaper, and even the faintest sound—the distant clinking of dishes—felt like it echoed too loudly in her brain.

She groaned and rolled over on the unfamiliar bed, immediately regretting the movement as her stomach twisted in protest.

A sour taste lingered in her mouth. Her whole body ached, heavy and sore.

Where the hell am I?

Pieces of the night before floated to the surface: game night, too much alcohol, Wick. The plan. Or what was supposed to be a plan—now reduced to smoke and ashes.

Monty and Harper’s place. Guest bedroom.

Right. She must have—

She didn’t want to think too hard about how she ended up here.

She winced, pressing a hand to her forehead. Her skin was clammy.

And she really needed to pee.

With a shaky effort, she got herself upright, wavering for a moment before stabilizing. Her brace lay right there on the floor beside the bed. Someone had probably removed it from her while she was out.

The hallway was dim, quiet, and familiar in a distant way. She reached the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

She sat down heavily, took care of business, then caught her reflection in the mirror as she stood to wash her hands.

“Jesus,” she muttered under her breath.

Her eyeliner was a dark smear around her eyes, mascara streaked in ghostly trails down her cheeks. Her lips were cracked and pale, lipstick a halo around her mouth, her hair a matted, wild mess.

She looked like something out of a low-budget horror movie.

“Great job, Reyes,” she added dryly.

She splashed cold water on her face, trying to rinse off the worst of it. Her hands trembled slightly as she gripped the edge of the sink.

Still dizzy, she crouched and pulled open one of the drawers under the vanity, rummaging blindly—looking for painkillers, a toothbrush, anything to help clean up the wreckage of herself.

Her hand froze on a small bottle tucked toward the back.

Clomiphene citrate.

The name stared back at her, clinical and unfamiliar.

She tilted the label, squinting slightly through the pounding throb in her skull. It didn’t click right away—not until she caught the fine print beneath: Ovulation induction for patients with infertility.

Her stomach gave another uneasy lurch, but this time it wasn’t the hangover. It was the cold slap of reality.

She sat down carefully on the closed toilet lid, bottle clutched in her shaky hand, staring at the label.

This wasn’t just vitamins or antibiotics shoved into a drawer. This was trying. This was struggling.

Fertility medication.

Harper—sunny, warm, seemingly effortless Harper—was trying to have a baby.

And for all the laughter and soft domestic perfection she exuded, tucked inside clean linen and Sunday brunches, there was this quiet, invisible battle happening right here in her bathroom drawer.

A battle Raven would’ve never known about if she hadn’t gone rummaging like a guilty thief.

Before she could put the pills back, the door creaked open.

Harper stood in the doorway, holding a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen. 

She paused when she saw Raven, her eyes flicking to the open drawer. She didn’t look angry. Just… tired.

Raven straightened fast, her cheeks flushing. “Shit—sorry. I was just looking for something for my head. I wasn’t trying to—”

“It’s okay,” Harper replied gently, stepping forward and handing her the water and pills. “Really.”

Raven hesitated before accepting them. “Thanks.”

The other woman leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely. “You looked like death curled up on my bathroom floor. And you didn't even put up a fight when Murphy hauled you onto the bed. I figured you’d need the good stuff.”

Raven winced. She had no memory of that part, and maybe for once she was grateful her brain had spared her the walkthrough of her humiliation.

She tried to smile. “That obvious, huh?”

“Only to everyone with eyes.”

They lapsed into a brief silence, comfortable but weighted.

Then Harper’s voice softened, steady and unapologetic. “It’s not a secret, by the way. The pills. I mean, I don’t hide them because I’m ashamed or anything. It’s just… you don’t really plan your whole life expecting your body to throw you a curveball like that, you know?”

“I didn’t know.”

“I haven’t told many people,” Harper said with a small shrug. “Just Clarke, because she’s helping us with the treatment. And Bellamy, since Clarke told him. But yeah. That’s where we’re at.”

Raven looked down, ashamed. She was supposed to be Harper’s friend. How had she missed something this big? How had she never seen what Harper had been quietly carrying?

“Your life always seemed so… figured out."

Harper laughed lightly. “God, no. We’re just really good at brunch and pretending to be adults.”

That got a ghost of a smile out of Raven. She took the pills and water, then leaned her head back against the wall.

“Thanks for letting me crash here.”

“Anytime. Seriously.” Harper paused. “We haven’t had a drunk emergency since college. It was kind of nostalgic, honestly.”

“My head and stomach beg to differ.”

Harper smiled, but Raven’s gaze drifted, her mind already circling itself.

“You want breakfast? Or technically lunch—it’s almost two.”

“Only if you can make it not taste like regret.”

“Sorry. Fresh out of that ingredient. But I do make a mean toast.”

Raven sighed, then glanced at her friend. “Are you gonna call me out for acting like a complete idiot last night?”

“Well, that’s usually Clarke’s job, but let’s see if I can manage. You brought a guy—which never happens. He turned out to be a jerk. You got absolutely wasted, and he just ditched you here. Total class act.”

Raven let her head thump back against the wall again. “Yeah. Fantastic taste, huh?”

“Honestly? You didn’t seem that into him.”

Because I wasn’t.

The other woman nudged her shoulder. “You okay?”

She just stared at the tile floor. Everything felt like it had been turned inside out, exposed under a light too bright to hide from.

She wasn’t okay. Not even close. But she didn’t have the energy to explain.

“Yeah,” she muttered. “Just… stupid.”

Harper studied her for a moment longer. Then, with quiet compassion, she said, “Look, I don’t know what’s going on in that brilliant, overworked brain of yours. But maybe—maybe just take a second before you try to fix what’s hurting by setting yourself on fire again.”

That hit harder than it should have.

She let out a small, dry laugh. “I’ll add it to the to-do list.”

Harper smiled and pushed off the wall. “Add ‘shower’ to that list, too. Clean clothes are in the guest drawer. I’ll bring you something to eat. There’s a new toothbrush in the top cabinet.”

She gave her hand a quick squeeze and left.

Raven stood in the silence for a moment before peeling off her clothes.

The hot water of the shower stung against her skin at first, but soon it turned comforting as she sank to the floor of the stall, letting it wash away the sweat and shame and residue of the night before.

She sat there, motionless, forehead against the cool tile.

Harper had always been the nurturing one. The one with snacks in her bag and kind words at the worst moments. And now, knowing how much she wanted to be a mother—and how hard it was for her—Raven’s chest ached.

She’d been so caught up in her own spiral lately. So convinced that everyone else’s lives were perfect while hers kept coming apart at the seams. But now, seeing behind Harper’s smile, it was like something clicked.

Everyone carried something. Everyone fought battles no one else saw.

And last night—what she’d tried to do—it had been a mistake. A huge one. Not just because Wick was a jerk, or because she’d humiliated herself, but because she’d been trying to erase something by pretending she didn’t feel it.

It hadn’t worked. It never would.

She pressed a hand to her chest, eyes shut, water running down her face like it could rinse away the weight of all the wrong choices.

She wasn’t going to try that again. She couldn’t.

Not like that.

No more dumb plans.

No more reckless, desperate games.

No more trying to fix things that were clearly — irreparably — broken.

She would move on.

She had to move on.

-----------

Raven was still wearing Harper’s oversized sweats when she finally got home, last night’s dress crumpled inside a paper bag she was pretty sure she’d end up burning.

On the way back, she’d stopped at the pharmacy for more ibuprofen — her head was pounding, her stomach kept twisting despite the carbs she’d shoved down earlier, and her leg definitely hadn’t appreciated the drunken stunt from the night before.

Every step had been a painful reminder of just how stupid she’d been.

Clarke had blown up her phone with texts — most of them gentle but unmistakably laced with what the hell were you thinking?

Wick, on the other hand, hadn’t messaged at all.

Good. She didn’t need that right now.

By the time she shut the car door behind her, Raven felt like one giant bruise. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep, her limbs were heavy, and every bone in her body just wanted to collapse into bed, pull the blanket over her head, and pretend this entire disaster of a night had never happened. 

Thank God it hadn’t gone further.

With a shaky exhale, she stepped up onto the sidewalk, and focused on just making it to her bedroom.

But apparently, the universe had other plans. Because there he was.

Murphy.

Sitting on the steps in front of her building like he owned the place. 

Elbows resting on his knees, cigarette balanced between his fingers, that maddeningly calm, unreadable look on his face.

Raven’s stomach lurched for an entirely new reason.

She stopped dead in her tracks. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He stood smoothly, flicking the cigarette away with a practiced snap of his fingers. “Waiting for you. I went by Harper and Monty’s, but they said you’d already left.”

She narrowed her eyes, pulse spiking despite the exhaustion dragging her down. “And why were you looking for me?”

He shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets, shoulders drawn tight even though he tried to look casual.

“Because I changed my mind,” he said simply.

Her heart skipped a beat. “About what?”

“The thing you asked me about.”

His gaze didn’t waver, but she saw it — that flicker beneath the surface, the tension in his jaw. Like the words were costing him something.

“Your… problem. I’m in. If you still want my help.”

For a beat, Raven just stared at him. And then — she laughed.

A dry, bitter sound, scraped from her throat.

“Jesus, Murphy. Are you serious right now?”

She pushed past him, storming toward the door, digging her keys out with shaky fingers.

“Whatever. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Raven, for God’s sake — can you stop being stubborn for one damn minute?”

His voice followed her, low and rough, tinged with frustration. “Just listen to me!”

She spun on him, her expression carved in steel. “Why should I? I did listen—at your bar, remember? I stood there and laid myself bare, and you made me feel like I was losing my damn mind for even asking.”

Her voice cracked around the edges, the fury rising not just from exhaustion or shame—but from the unspoken wound he’d left behind.

From the rejection she hadn’t let herself think too hard about. 

Murphy looked away, working against whatever was brewing inside. “You were gonna go through with it anyway.”

Her eyes narrowed, heart thudding. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He stepped in, closing the distance between them, his voice dropping low. Measured, but sharp as a blade.

“Last night. You were trashed, Raven. Barely standing. And you were gonna go home with him? That was your plan?” His tone cut deeper with every word. “Let Wick be your first?”

The words landed like a gut punch.

Something twisted inside her—raw and exposed—but she shoved it down. 

Drowned it in anger. Anger was safer. Easier.

“So what if I was?” she snapped. “It’s my life. My choice. You don’t get to decide how I deal with my shit. You said no, remember? Loud and clear. You made it crystal obvious you wanted nothing to do with it.”

“I thought saying no would be better than messing you up worse!” he shouted, stepping forward, frustration written all over him.

She staggered back like he’d struck her, her breath catching. “So what, should I thank you? Oh, fuck you.”

Her voice was breaking now, each word scraping across something bleeding inside her.

“You don’t get to act like some noble hero. I asked you because I trusted you. Do you have any idea what that cost me? And you just left me there.”

Murphy didn’t flinch. He held her gaze, his voice lower now, but firm. “Yeah. I did. Because I thought I was doing the right thing. But turns out, you’re just gonna go and do something reckless and end up hurt anyway, so maybe the right thing isn’t keeping you away from it. Maybe it’s being there when it happens.”

He took another step forward, voice steady. “Making sure it doesn’t turn into something you’ll regret.”

Raven froze. The silence between them stretched tight.

Here he was, offering. And here she was, after deciding to find another way.

Her heart kept pounding in her chest, but the words lodged in her throat. She couldn’t make herself speak. Couldn’t even look away.

At last, she forced her voice out, rough and edged: “I can take care of myself. Always have. I don’t need your pity.”

Murphy’s expression shifted, turning unreadable—cold, even. “Good. Because you’ll never get it from me.”

She looked at him.

The early afternoon sun cast shadows across his face, catching the line of his jaw, the tension in his brow. There was no smugness. No sarcasm. No attempt to win.

He just looked… serious. Concerned. Tired.

It shook her more than any of his words.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard.

“Look… I still think this whole thing is a bad idea. And I still don’t understand why you feel like you have to do it.” He met her eyes again. “But okay. I’ll help you.”

Raven closed her eyes for a second, the weight of the last 24 hours crashing down on her like a tidal wave. She was too tired to process this. Too sore. Too overwhelmed.

“I…” Her voice trembled. She cleared her throat, tried again. “I can’t deal with this right now. I feel like hell. I just want to sleep for three days straight.”

Murphy nodded slowly. “Okay.”

No argument. No more pressure. Just that one word.

“I’ll be around,” he added, turning slightly like he meant to leave, then pausing. “Get some rest, Raven.”

And with that, he stepped off the sidewalk and started walking away, hands back in his jacket pockets, head down—leaving her standing in the quiet aftermath of everything that hadn’t been said.

-----------

Raven (11:47 PM): Okay. Let’s do this.

Chapter Text

Raven sat stiffly on the couch, arms crossed over her chest, good leg bouncing restlessly despite the exhaustion still clinging to her.

She hadn’t wanted to come today — had seriously considered canceling, again — but she knew she couldn’t keep dodging forever.

That’s not who she was.

“I wasn’t sure I’d see you today,” Luna said softly, her voice even. “You missed last week.”

She offered a small, understanding smile. “How have you been?”

Raven let out a sharp breath, eyes darting away to the window, the wall, anywhere but Luna’s face.

“Busy,” she muttered. She chewed the inside of her cheek for a second, then added, a little more rushed, “A lot’s happened.”

“I’m listening.”

For a beat, Raven hesitated — then the words tumbled out in a flat, blunt rush.

“I… made a decision.”

The therapist didn’t react, just waited, patient as ever.

“It’s about what we’ve been working on. You know, the… recalibrating thing. Testing safe connection. Gradual exposure.”

“Okay.”

Raven huffed out a dry, humorless laugh. “Oh, you’re gonna love this. I handled it like an engineering problem — problem-solving, brainstorming, breaking it down. Figured out that if I want to get familiar with connection again, I need practice. In a safe environment. Where I can still feel in control.”

Luna remained still, not interrupting, her pen lightly resting against the page.

“So…” Raven sucked in a breath, eyes flicking briefly to the other woman before skittering away again. “I asked Murphy to help me with the… technical part. Of this… trial.”

“Technical part?”

“Sex. I’m going to have sex. With Murphy.”

The word hung in the air, heavier than she expected.

Luna’s expression softened slightly, but she didn’t look surprised or disapproving.

“That’s a significant decision, Raven.” Her voice was calm, measured. “How did John respond when you asked him?”

Raven let out a breath, a faint, almost self-mocking laugh escaping.

“Well… first he said no. Called it a crazy idea, said it’d ruin our friendship. Which, honestly, wasn’t all that wrong.”

She dragged a hand through her dark hair, eyes dropping to the floor.

“So I tried to take the hard route — numb myself, hook up with some sleazy coworker. Got too drunk at game night, ended up passed out on my friend’s bathroom floor before anything even happened. Abort mission.”

A sigh slipped out as she shook her head.

“But then… Murphy changed his mind. Said it’d be better with him than with any idiot out there.”

Her lips twisted into a faint, wry smile.

“So here we are. Back at square one. Ready to start the test.”

“He seems protective of you.” Luna’s eyes softened, a small crease forming between her brows.“And how are you feeling about all this now? Sitting here, telling me?”

Raven let out a shaky breath, her throat tight, hands nervously twisting in her lap.

She leaned her head back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if it might offer an answer she couldn’t reach.

“Scared. And… kind of stupid. Like I’m setting myself up to crash, but…” She exhaled slowly, her voice rough. “Also like I have to do this. I told you — I can’t keep avoiding this part of myself. I’m tired of feeling stuck.”

Luna leaned forward slightly.

“Raven, it’s very brave to face something this vulnerable,” she said gently. “But remember — trauma teaches the body that certain things, certain kinds of touch, aren’t safe. We can’t force it to believe otherwise overnight.”

Raven squeezed her eyes shut, jaw tight.

“I know that,” she whispered. “I know. But it’s so damn frustrating. I just want it to stop — the flinching, the second-guessing. I want to feel normal again.”

“I hear you,” Luna murmured, giving a small empathetic nod. “Last time, we talked about gradual exposure — small steps, noticing when something does feel okay. So help me understand: why approach this through sex with John?”

Raven’s eyes snapped open, her shoulders stiffening. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Nothing in particular. Just… let me see your process.”

“Well, we said physical intimacy is one of the blocks, right? So I figured if I can face it head-on, step by step, in a safe setting… maybe I can break through it.”

“Okay. And why John?” The therapist's tone stayed calm, curious, never accusatory. “How do you feel about him — outside the context of the ‘trial’ or the goal?”

Raven opened her mouth, then closed it again, frowning at the tangle in her head.

“He’s the only one I trust enough to even try this with. That’s why. I thought it through — and he was the best outcome. Our relationship won’t change, we’ll make sure of it.”

Her voice was resolute on that point.

“That’s a good place to start. Trust is everything here. But tell me — how much does John know? About your difficulties with touch, with letting go?”

“The general stuff, he knows I’ve been through some shit, but… not even half the details.”

Not even you know all the details, Luna.

“Then here’s something I want you two to set before anything: boundaries. Like a clear safe word or signal. Something simple, easy to remember. It gives you immediate control if your body says ‘no,’ even if your mind keeps pushing forward.”

Raven let the words sink in, her heart starting to pound faster. She’d been so focused on breaking through the wall, she hadn’t really thought about what would happen if she froze halfway.

Her throat tightened, but she nodded slowly.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Yeah. We can do that.”

“Good. And move through manageable steps — that’s what this is about, Raven,” she said softly. “Not fixing yourself overnight, but creating a space where you feel safe enough to try.”

“…Yeah,” Raven murmured under her breath. “You keep saying that.”

Luna’s eyes twinkled faintly.

“My job involves a lot of repetition,” she teased lightly. Then her voice softened again. “Let’s talk about what tools you can bring into this space. What helps you stay grounded when things start to feel overwhelming?”

Raven frowned in thought. “…Breathing,” she said after a moment. “Sometimes. And… knowing I can stop, that I have an out.”

Luna nodded, jotting something in her notebook. “Good. That’s excellent, Raven. What else? Something tactile? A grounding object? Music?”

“…Maybe holding something small. Like an anchor. Just to remind me I’m here.”

“We can work on that. Maybe even rehearse some grounding techniques here, before you go.”

Raven gave a shaky little laugh, rubbing her face. “God. This is starting to sound like a military op.”

“Preparation is compassion, Raven,” Luna said calmly. She let the words settle, then gently added, “And remember — you don’t have to push through anything. If at any point something feels wrong or too fast, you have permission to stop. Okay?”

Raven gave a small, almost embarrassed nod. “…Okay.”

“And one more thing. You’re not doing this alone. You can text me, call me, between sessions. Even if it’s just to say, ‘I’m not okay.’ Can you promise me that?”

Raven sat there for a beat, then let out a breath and gave a quiet, “Yeah. I can do that.”

“And afterward,” Luna continued softly, “no matter what happens, we’ll talk about it. We’ll process it together.”

For the first time since she’d walked into the room, Raven felt a tiny knot of breath loosen in her chest.

 “…Okay,” she murmured again, her voice steadier now. “Yeah. Together.”

__________

“Damn, Reyes, I was hoping you’d show up again in that red dress today.”

Without turning, Raven let out a sigh, already recognizing Wick’s smirk just from his voice.

She sat at her Eligius workstation, hunched over her laptop, fingers flying across the keys as lines of code flickered across the screen.

She’d been hoping to avoid dealing with the aftermath of Saturday night — but quitting her job, tempting as it was, wasn’t exactly an option.

“Hi, Wick,” she shot back dryly. “Thanks for leaving me unconscious on the bathroom floor the other night. Real gentleman move.”

He laughed, leaning casually against the edge of her desk.

“Hey, in my defense, I was gonna carry you to the car, but your little group of friends got pretty defensive. Especially the sunshine one. So, blame them.”

More like thank them, she thought dryly, narrowing her eyes.

“But if next time you’d rather be making out with a real man instead of a porcelain toilet, I’m free tonight.”

She shot him a tight smile. “Thanks, but I don’t need a chaperone. I can find a real man just fine on my own.”

Wick raised his hands in mock surrender, a grin tugging at his mouth as he sauntered off to go bother the new apprentice across the room.

God forbid he actually worked for once.

Raven shook her head, muttering under her breath, and went back to her laptop.

“Wow,” Ryker murmured from the next desk, wide-eyed. “Did not need to know any of that before my first coffee. I thought we hated Wick?”

She let out a low laugh.“At what age are we too old to blame bad decisions on an underdeveloped brain?”

Without a word, Ryker slid his second cup of coffee across the desk toward her. “Here. You clearly need this more than I do.”

She shot him a grateful look, fingers curling around the cup — but before she could take a sip, a sharp voice cut through the room.

“Eyes front, everybody.”

The command sliced through the room like a whipcrack.

Chairs stopped mid-squeak. Fingers froze over keyboards. Conversations died in throats.

At the front of the engineering floor stood Charmaine Diyoza — tall, razor-sharp, and radiating the kind of presence that turned even the most seasoned techs into nervous recruits.

Her blonde hair was scraped back into a tight ponytail, every line of her dark suit immaculate, tailored to perfection.

The air around her seemed colder somehow, like she sucked the heat from the room just by standing there.

Her gaze swept the room — pale blue eyes, piercing and cool, missing nothing.

Ex-military, a legend in two worlds: the army, which she’d left when she became pregnant with her daughter Hope (her one soft spot, though no one on the team had ever dared mention it), and Eligius, where she ruled the engineering division with lethal efficiency.

Most of the team feared her. Raven Reyes respected her.

“I want you all to meet your new team member.”

Raven straightened slightly in her chair, already bracing herself. Great. Another clueless rookie to train.

Beside her, Ryker let out the faintest sigh, raising his eyebrows in a silent here we go again.

Diyoza’s mouth curled into a smile, the kind that promised no mercy if anyone here made her look bad. “And I sincerely hope none of you are planning on embarrassing me in front of him.”

Raven shot Ryker a look. “Fantastic. Who the hell are they dropping on us this time?”

Diyoza stepped aside.

The man who appeared beside her wasn’t what Raven had expected.

Dark-skinned, broad-shouldered, standing with crisp military posture — but his easy, almost boyish smile softened the whole picture. His eyes were warm, intelligent, a quiet confidence behind them that made Raven pause.

“This is Miles Zeke Shaw,” Diyoza said. “Military systems specialist. He’ll be joining the engineering division starting today, so make nice.”

Shaw gave a polite nod to the room, but his gaze lingered just a moment longer on Raven — and the faintest extra warmth lit his smile.

“Looking forward to working with you all,” he said, voice smooth. “I’ve just transferred over from a naval contract with the government. Worked a lot with high-pressure systems, secure military comms, tactical tech. I’m excited to finally be on the civilian side again — and especially here at Eligius.”

Raven raised an eyebrow. Okay, that was a better intro than most rookies managed.

“I’m Raven Reyes, lead systems engineer,” she offered, her tone neutral but polite.

“Ryker Desai, Advanced Mechanics Specialist.” Ryker added, giving Shaw a quick nod. “Welcome on board.”

Diyoza gestured toward the far side of the floor. “Shaw, you’ll be stationed over there — right next to Reyes.”

Great, Raven thought again, but kept the smile on her face.

She was about to offer some quick instructions when her phone buzzed softly on the desk. She flicked her eyes down.

Murphy: Finishing up at the bar by 9. Can swing by yours after to talk about the terms.

Raven’s heart gave a small, involuntary jolt. She stared at the message, pulse quickening.

He’d answered her text from last night.

He was in.

Suddenly the room felt too loud, even though she knew no one was paying attention to her anymore. She could feel her chest tighten, the weight of anticipation curling in her stomach.

Terms.

Boundaries.

Rules.

This was happening.

She swallowed, forcing her focus back on the conversation, but her mind was already racing ahead — to her apartment, to Murphy, to the edge she was about to step over.

For someone who was all about control, Raven Reyes suddenly felt anything but in control.

__________

The knock on her door came just after eleven.

Raven wiped her hands on a rag, black grease clinging to her fingers from an half-dismantled carburetor. It was Sinclair's, and it lay spread across her kitchen table.

She’d been elbows-deep in metal and oil all evening — not because she had to, but because she couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t stop thinking. Couldn’t stop her heart from rattling against her ribs every time she pictured tonight.

Come on Reyes, it’s just Murphy. 

She paused at the door, pressing her hand briefly to her chest, willing herself to take one steadying breath. Then she exhaled slowly, shoved the rag into her back pocket, and opened it.

Murphy leaned casually against the frame, hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket, his dark hair tousled by the night breeze.

His smirk was faint, uncertain — like a man who knew this was probably a bad idea but had shown up anyway.

“Evening, Reyes.” His voice was low with that familiar rasp that somehow managed to unsettle and ground her at the same time.

She gave him a tired huff, stepping aside to let him in. “You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

Murphy arched a brow as he slid inside. “Yeah, well, shift at the bar ran late. You’re lucky I didn’t show up reeking of whiskey.”

She snorted softly, folding her arms across her chest. “Yeah, yeah, save the tragic bartender stories, I’ve heard them.”

“You asked,” he muttered, peeling off his jacket and draping it over the back of a chair.

His eyes drifted to the table, lips quirking.“So, what — date night with engine parts? You trying to make me jealous?”

She shot him a flat look, but the corners of her mouth twitched despite herself.“Like you could stand a chance against them. Want coffee?”

“You’re offering me coffee at eleven p.m.? That’s just cruel, Reyes.”

“Coffee or beer,” she said, pulling open the fridge. “Pick your poison.”

“Beer,” he answered immediately, moving to lean lazily against the counter. “I’ve been babysitting drunk idiots all night. I deserve a damn medal.”

She tossed him a bottle, and he caught it one-handed, tipping it in her direction like a toast before taking a swig.

For a moment, they stood there, neither saying much, the air between them thrumming with an unspoken tension.

Raven’s hands itched to fidget — she stuffed them deep into the pocket of her hoodie, rocking slightly on her heels as she tried to calm the flicker of nerves curling low in her stomach.

Finally, she exhaled and moved to the couch, pulling her good leg up and wrapping her arms tightly around her knee.

“So,” she started, “how do we… actually do this?”

Murphy followed her, settling casually on the edge of the armchair across from the couch, the beer bottle dangling loose between his fingers.

“No more small talk, huh?”

Raven just shrugged. “No point wasting time. We agreed on this — now we’re here to figure out the details.”

His smile was slow, almost lazy, but his eyes stayed on her, watchful. “You make it sound like a business deal, Reyes.”

“I like structure,” she muttered. “I like knowing the rules. And you’re the expert, right?”

He snorted softly, stretching his long legs, ankle crossed over his knee. “Flattering. But this isn’t a one-man show. You’re the one with the goal.”

She tugged her sleeves down over her hands, pulling the fabric tight around her wrists as she took a slow breath. No more stalling.

“Fine. First of all — rules. Boundaries.”

She’d spent the whole afternoon thinking them through, after Luna gently reminded her how important it was to set them if she wanted to feel safe.

Murphy just leaned back, arms folded lazily behind his head, beer now forgotten on the coffee table.

“Alright. Name ’em.”

“You said you were worried this might mess up our friendship. So — it won’t. No weirdness after, no awkwardness. We stay us — same snark, same everything. No feelings involved, it’s not about that. If either of us wants out, we stop. No guilt, no big explanations. And if you, I don’t know, meet the love of your life in the meantime, feel free to dump my virgin ass at the nearest stop.’

He gave a quick nod, eyes gleaming with that annoying amusement.

“Okay, so, no falling in love with me. Got it. No candlelit dinners, no long walks on the beach. Crystal clear.”

She shot him a glare, already regretting this. But she pushed on, exhaling sharply.

“And no pressure. I set the pace, I stop whenever I want. You don’t push, you don’t coax.”

That sobered him. His smirk softened, his posture straightening a little.

“Yeah. Of course.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice dipping lower. “You want a safe word?”

The corner of Raven’s mouth twitched, a dry laugh almost escaping. Seems like Murphy and Luna both read from the same manual.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Just in case.”

“Pick one.”

She hesitated, then smirked faintly.

“Redlight.”

His grin curled, lazy and approving.

“Cute. Alright — redlight means stop. No argument, no pushing back.”

“Exactly.” She let out a breath, tension easing just a fraction from her shoulders.

“And no one knows. Not Bellamy, not Clarke — especially not Bellamy and Clarke. No one.”

God only knew what would happen if their little squad found out. The last thing they needed was more drama.

Murphy clicked his tongue, smirking.“So, you want to keep me as your dirty little secret?”

Raven didn’t take the bait. She just hugged her arms a little tighter, barefoot tapping anxiously against the floor.

“And… I want to start slow. Gradual. Safe ground only.”

His eyes sharpened slightly, his teasing edge softening. “Okay. What counts as safe ground for you?”

She gave a shaky laugh, glancing down. “Oh, if I only knew, we wouldn’t be here.”

Her fingers twisted more in her sleeve.“I guess I’ll figure it out as we go.”

“Alright. Anything else?”

Raven flicked her eyes up. “No, that’s it so far. What about you? You got any?”

“Just one. You gotta be totally honest with me. Always. No sugarcoating, no faking. If something feels wrong, you tell me. If it stops being fun for you, it stops being fun for me. Deal?”

She snorted softly.“Wow. You did your homework.”

He gave a crooked grin. “Yeah, well. Google ‘what to do when your batshit crazy friend asks you to be her sex coach’ — you’ll find some interesting material.”

She smacked a pillow at him, shaking her head.

“Okay, let me rephrase. This isn’t sex coaching. This is more like… a trial. To gain baseline comfort with physical intimacy. Through practice. In a controlled environment. To create familiarity.”

He gave a mock-serious nod. “Sounds very official. But you’re still gonna call me Professor Murphy, right?”

“Ugh!” she groaned, throwing the pillow harder.

Laughing, Murphy caught it, then let it drop as his gaze settled back on her. His tone shifted — more careful, but still light.

“So.” He tilted his head.“What do you like?”

Raven blinked, caught completely off guard. “What?”

He shrugged casually. “I mean, we gotta start somewhere, right? Makes sense to start with what you already like. So — what works for you, Reyes? What feels good, what’s… nice?”

She opened her mouth, ready to snap back with something sarcastic, but no words came out. She shut it again, feeling heat crawl up the back of her neck.

God, how was Murphy making this feel so normal? Like they were not sitting on her damn couch negotiating what kinds of touch she was okay with.

“I don’t know.”

He raised an eyebrow, the smirk on his lips deepening. “You do know. You just don’t wanna say it.”

Her glare was biting, but she exhaled and forced herself to push through the tightness in her chest.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “Um… I think I like… neck kisses.”

Murphy let out a soft, appreciative hum. “Solid choice.”

She shifted awkwardly, picking at the hem of her hoodie. “And… I have sensitive breasts.”

His smirk widened, eyes gleaming. “Interesting.”

“Oh, shut up,” she muttered, cheeks burning now, wishing she could melt straight into the couch cushions.

“I didn’t say anything,” Murphy said innocently, holding up both hands like a saint.

“You thought it.”

“Guilty,” he admitted, grin turning slightly wicked. “Anything else?”

“Jesus, this is weird…” Raven buried her face in her hands, half-laughing, half-dying inside.

“Reyes, you signed us up for a hell of a lot more than just talking about your tits. If even this feels weird, maybe you wanna rethink the whole plan.”

She sucked in a breath, then shook her head hard.

“No. It’s fine. I guess… I’ve always been curious about oral.”

His grin sharpened like a blade. “Giving or receiving?”

Her face went scarlet. “Both.”

Murphy’s eyes sparkled with amusement, but to his credit, he didn’t push further. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

She rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath, but she didn’t stop him — didn’t tell him to back off or to drop it.

Something thoughtful crept into his gaze.

“You got any hard limits? Things you don’t want?”

I don’t want to freeze anymore, she thought, stomach twisting, but she couldn’t bring herself to say that out loud.

She forced herself to answer. “I just… I want to know what feels good. And what doesn’t.”

Then, almost to break the tension, she added with a faint smirk, “That — and maybe no dirty talk. That’s cringe.”

Murphy huffed a laugh. “Now that we agree on.”

“Really?” Raven shot him a skeptical look. “John ‘I Never Shut Up’ Murphy isn’t a talker in bed?”

“I’m more of a listener,” he murmured. “I like knowing what sounds they make when it’s really good.”

A sudden, unexpected flutter twisted low in her belly. She swallowed hard, irritated by herself, trying not to squirm under his gaze.

“What about your past experiences?”

She stiffened slightly. “Why?”

“Because if I know what you didn’t like, I won’t waste time doing it.”

It was logical. Practical. But it still made something knot up inside her chest. She exhaled slowly, steeling herself.

“I have some experience. Very limited and very old.” She shot him a narrow look, half-daring him. “And I swear, Murphy, if you laugh, I’ll mismatch the brakes on your car.”

He gave her a faint, crooked grin, holding his hands up. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She straightened up slightly. “Finn and I… fooled around.”

Murphy tipped his head, a spark of curiosity in his eyes.

“And?” he prompted.

“And it wasn’t great,” she admitted, heat rising to her cheeks. “We made out, we…touched…and…” 

His face didn’t shift much, but she saw it — the faint tension tightening his jaw, the way his fingers briefly flexed before relaxing.

“He, uh… used his fingers,” she said quickly, almost rushing the words.

Murphy went still, his gaze locked on hers, his expression unreadable.

“You sound thrilled,” he said dryly.

She let out a little breath, her mouth twisting.

“He didn’t care about me. Just shoved his fingers in and—” She grimaced. “It hurt.”

Murphy’s smirk faded completely. His jaw was now clearly clenched.

 “…Did you tell him that?”

She looked away, shame tightening in her throat. “Yeah. He said I was too in my head. That I was ruining the mood.”

And… he hadn’t been wrong, not entirely. She had been — hyper-aware of everything, overthinking every touch, every breath, until it all crumbled under the weight of her own tension.

A low, dark sound rumbled in Murphy’s chest — more like a growl than a laugh. “Yeah, that tracks.”

Raven blinked at him, brows knitting. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Just — he always struck me as a selfish asshole, even in bed. Probably got hard just looking at himself.”

Raven froze, eyes wide, a sudden bubble of bitter laughter rising in her chest.

 “…Oh my God.”

He blinked, brow furrowing. “What?”

“It’s funny you said that.”

“That he’s an asshole?”

She hesitated, eyes flicking away. Oh, whatever. She’d already started this miserable little walk of shame — too late to backtrack now. Might as well finish it.

“He never got hard with me.”

Murphy’s head snapped back slightly, eyebrows shooting up.

“Wait… what? Not even once?”

“Not once.” Raven gave a short, humorless laugh, the kind that left a sour taste in her mouth. “Which, you know, definitely made me feel super desirable. A crippled girl with frigidity — surely not exactly Playboy material.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

She shot him a flat, unimpressed look. “Thanks, Murph.”

“No, I mean —” He shook his head, frustration edging his voice. “Raven, that wasn’t you. That was him. You know that, right? Spacewanker must’ve had some kind of erectile dysfunction or something. God, I wish you’d told me back in high school — I would’ve treasured that info. Sweet, sweet revenge.”

It wasn’t exactly a secret that Murphy hadn’t liked Finn.

Maybe it was the way he always played the golden boy, pretending to be everyone’s best friend while secretly looking down on people like Murphy. Or maybe it was how Finn always acted so noble — like he was better, cleaner, above all the messes they’d all crawled through to survive.

She blew out a sharp breath, rubbing her hands over her thighs.“Sure. Except you’re forgetting the part where he was hooking up with Clarke not even a week later. And somehow, that wasn’t an issue. So, forgive me if I have some… doubts about how good I am at this kind of thing.”

He stared at her for a long beat, his jaw flexing like he wanted to say something but was holding it back.

“That’s why you decided to do this?” he asked finally. “To become worthy of idiots like Finn?”

Raven’s eyes flicked up sharply. “No,” she said, almost too fast. Then, quieter, “No. It’s not that.”

She let the words settle on her tongue, weighing how much she wanted to say, how much she could say without unraveling. “I… I have problems with intimacy, Murphy. Closeness. Physical touch has never been something I… handled easily. If at all.”

Her voice grew tighter, thinner, but she kept going. “I don’t want to do this to get good at sex. I just want to feel…” She searched for the word, voice almost breaking. “…safe. Again.”

There. The most she could expose without laying herself completely bare.

Murphy didn’t press. He didn’t crack a joke, didn’t smirk, didn’t roll his eyes like she half-expected. He just sat there, watching her with that steady, unreadable gaze, and gave a small, slow nod.

He was being good. Too good. More understanding than she ever imagined — way more, especially considering his initial resistance.

And then, out of nowhere, something inside her twisted unexpectedly.

Guilt.

Shit.

She’d been so wrapped up in her own head — her nerves, her rules, her overthinking — she hadn’t stopped for even a second to consider him. How he might be feeling about all this.

For all her supposed self-sacrifice when it came to others, she could be a selfish asshole sometimes.

Her stomach knotted.

“…Are you sure you’re really okay with this? I mean, I know I acted like a bitch yesterday, and as much as I want to blame the hangover for that… I don’t want you doing anything you’re not comfortable with. You don’t owe me this, Murphy. Really.”

Her foot tapped restlessly against the floor, the words spilling faster now, a nervous rush.

“I don’t want you feeling obligated or — or like you have to, just because you’re worried I’ll go running back to Wick or someone like him. If that’s what’s on your mind… lesson learned, okay? That’s not happening again. You don’t have to play knight in shining armor.”

It hit her only as she said it: she was giving him an out. If he wanted to bail, this was his moment. A clean exit. No hard feelings.

For a second, Raven’s heart squeezed tight in her chest — bracing, waiting.

But Murphy… just softened.

His mouth twitched slightly, warmth at the edges. His sharp features eased, his blue eyes clear.

“Yeah, Reyes,” he murmured. “I’m sure.”

No hesitation. No doubt. Just that unexpected, unwavering certainty.

It startled her how much that steadiness slipped under her skin, smoothing out the jittery knot of nerves coiled tight in her chest.

A braver person might have pressed for more — might have asked why. But Raven Reyes wasn’t that brave.

“Okay, uh…” she mumbled, voice a little uneven, “so we start now or…?”

Murphy let out a soft huff of laughter, leaning back slightly in his sear. He picked up his beer bottle again, dangling it lazily between his fingers.

“You that eager to get in my pants, Reyes?”

She shot him another glare. “Can you please stop making me regret this for five minutes?”

“I’m kidding,” he said easily, his grin widening a little. “You look like you need a little lightness.You’re wound up so tight, I’m worried you’re gonna snap a muscle.”

“I’m not—” she started, scowling, but he cut her off smoothly.

“You are.” His voice gentled, less teasing now. “And that’s why… it’s better if you take a couple more days. Think it through. If you don’t change your mind, come find me at my place Wednesday night — I’m off work.”

He stood slowly, rolling his shoulders, slipping his jacket back on.

“But don’t expect me to cook for you again,” he added, smirking faintly. “You can’t fall in love with me, remember? Bring pizza.”

She rolled her eyes, exasperated but amused despite herself.

As he moved toward the door, he paused — hesitating, glancing back at her.

“Hey… can I try something? Stop me if you want.”

Raven blinked, caught off guard. She hadn’t known what to expect — but she trusted him. That was exactly why they were here. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she gave a small nod.

Murphy stepped closer, unhurried, giving her every chance to pull away. He lifted one hand, rough fingertips brushing lightly along her cheek, like a whisper of contact.

His eyes met hers, searching, holding still — and then, just as gently, he pulled back.

“See?” he murmured, the corner of his mouth quirking. “Didn’t even bite.”

And with that, he slipped out the door, leaving her standing there, heart thudding, skin tingling faintly where his touch had been.

“… Okay.”

Chapter Text

Tuesday, 10:34 p.m.

Murphy: Still on for tomorrow? We can adjust or push back if you want.

Raven: I can’t. It was a bad idea. (Unsent.)

----------------

Wednesday, 5:47 a.m.

Raven jolted awake with a sharp, gasping breath.

Her sheets were a tangled mess around her legs, damp with sweat. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest it felt like it was trying to punch its way out.

For a second, she didn’t know where she was. Her breath rasped in her throat as she sat up abruptly, wrapping her arms tightly around herself.

The demons had come back.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“It’s just a dream. Just a dream,” she whispered, voice shaking.

But it hadn’t felt like just a dream.

It felt like every crack in her armor had been pried open overnight, like all the old ghosts she kept at bay had slipped back in while she slept.

She stayed like that for a long moment — sitting on the edge of the bed, rocking slightly as she tried to calm her racing pulse.

The faint blue light of early morning seeped through the window, casting thin shadows across the floor.

By the time she was standing in front of the mirror, trying to make herself look halfway presentable, the panic had already settled in like a familiar weight.

Her reflection stared back at her. Hair wild and tangled, dark circles smudged under her eyes, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

She exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the sink.

This is why you have to do it.

The thought came to her clear and hard, cutting through the haze like steel.

Because she was tired.

Tired of waking up like this, tired of living her whole life wound tight as a wire, tired of keeping everyone — everything — at arm’s length just to feel safe.

Her hand moved almost before her mind caught up.

She grabbed her phone, heart thudding, and typed quickly — before the fear had a chance to creep back in.

Raven: Still on. I’ll be at yours by seven.

She stared at the message, feeling the weight of it settle in her chest, then hit send. The knot of anxiety was still there, but underneath it, something stirred — not just fear, but determination.

Not today.Today she wasn’t going to let the past win.

She moved through the rest of her morning on autopilot. Shower. Breakfast she barely tasted. Pulling on her jacket, grabbing her keys.

It wasn’t until she was halfway to work, stuck at a red light, that the urge to reach out surged up, sharp and sudden.

Luna.

Her therapist had told her she could message between sessions if she needed to, and Raven had never taken her up on it — not once.

Her fingers hovered over the screen, hesitating. Then she exhaled shakily and typed.

Raven: We’re doing it tonight. I’m ready.

She hit send before she could talk herself out of it. A few minutes later, Luna’s reply buzzed softly in her hand.

Luna: Remember what we said last session — you set the pace. No pressure, okay?

Raven let the words settle over her like a balm, grounding herself in them. She nodded slightly to herself, even though Luna couldn’t see it.

No pressure. No rush.

She could do this.

----------------

2.06 p.m.

"Mind if I grab a coffee?"

Raven was hunched over her laptop, fingers flying across the keys as she skimmed through lines of code, when a voice broke her focus. She looked up sharply, blinking herself back into the room.

Standing beside her desk was Shaw. His Eligius badge hung loosely from his lanyard, and he held an empty mug in one hand, a tentative smile on his face.

"It’s only your third day," she said, arching an eyebrow. "You’ve already figured out where the good coffee is?"

Shaw grinned, a little sheepish. "Well, that’s the problem. Haven’t found any yet."

Raven smirked, gesturing vaguely told the breakroom. "Help yourself. But fair warning — it mostly tastes like regret and burnt dreams."

He chuckled, the sound surprisingly warm. "Noted."

As he moved to step away, Shaw paused, tapping his knuckles lightly on the edge of her desk. "Oh — by the way, Diyoza just dumped a stack of preliminary schematics on my desk. Looks like we’re going to be working together on this new project."

Raven leaned back slightly, eyes flicking to her inbox, where Diyoza’s name had just popped up. She let out a low whistle.

"Wow. Already? That’s fast, even for her." She scanned the email quickly. "Yup, she’s got me looped in too. Well — welcome to the deep end."

"Trust me, the army was worse. Eight years Air Force. I figured if I could survive instant coffee in the desert, I can survive anything this place throws at me."

Raven shot him a glance, curiosity flickering just for a second. "What was your duty?"

"Systems engineering, flight control, then orbital work the last couple years," he explained, gesturing lightly at the stacked schematics on his desk next to hers. "Guess that’s how I landed here. That, and the fact that my family is in Arkadia now. My mother came here together with my sister and her family; they needed a change of scenery from Michigan." He paused, a polite question in his eyes. "What about you? Any interesting family anecdotes?"

Therapy-worthy family anecdotes, she thought.

"Nothing special. I was born and raised here," she replied, her tone firm, closing off that avenue of conversation. She immediately pivoted. "Anyway, these schematics look like they're going to be a nightmare. We should schedule some time this afternoon to go over them."

"I’m impressed, you know," Shaw added lightly. "Your work. It’s sharp. People talk about you around here."

"Yeah, well… I'm awesome."

She heard him laugh softly again, then the sound of the coffee machine sputtering to life. By the time Shaw returned to his desk — the one right next to hers — Raven was already gone from the conversation, eyes narrowed on her screen, her mind tunneling back into her code.

Numbers, sequences, problem-solving — this was her zone, her safe place.

----------------

4.57 p.m.

“You pushed too hard this week, didn’t you?”

Roan’s voice cut through the soft background noise of the clinic, with that signature dry edge of someone who knew exactly what you were about to say before you even opened your mouth.

Raven slumped onto the bench with a frustrated sigh, rubbing her thigh as the residual burn pulsed up her leg.

“It’s not like I had a choice,” she muttered, pulling her hair back into a quick ponytail. “Things won’t get done by themselves, you know. And… well, you know me.”

The physical therapist crouched down beside her, one thick arm braced on his knee, his sharp gray eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah, Reyes, I know you. That’s why I’m asking.”

Without another word, he reached for the resistance band on the side table, handing it to her with practiced ease. Raven took it with a huff, looping it around her foot and straightening her back.

“You know,” Roan added lightly as he adjusted her knee into the right position, “most people take the pain as a sign to slow down. But you, Reyes? You treat it like a personal dare.”

She shot him a crooked grin. “What can I say? I’m a high achiever.”

“You’re a pain in the ass, that’s what you are.”

She snorted, shaking her head.

The room was warm, afternoon sunlight slanting through the tall windows and casting a golden glow across the polished floors.

Outside, the faint hum of conversation and laughter echoed through the Seawood-King Wellness Institute — kids in the pediatric wing, older patients shuffling between sessions, the occasional burst of laughter from staff.

“Okay, hold it there,” Roan instructed, voice gentle but firm as he steadied her leg at the peak of the stretch. “Breathe through it. You’re locking your jaw again.”

She exhaled sharply, forcing her shoulders to relax.

“Better. You’re stronger than you were last month, even if you won’t admit it.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” Raven muttered under her breath, sweat prickling at her hairline.

He looked up, his face softening just slightly.

“You’re your own worst critic.” He gave her knee a careful, supportive press. “Progress is progress, Reyes. Stop moving the goalposts on yourself.”

“You know you’re starting to sound a lot like your wife?” 

Roan smirked. “I take that as the highest compliment. Luna’s the best at what she does — and the light of my eyes. But still, you should try listening to us once in a while.”

“You’re a sap, Roan. But yeah… you’re right. Luna is good.”

“I’m glad you’re finally letting people help you, Raven.”

She gave him a small smile. There was something almost brotherly in his tone, a warmth she wasn’t used to. It still wasn’t easy for her — help was a foreign word — but she was trying.

They worked through the final sets in a rhythm that had long since become familiar, almost comforting.

“Okay, that’s it for today,” he announced, standing and stretching his back. “I’m not adding any new exercises to your routine — you need to ease up on at least half of them this week. No flare-ups, okay? Don’t make me chase you down.”

“Yes, sir,” Raven said with a mock salute, tugging her hoodie over her head and adjusting it over her training clothes.

Roan gave her one last, steady look. “See you in two weeks, Reyes. Behave.”

She just smiled, shaking her head fondly. Roan had been there through everything — the pain, the fury, the moments when she’d almost thrown in the towel.

As she stepped out of the physio room and headed toward the restroom, she checked the time.

5:30 p.m.

Damn. She needed to hurry if she wanted to make it to Murphy’s place on time.

The hallway outside the bathrooms was crowded, so Raven leaned against the wall, tapping her foot impatiently. She glanced around — and that’s when her eyes caught a polished plaque on the wall:

Dr. Lorelei Tsing — Specialist in Fertility. New Experimental Program Now Open.

Raven blinked. Huh. She hadn’t even realized the clinic ran fertility programs. Her mind immediately gave her a name.

She pulled out her phone, snapped a quick photo of the plaque, and typed a short message:

Raven : Seawood-King Wellness Institute. Worth a try?

She hit send without even rereading it. A moment later, the reply came.

Harper: Thank you… you have no idea how much that means.

Raven smiled faintly, slipping the phone back into her pocket. She wasn’t good at words, or at open softness. But this — this she could do.

Quietly, in the background, she could show up for the people she cared about.

----------------

6.12 p.m.

Instagram Post @bellamy_b:

Video: Murphy sinks a three-pointer, spins around with a smug grin, jogging backward as Lincoln shakes his head, laughing. Bellamy turns the camera on himself, slightly breathless, sweat dripping down his forehead, grinning wide.

Bellamy (to camera): “And that, folks, is the face of a guy who’s been on the court for five minutes and already thinks he’s MVP.”

Behind him, Murphy yells: “Don’t hate me ‘cause I’m beautiful, Blake!”

Lincoln snorts in the background: “Yeah, yeah, lucky shot.”

Caption:

Wednesday game squad! Don’t let his pretty face fool you — Murphy’s been trash-talking all afternoon. @lincoln_warrior says we need a rematch. I say someone better bring snacks next time.

#Basketball #SquadGoals #FriendlyTrashTalk

Comments:

@harpergram: Wow, you guys still alive after this? 

@natemiller: why wasn’t I invited? you too scared of my talent

@clarkegriffinblake: when you’re done embarrassing yourself on the court, your daughter needs help with her science project.

@redqueenO: Bet my brother pulled something pretending he’s still 21. 

@bellamy_b: Pretending? Please, I am still 21, thank you. 

@lincoln_warrior: Rematch anytime. Just say when. 

@ravenreyes: Wow, it’s like watching a middle school gym class. Proud of you guys. #mvp #mostvocalpouter

----------------

6:48 p.m.

Raven stood outside Murphy’s building, clutching the pizza box tight against her chest, heart pounding harder than she wanted to admit.

The drizzle had picked up, seeping through her red jacket, cool against her skin — not that she really noticed.

Breathe, Reyes. Your choice. Your pace. You can leave anytime. Remember that.

She hesitated, lifting her hand to knock softly, but the door cracked open almost immediately.

Murphy stood there, slightly out of breath, gym clothes sticking to him, an old towel slung lazily over his shoulder.

His crooked grin lit up instantly. Raven’s stomach gave a traitorous little flip.

“Incredible, you’re early,” he drawled, teasing.

“And you stink,” she shot back without missing a beat, sarcasm her best armor.

He smirked, unfazed. “That’s what happens when you don’t give this middle schooler enough time to shower.”

“Move it, Murphy, before this cheese turns into a brick.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, backing away with a laugh as she slipped inside. “Alright, alright — five minutes, tops.”

She watched him disappear toward the bathroom, exhaling softly, pressing the pizza box closer like it was some kind of shield.

Your choice, she reminded herself again. You can handle this.

She let out a shaky breath, feeling suddenly small in the middle of his apartment.

His place was its usual chaotic mess — books stacked in teetering towers on the coffee table, a pair of boots kicked off haphazardly near the couch, and an ancient stereo sitting on the floor with tangled wires coiling around it like lazy snakes.

The curtains hung half-cocked, one side pinned up with what looked suspiciously like a chopstick, and the smell of Murphy’s aftershave hung faintly in the air.

She dropped the pizza box on the kitchen table with a satisfying thud and slipped out of her jacket, draping it over the back of a chair.

The apartment was quiet except for the muffled sound of the shower running in the back and the chaos of the neighbors through the thin walls.

She’d run into them a few times on the stairs: a family of five, loud, animated, constantly yelling over each other but somehow all smiling at once.

But none of that noise was as loud as the inside of her own head right now. Her fingers twitched restlessly at her sides.

You need to calm down, Reyes. Do something. Anything.

Her eyes scanned the room — and then landed on a wall switch near the window, sparking faintly at the edge.

She let out a low, pleased hah, a grin tugging at her mouth.

Found it.

Sliding onto the floor cross-legged, she dug into her bag and pulled out the tiny toolkit she carried everywhere (because Raven Reyes was nothing if not prepared).

She clamped a small flashlight between her teeth, flicking it on, and set to work unscrewing the faceplate.

By the time Murphy came back — hair damp, jeans slung low on his hips, tugging on a faded black t-shirt — he froze in the doorway, staring at her.

“Reyes… what the hell are you doing?”

“Saving your life, you’re welcome,” she muttered around the flashlight, fingers busy at the exposed wires. “This place is a goddamn death trap. You should sue your landlord.”

Murphy let out a low laugh, stepping closer with lazy, curious amusement.

“Cheap rent, poor bartender,” he quipped, crossing his arms and leaning slightly over her shoulder.

“So this is how the coaching thing works? I take my shirt off, you renovate my apartment? Not a bad deal.”

Raven snorted, shooting him a quick side-eye. “Shut up and hand me that screwdriver.”

He plucked the tool from her kit and offered it with a theatrical little bow. “Your wish, milady.”

She rolled her eyes but bit back a smile, snatching it from his hand.

They worked together for a few more minutes, Raven hyper-focused as always when she was fixing something, Murphy watching with mild fascination, occasionally passing her a wire or a screw when she asked (and throwing in the occasional smartass comment, just to keep her on her toes).

When they finally finished, she pushed herself up from the floor, brushing dust off her hands with a satisfied little huff.

“There. No more spontaneous electrocutions.”

Murphy gave a slow, exaggerated clap, grinning. “Bravo, Reyes. You’ve saved me — and probably the Ramirezes next door — from certain doom.”

She smirked, shaking her head as she headed to the kitchen sink. Behind her, she could hear him rummaging around.

For a minute, the simple rhythm of the task — the cool water rushing over her hands, the scent of soap — was enough to calm her nerves.

But then, standing there, fingers sliding under the stream, she felt the quiet creeping back in. Her chest tightened slightly. The air felt… heavier.

Slowly, she dried her hands, hyper-aware of Murphy moving behind her — the soft crack of a bottle cap, the faint fizz of carbonation.

She turned.

There he was — relaxed, a faint grin tugging at his lips as he leaned back against the counter, bottle in hand.

And just like that, the tension was back.

The kind that had never really left.

The kind that curled low in her stomach, made her skin prickle, made her heart stutter just a bit too fast.

She cleared her throat, crossing her arms — more to anchor herself than anything else.

Come on. You’re an adult. You’ve survived way worse. Act like it.

“So… pizza?” she offered, her voice just a little too bright.

Murphy raised his bottle in a mock-toast.

“Pizza,” he echoed, that smirk deepening as he turned to the fridge.

“Beer?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“No thanks,” Raven said dryly. “I want to be fully lucid when I die of embarrassment tonight.”

Murphy chuckled softly, pulling out a water bottle instead.

“Come on,” he said, grabbing the pizza box and heading toward the door.

“Wait, where are we going?”

“Your favorite spot. Grab my jacket, would you? I’m a little busy here being your waiter.”

“It’s raining, you know that, right?” Raven shot back, raising an eyebrow.

Murphy flashed that infuriatingly confident grin, hoisting the pizza box like it was some kind of trophy.

“Romantic atmosphere, Reyes.”

She rolled her eyes but grabbed their jackets anyway, trailing after him up the stairs.

Outside, the rain was still falling — a soft mist now, turning the city lights into shimmering blurs, like a watercolor painting come to life.

The battered old couch sat under its patchy cover, shielding them from most of the rain — though the air was still damp and cool, alive with the smell of wet concrete and the far-off hum of traffic.

Murphy slouched there, legs stretched out, and Raven sank onto the seat beside him, handing back his jacket.

“See?” he said, settling the pizza box and water bottles between them. “Better than in the movies.”

She shot him a smirk. “So this is your move, huh? Bring all your conquests up here to impress them?”

Murphy smirked back, shaking his head. “Just you.”

Raven’s stomach gave a small, unwelcome twist.

“I mean,” he added after a beat, grin sharpening, “you’re the only crazy one who actually likes this shitty hole.”

She scoffed softly. “Told you. It’s the view. Not my fault if your ladies can’t appreciate a treasure when they’ve got it.”

“They never last long enough to even have the chance,” Murphy murmured, his voice dropping just slightly.

Raven glanced at him, her teasing softening. “Nobody special, then?”

He flicked her forehead gently, smirking. “Now you’re being uncharacteristically nosy, Reyes.”

“Excuse me, this is me trying to be a good friend. You know I’m fucked up. Hell, we’re here because I’m fucked up. Seems fair you share a little too.”

Murphy leaned back, taking another sip from his bottle. For a moment, his face shifted — thoughtful, a little darker.

“Let’s just say you don’t need to worry about your virgin ass getting dumped soon for the love of my life.”

Raven gave a small smile, catching the shift — how his humor turned sharp, defensive, like he was throwing up one of his invisible walls.

She let it be, turning her eyes to the rain tapping softly against the roof, feeling the hush of the night settle between them.

But then, after a long pause, Murphy spoke again.

“Emori was the love of my life. Or… I used to think so.”

He rubbed a hand over his mouth, like the words tasted strange.

“She was the first one who didn’t make me feel like an unworthy piece of trash. She gave me… a purpose.”

Raven blinked, surprised. She hadn’t expected this.

Hell, Murphy probably hadn’t expected this.

In the two years he’d been back in Arkadia, part of their group, he’d barely mentioned Emori — maybe a sarcastic jab here, a dark joke there, or when someone else forced the subject. But now, here in the quiet, it slipped out unprompted, like a truth he’d been carrying too long.

And it hit Raven just how rare this was — how hard it was for Murphy to let anything slip past that rough, bitter shield of his.

She shifted slightly, angling herself toward him, her usual defenses lowering just enough to say: I’m here. Go on. Her voice came out quiet, almost wondering.

“That sounds… important. I didn’t know you had that with her.”

He gave a half-shrug, like the words stung coming out. “Yeah, well. Guess I don’t talk about it much.”

Then he let out a short, bitter laugh, eyes flicking down to his hands.

“Before her, I was just —” he shook his head — “some screwed-up kid who thought he was destined to ruin everything he touched. With Emori, it was like… for once, I mattered.”

Raven felt something twist tight in her chest. She knew that feeling. That gnawing, hollow need to matter to someone.

She just coped with it differently, by shutting it all down, pretending she didn’t need anyone. Pretending the hole wasn’t there.

Her voice softened, slipping out before she could stop it.

“Chasing that feeling like maybe you’re not just… a mistake someone wished had never happened.”

Murphy turned his head slightly, his eyes flicking to hers — surprised, maybe, at how closely she’d hit the mark.

She didn’t back off. “I’m sorry it didn’t last, Murphy."

He swallowed hard.

“It was never meant to last. We were both a mess back then. I’m not even sure it was love — maybe we just thought we were everything to each other, when really, we were just each other’s crutches.”

He paused, his eyes drifting out over the city lights. “Thing is… she stopped needing a crutch. And when she left, I realized I’d never learned how to stand on my own.”

And now, Raven saw it — the quiet ache woven through his words, the unshakable loneliness he still carried, like a shadow stitched just beneath his skin.

And for a breath, just a breath, she saw herself there too. All the pieces of her she never let anyone touch.

She leaned in slightly, voice low but steady. “You’re standing now, Murphy.”

He let out a shaky breath, his eyes lifting to hers like she’d just handed him something he didn’t know he needed.

“Barely,” he whispered.

She gave a small, understanding nod. Without thinking, she reached out, brushed her fingers lightly against his hand — just once, just enough.

“Barely’s still standing,” she whispered back. “And you should start giving yourself some credit for all the shit you’ve survived.”

He huffed a faint laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Cockroach, right?”

She smiled in return, warmth flickering between them. For a second, neither of them spoke. Then Murphy’s eyes darted briefly down to where her fingers still rested on his.

“So… does this count as the first step of your trial?” he smirked, ruining the moment.

Raven let out an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes as she smacked him lightly on the arm.

“And there he goes.”

“Sorry,” he said, his grin widening, “too much emotional crap makes me allergic.”

He leaned back slightly, still wearing that crooked half-smile — and that’s when it hit her. Why they were really here.

The deal.

The trial.

The whole reason she was standing this close to him, heart pounding like a war drum.

And just like that, the soft, suspended moment between them sharpened again. Suddenly, the silence wasn’t comforting anymore.

It was waiting.

Raven straightened slowly, feeling a rush of clarity cut through the emotional haze.

Alright.

Alright, Reyes. Focus.

Now or never.

She took a slow breath in.

“Murphy,” she started quietly, her voice shifting — more controlled, an edge of determination threading through it. “Close your eyes.”

He arched an eyebrow at her, mouth tugging into a smirk. “What, you gonna surprise me?”

“Murphy,” she repeated, firmer. “I mean it.”

Something in her tone made his smile dim just a fraction. Without another word, he closed his eyes, the faint smirk lingering, but his body stilling.

Raven wasn’t looking at his mouth anymore. She was calculating. Measuring.

Alright.

It was on her to control this.

She had to find the edge — the exact point where her body, her mind, wouldn’t betray her. She inhaled carefully, aware of her heart thudding way too fast against her ribs.

Okay, don’t panic.

You’re not a kid anymore.

You’re not the girl who freezes or flinches when someone gets too close.

This is safe.

He’s safe.

But still — god, every muscle in her body felt wound tight, as if waiting for a signal to bolt.

Not with him.

Not now.

She inched forward, testing the distance.

Her hand lifted — almost on its own — brushing the edge of his cheek with the lightest, most tentative touch, like she half-expected him to vanish.

Murphy stayed perfectly still, eyes shut. She felt the heat of his breath, the slow rise of his chest.

Her throat constricted. She bit down softly on her lip, feeling a ripple of nerves roll down her spine.

Okay.

You are in control.

This is your move.

Just a baby step.

You can stop whenever you want

Her lips barely, barely brushed his. A feather’s touch, so slight it was almost nothing. She felt her breath catch, chest tightening as if every system inside her had suddenly overloaded.

Her fingers were trembling, just a little. Her heart was thudding loud in her ears. But she didn’t pull away. For one breathless second — just one — she let the kiss exist.

Just… there.

Just enough to prove to herself she could.

And then — carefully, cautiously — she leaned in a little more. Her eyes fluttered closed as she let her lips move over his, slowly, testingly.

Murphy’s lips, to her surprise, were soft — so unlike his usual sharp, rough edges. His stubble rasped lightly against her skin; his scent wrapped around her, familiar and dizzying.

He parted his lips slightly, letting her guide the pace, not pushing, not demanding.

It was her moment.

Her choice.

Her step forward.

When she finally drew back, it was like surfacing from deep underwater, lungs desperate for air. She tried to steady her breathing, her mind, her everything.

Murphy opened his eyes slowly, looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite pin down — surprise, sure, but also something softer, warmer, maybe even… proud?

And Raven — Raven felt something crack open deep inside. A surge of emotion hit her, fierce and wild and burning hot.

She did it.

She hadn’t frozen. She hadn’t fallen apart.

A sudden, breathless laugh burst out of her — half disbelief, half release, pure, unfiltered relief.

Murphy was still watching her, eyes a little wide, a little amused, his mouth curving into the faintest smirk.

“Good job, Reyes.”

She sucked in a deep breath, feeling herself start to come down from the adrenaline high.

“You — uh, you okay?” she asked, her eyes flicking anxiously over his face. She needed to be sure she hadn’t messed this up. “I mean… was that okay with you?”

He let out a soft, low laugh, tilting his head like he couldn’t quite believe she was even asking.

“I’ve had worse days than getting kissed by a monstrously hideous girl. Trust me.”

Raven huffed, shaking her head with a half-laugh, half-groan, but a smile was tugging at her lips anyway.

Murphy shifted his weight, slipping his hands casually into his jacket pockets. “Remember, no weirdness. That was your rule, Reyes.”

“Alright,” she murmured, narrowing her eyes playfully as she met his gaze.“No weirdness.”

His smirk widened, eyes dancing. “So… you wanna practice some more, or—”

“Or eat my pizza,” Raven cut in smoothly, flipping open the box and snatching up a slice. She took a giant bite, grinning around it, crumbs scattering.

Murphy let out an exaggerated gasp, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest. “Wow. Savage. Tossed aside for a greasy slice of pizza.”

“Carbs are my one and only, sorry,” she mumbled, mouth full.

“I can see that."

Without thinking, his hand reached out — thumb brushing lightly over her cheek to flick away a stray crumb.The touch was brief, casual on the surface — but it landed like a spark.

Her breath hitched, something hot darting through her chest.

Maybe it was too much, too soon.

Murphy pulled back smoothly, leaning into the cushions. "Hey, hand over a slice before you inhale them all."

Raven let out a shaky breath she hadn't realized she was holding, the relief a palpable rush. She shoved the box toward him with an elbow. "Help yourself, MVP."

Just like that, they slipped back into their usual rhythm. But something fundamental had shifted. She had taken the first step. She had survived.

They both had.

Chapter Text

Thursday 11:56 AM

Murphy: Thank you, Murphy, for last night. I had so much fun, you’re absolutely charming. We should do it again sometime. 

Raven: Oh, the pleasure was all mine, Raven. You’re truly the best company anyone could ask for. 

________

The rest of the week was a nightmare.

The new project at Eligius turned out to be far worse than she’d expected — a maze of tangled code, broken schematics, and half-assed documentation left by whoever had worked on it last.

Raven knew going in it would be rough, but this? This was a whole different beast.

She was completely absorbed.

Day after day, hour after hour, she buried herself in it, hunched over her workstation at the office even after most of the lights had gone out, the cleaning crew wandering past her door with sympathetic looks.

Her desk was littered with empty coffee cups, printouts covered in notes and frantic scribbles, her fingers flying over the keyboard like she could somehow outrun the looming deadline.

Shaw was good — smart, thoughtful, always ready to jump in — but he just didn’t have the expertise she did. At the end of the day, it was all on her.

She was the only one who could fix this. Again.

By the time she got home at night, it was often past midnight. She’d collapse on her bed, open her laptop, and keep going, the glow of the screen painting her tired face in blue light.

She worked half-dressed, in sweatpants and a tank top, leg brace tossed to the floor. Her eyes stung, her back ached, but she couldn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop.

She couldn’t fail.

She stopped replying to texts.

When the group organized another game night, all she managed to send was a rushed, “Sorry, swamped with work.”

Clarke tried to convince her anyway.Octavia threw in a sarcastic remark.

But no one pushed too hard.They all knew it was pointless.

Work. Focus. Deliver.

Monday morning came with an extra surprise: a last-minute project meeting. Which meant she had to cancel her therapy session with Luna.

That pissed her off — she’d been looking forward to talking about the progress she’d made, the little victories with Murphy, the exposure steps that had actually gone well. Instead, she just fired off a quick text:

Raven: “Hey, can’t make it today, sorry. The exposure stuff went okay, I’ll tell you next time. Can we reschedule?”

She didn’t wait for the reply. She was already grabbing her laptop and heading back to the office.

Around noon, Murphy’s name popped up on her phone, along with a picture: an old videogame console, scuffed but still intact, with a simple caption.

Murphy: “Yo, look what I found.”

She stared at the photo on her phone, thumbs hovering over the screen.

A part of her ached with guilt.

After Wednesday, she’d barely reached out to him — barely replied, barely anything. He was helping her deal with her shit, and she was repaying him with radio silence.

Real nice, Reyes. No wonder you’re surrounded by so many people dying to be around you.

Her thumb almost slid to type something, just a small hey, cool find, but before she could, a sharp voice cracked through the air behind her.

“Reyes, have you checked this data?” 

Diyoza.

She snapped her head up, blinking at the tall, imposing woman standing by her desk.

“How the hell are we still behind?” Diyoza barked, crossing her arms. “The launch is in two weeks and you’ve got nothing. I pay you to be the best, Reyes.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve. Raven felt her shoulders tense, guilt twisting into a knot in her chest. She mumbled a quick reply and pulled the laptop closer.

You can’t be failing.

She clenched her jaw, heart hammering.

And somewhere, deep in her mind, an old, familiar voice stirred.

“Raven, we need you to study harder. You want to throw away that scholarship? We need that money, for God’s sake, is that really too much to ask?”

Her mother’s voice. Always.

It sank its claws in deeper than Diyoza ever could.

And that hurt more — much more — than avoiding Murphy, or Clarke, or anyone else in her life.

So she pushed the phone aside. She worked later. Harder. Buried herself in the sharp lines of code and schematics, the numbers swimming in front of her eyes until they blurred. The message stayed unanswered.

________

By the next day, she was no closer to finding a solution. The deadline loomed and she could feel herself sinking.

Her phone buzzed again. She reached for it absently, heart already sinking. Probably Shaw again, or worse, Diyoza.

It was Murphy.

Murphy: “Come on, Reyes. Take a break. You’re allowed to have a little fun before your brain melts out of your ears. I’ll even let you win at Mario Kart. And if you play your cards right… I might even let you kiss me again.”

She let out a short breath. Her eyes flicked back to the screen, to the endless columns of data and error logs. Her chest tightened.

No time. She couldn’t let herself get distracted.

But then, a second buzz.

Murphy: “I’m serious. You can’t keep going like this.”

She clenched her jaw.The code blurred in front of her eyes.

She was exhausted, yes. But if she stopped now, it wouldn’t magically fix itself.

Another buzz.

Murphy: “You aren’t answering your phone. You missed game night. People asked about you, you know.”

Her stomach twisted.

She knew. She felt it.

Every missed message, every ignored invite, every night shut in with her laptop instead of out there with… life.

But she couldn’t. Not now. Not with so much on the line.

Murphy: “Reyes. You alive in there?”

That broke something.

She grabbed the phone, thumbs flying.

Raven: “I don’t have time for this, Murphy.”

A pause. She tried to focus, to dive back into the code.

But no—

Buzz.

Murphy: “What, five minutes? Come on. You’ll feel better.”

Her pulse spiked. He didn’t get it. The pressure, the stakes. The way her chest tightened with every minute wasted. She slammed the laptop shut and shot to her feet, too fast.

Raven : “I can handle it, and I will. Stop bothering me.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

Murphy: “I’m just saying—”

Raven: “No, you’re NOT just saying, Murphy. You don’t get it. I can’t drop the ball on this.”

Her breathing was too quick now, fingers shaking. She squeezed the phone tighter.

Raven: “I’m not like you. I can’t just slack off and act like nothing matters.”

For a few seconds, there was nothing but silence.

Then his reply came:

Murphy: "Gotcha."

Short. Clipped. No joke. Just that.

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard.

The guilt hit instantly—sharp, heavy, unavoidable. But she didn’t know how to take it back.

Because the truth was… part of her meant it.

And that was the worst part.

She couldn’t afford to let go. Couldn’t afford to be anything less than perfect. Not now. Not ever.

She didn’t reply. Just set the phone down, face-up on the table.

And stared.

At the screen. At nothing.

The tension in her shoulders wound tighter, a steel band drawn to the point of snapping.

Guilt could wait. Everything could wait.

Until she proved, again, that she was enough.

________

By Friday, she was running on fumes.

Her apartment was a mess — empty takeout containers on the floor, a half-eaten protein bar by the bed.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept more than four hours. Her head ached constantly; her eyes burned from staring at screens too long.

She barely checked her phone anymore. Messages piled up.

She kept telling herself she’d answer after she fixed the code, after she solved the bug, after she proved she was still the best.

Murphy’s name sat buried in her inbox. He hadn't sent anymore messages since Tuesday.

Friday morning, she dragged herself into the Eligius office for the team meeting, clutching a folder full of notes, half-formed fixes, and sheer desperation.

Diyoza’s eyes cut sharp across the room the moment Raven walked in.

“Alright, Reyes. Let’s see it,” Diyoza said, folding her arms.

Raven’s hands shook slightly as she plugged in her laptop and started the presentation.

She walked them through the process, every step she had taken, every patch she had applied, every theory she had chased down.

But as she spoke, her voice got thinner.

She knew it. She could feel the holes — the places where the logic didn’t hold up, where the solution wasn’t complete.

And Diyoza noticed. Of course she noticed.

“Reyes,” she interrupted sharply, “you’re asking me to sign off on something that doesn’t stand on its own legs.”

Raven opened her mouth, heart hammering, scrambling for words —

“I think I have something,” Shaw spoke up quietly.

Everyone turned.

He shifted in his seat, pulling out his own notes. “I was working off Reyes’ initial design, but I ran a couple of alternative simulations last night. One of them held.”

Raven blinked, stunned.

Diyoza raised an eyebrow. “Show me.”

He walked them through it. It wasn’t perfect, but it was promising — and more importantly, it was something.

By the end of the meeting, Diyoza gave a tight nod. “Alright. Keep working. Shaw, good save.”

She didn’t even look at Raven, sitting frozen in her chair, fingers curled tightly on her lap, her skin burning with humiliation.

She hadn’t saved the project.

Shaw had.

She — the one who never failed, who everyone counted on — had almost sunk it.

The meeting broke up, the team drifting away in low voices. Shaw gave her a small, encouraging smile as he passed, but she couldn’t even meet his eyes.

When she finally stood up, her legs felt shaky.

All she wanted was to disappear.

________

Later that night, Raven walked into her apartment, quietly closing the door behind her.

She didn’t pause. Didn’t sigh. She moved on autopilot.

Jacket off.

Shoes kicked aside.

She noticed the dishes from the past few days still piled in the sink.

Without thinking, she started washing them. When the sink was empty, she kept going.

She cleaned the rooms, took out the trash, tidied the scattered mess like muscle memory had kicked in.

Anything to keep busy.

She heated up some instant noodles, ate them standing at the counter, barely tasting a bite.

Her thoughts spun: the meeting, Diyoza’s sharp tone, Shaw saving the project last minute. 

She was supposed to be the best. She had to be.

Later, she stepped into the shower. The hot water hit her skin, loosening her tense shoulders.

And then, quietly, she realized her face was wet — not just from the water, but from the few tears sliding down her cheeks.

She didn’t sob. She didn’t break.

But she felt it.

After the shower, she pulled on an old T-shirt and crawled into bed — exhausted, but wired.

Almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

She reached for it, blinking at the screen.

Sinclair: “Hey, niña. Just checking in. Don’t forget Sunday dinner, okay? Birthday — the old man expects you there. And remember, I’m proud of you.”

Her chest tightened, a sharp, unexpected ache blooming in her ribs.

She’d completely forgotten Sinclair’s birthday dinner. The guilt sank in once again like a stone in her stomach.

She stared at the ceiling, realizing just how badly she’d handled the whole week — how she’d shut people out, snapped at the wrong ones, ghosted the people who cared.

And it had all been for nothing — she hadn’t even finished the damn project.

With a quiet sigh, she grabbed her phone and replied to Sinclair.

Then came the group chat.

Raven: “Still alive, barely breathing — work’s been kicking my ass and it won. Next game night I’ll bring the snacks.”

Finally, the hardest part.

She opened her private chat with Murphy.

Her fingers hovered above the screen, hesitating — just for a second — before she typed:

Raven: “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch.”

She hit send, locked the phone, and exhaled into the silence.

Small steps.

Maybe tomorrow, she’d start making it right.

She lay there in the dark, eyes half-open, staring at the ceiling.

Exhausted — her body sore, her head pounding — but sleep wouldn’t come.

Every time she closed her eyes, the week played on a relentless loop.

Hours passed.

The red numbers on the nightstand blinked: 2:37 AM.

Her phone buzzed.

She fumbled for it, heart skipping.

Murphy: “Wow. She does know how to apologize. Good to know you can still feel something other than pure, unadulterated judgment.”

Raven let out a soft breath.

He was pissed. And he had every right to be.

She stared at the screen for a moment, thumbs hovering, then started typing:

Raven: “Guess I deserved that. Probably worse. It’s just… I was afraid I wouldn’t finish the project. That I’d screw it up.”

She paused, then added:

Raven: “And that’s exactly what I did.”

The reply came faster than she expected.

Murphy: “I know.”

Simple. No snark this time. She felt something loosen in her chest.

His next message popped up a moment later:

Murphy: “It’s late. Get some rest.”

Raven sighed softly, rubbing her eyes.

Raven: “Can’t. My brain won’t shut up.”

For a second, there was no reply. She thought maybe he’d gone to sleep, or back to work.

Then:

Murphy: “Alright. Check your Switch.”

Her brows furrowed.

A second later, the notification appeared — John Murphy has invited you to play Mario Kart.

She let out a quiet laugh under her breath.

Dragging herself out of bed, Raven padded over to the TV, flicked on her console, and set up the game.

As the game loaded, she felt the tightness in her chest ease just a little, the noise in her head dulling.

________

@murphy_s_law – Instagram Story

 Photo of his TV screen, Mario Kart results glowing in victory

1st Place – John Murphy

Caption: Still undefeated. @ravenreyes

Notification: @ravenreyes reposted your story

Comment: Humility is clearly your strong suit. Real proud of beating a sleep-deprived engineer, huh?

Raven → Murphy (DM):

Hey, listen… I was thinking. Want to come to Sinclair’s birthday dinner tomorrow?

I owe you — and honestly, he’d be happy to see you.

Murphy → Raven:

Hmm. Free food, Sinclair’s approval, and you groveling for my forgiveness?

Tempting.

Can we schedule it before my shift?

________

On Sunday, Murphy pulled up in front of her place and gave a single honk, not bothering to get out of the car. Raven stepped into the car, carefully balancing the birthday cake, and slammed the door behind her.

“Five minutes late,” she said, buckling her seatbelt. “You’re slipping.”

He shot her a look. “Please. I was early. Just sat out here slacking off, acting like nothing matters.”

Raven rolled her eyes. “I said I was sorry.”

He smirked. “Yeah, yeah. You’re just lucky I’m a very forgiving person.”

“I’m taking you to dinner to earn that forgiveness. It’s not exactly coming cheap.”

“Right. Except I’m the one chauffeuring Your Royal Highness, and technically, dinner’s on Sinclair.”

Raven tilted her head. “So what you’re saying is, my apology package needs an upgrade?”

“Oh, definitely,” he said, pretending to think it over. “I’ll draft a list of demands.”

Before she could respond, her phone buzzed in her hand. Her eyes dropped to the screen, thumb unlocking it without a second thought.

Shaw. Again. He’d been blowing up her messages since Friday, sending updates and task lists like he was suddenly her boss. Apparently, one misstep on the project was enough to demote her.

She started typing back, face tight with focus.

At the red light, Murphy leaned over just enough to sneak a glance.

“What the hell is a Shaw?”

She didn’t look up. “The reason I’ve felt like a useless waste of space all week.”

Murphy blinked, surprised by the honesty. “Okay. That was… a lot. You wanna unpack that, or—?”

She let out a sharp sigh and finally met his eyes. “He’s my new colleague. We’ve been working on the new Eligius project together. I thought I had it under control, but I missed something big. He figured it out, and now he’s technically in charge—sending me tasks like I’m his assistant.”

Murphy exhaled slowly, eyes on the changing light. He didn’t hit the gas right away.

“So let me get this straight,” he said. “You burned yourself out trying to be perfect, acted like a bitch because pressure isn’t your strong suit, then this Shaw had one decent idea, and now you’ve decided you’re garbage?”

Raven’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t answer.

Without warning, Murphy reached over and plucked the phone from her hands.

“Hey!” she snapped, glaring at him.

“Nope,” he said, casually tossing it into the cup holder as he hit the gas. “Tonight, we’re invoking a no-burnout clause. Sinclair’s birthday. You’re not ruining it by playing assistant to some knockoff tech bro.”

“You’re such a dick,” she muttered, but her voice had softened.

“And you’re welcome,” Murphy replied, smug as ever.

Raven just shook her head, but for once, she didn't argue. Strangely, it felt like a relief, having the permission not to be perfect for a moment. Not having to perform, to hustle.

She leaned back and turned her gaze out the window.

Sinclair’s old neighborhood looked exactly the same. Quiet streets, weathered porches, a few kids’ bikes tipped over on front lawns.

Two houses down stood the place she’d once called home—a squat little building with peeling paint and the same cracked steps leading up to the front door.

She’d sold it not long after her mother died, thinking it would be enough to exorcise the ghosts.

She was wrong, of course. The monsters didn’t live under the bed. They followed you. Lived in your bones.

Her eyes drifted.

On the lawn of that house, a little blonde girl spun in dizzy circles, laughter bubbling from her like champagne. Behind her, a woman—just as blonde, probably her mother—chased after her, laughing too. 

The sound of it floated through the open window: high, bright, untouched by the world.

Raven felt something pull inside her, deep and strange. A kind of homesickness for something she never really had.

“Lost in space again, Reyes?”

Murphy’s voice cut through gently.

“Earth is calling you.”

She blinked and turned to him. He was watching her, smirk intact—but his eyes were softer, curious.

She exhaled slowly and reached for the door. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

As they stepped out, Sinclair’s front door creaked open before they could even knock.

“I knew I heard a Raven Reyes–branded engine in my yard!”

“Happy birthday, old man!” Raven called, plastering on a grin as she approached. She tossed a thumb toward Murphy. “Look what I brought you—gift-wrapped trouble.”

Sinclair laughed, deep and warm, the sound echoing out into the evening. “Niña! What a surprise. My two favorite strays.”

He pulled her into a hug that was all affection. A familiar jolt ran through Raven, the contact still not entirely comfortable.

Then he turned to Murphy, eyes bright. “Murphy, son. Good to see you again.”

Murphy held out a bottle of whiskey, the label aged and expensive-looking. “Happy birthday, sir. Figured you might need something to dull the pain of aging gracefully.”

Sinclair let out a roar of laughter and clapped Murphy on the back, hard enough to make him stumble a step. “Smart-ass kid. I like you.”

Raven groaned. “Stop telling him that. I’m the one who has to live with the inflated ego.”

“She’s just jealous,” Murphy said, bumping her lightly with his shoulder.

Raven rolled her eyes and bumped him right back. 

Sinclair chuckled, clearly entertained, and waved them both inside.

“Come in, come in. Dinner’s almost ready.”

The house welcomed her with the same familiar warmth from her childhood, a comforting clutter earned over years of everyday life.

Raven slipped off her jacket and hung it in the old wooden wardrobe by the door. The inside still carried that faint scent of cedar, unchanged from when she was a kid.

Her eyes wandered across the living room—walls lined with old photos, shelves crowded with worn books, and little mechanical trinkets Sinclair had tinkered with over the years.

One framed photo near the hallway caught her eye. It wasn't there the last time she visited.

She stepped closer, something catching in her chest.

It was her—around twelve, perched in her old wheelchair, grinning beside a half-dismantled carburetor. Grease smeared across her cheek, eyes alight with pride. She remembered that day. Remembered feeling capable for the first time.

Behind her, Murphy’s voice came soft and amused. “Is that you?”

She turned slightly, a crooked smile tugging at her lips.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “First time I tore apart a carburetor. Sinclair handed me the tools and let me go for it. Taught me everything.”

Her fingers brushed the frame, gentle.

“He was the first person who really believed I could figure things out on my own.”

Murphy didn’t say anything—just stood next to her, quiet, present.

Then Sinclair’s voice called from the kitchen, slicing through the moment with perfect timing.

“You two planning to join me, or are you out there making moon eyes at old photos all night?”

Raven let out a huff of laughter, shaking her head as she pushed off the wall.

“Coming!”

She led the way down the familiar hallway, Murphy trailing behind, and the closer they got, the more the smells hit them—spices, slow-cooked meat, tomatoes, onions—rich and comforting, like a memory wrapped in steam.

The air felt warmer here, lived-in. Safe.

The kitchen was small but full of life, a soft golden light casting a gentle glow over everything.

The table was already set—simple plates, mismatched glasses, and a blue ceramic bowl in the center that Raven remembered from a hundred dinners past.

A folded dish towel hung over Sinclair’s shoulder as he moved between stove and table, humming under his breath in a way that made Raven smile.

She'd spent so many nights in this very room, trying to put herself back together after the worst of it. Learning to calculate new distances with her wheelchair back then, figuring out how to reach cabinets, how to ask for help without feeling weak.

This kitchen had seen the mess and the mending.

“And here we go,” Sinclair announced, lifting the lid off a large dish with a flourish. “Dinner is served!”

Murphy paused mid-step, eyebrows shooting up.

The dish was practically glowing—simmering red-orange chicken, shredded and saucy, garnished with fresh cilantro and slivers of red onion. The smell was enough to make stomachs growl.

“Oh my god,” Raven said, grinning as she leaned over the table, breathing it in. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Chicken Tinga,” Sinclair announced with a proud nod, setting the pot down in the center like it was sacred. “Your favorite. Figured I’d pull out the old magic. Hope you like Mexican food, Murphy.”

Murphy gave a low appreciative whistle, already sliding into a chair.

“You’ll never hear me complain. Smells amazing.”

Sinclair chuckled, balancing a basket lined with a brightly colored striped cloth.

Inside, warm tortillas steamed invitingly, their scent mingling with the savory spice of the chicken tinga.

“You know,” he began, settling the basket onto the table with practiced ease, “this one was absolutely obsessed with this dish when she lived here.”

He tipped his head toward Raven with an affectionate grin. “Made me cook it almost every day for a month straight. She’d come after school and bark out the order like a tiny general. No hello, no please—just ‘Tinga.’”

Raven groaned, collapsing into her seat like she’d just been mortally wounded. She slapped a hand over her face and muttered through her fingers, “Oh my god, no. Please, don’t start giving away all my secrets. He will absolutely use it against me.”

Murphy, already reaching for a tortilla, grinned like a fox who’d just been handed the keys to the henhouse.

“No, no, please go on. This is gold. I knew Reyes was bossy with me, but turns out she’s been terrorizing people since birth. Kind of validating, honestly.”

“Correction,” Sinclair said, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Since about age thirteen. Before that, she mostly glared and refused to speak to me. Total silent treatment.”

“I was processing trauma,” Raven replied dryly, shooting him a look.

Murphy laughed, nearly choking on a bite of tortilla. “Sounds about right. I think that’s still her default mode.”

“Oh, she had a whole system,” Sinclair went on, clearly enjoying himself now. “She’d stomp around the garage like she owned it. Had this one look—chin up, eyes narrowed—used it whenever someone dared to disagree with her. I was afraid to say no. Still am, a little.”

“I knew that look wasn’t new,” Murphy added with mock awe.

Raven threw her hands up. “What—did this turn into a Raven Reyes bullying fest? Is that what this dinner is now?”

“You invited him,” Sinclair pointed out, smug.

“You brought me,” Murphy countered, clearly enjoying every second of this.

She narrowed her eyes at both of them.

“You can’t see it,” she said flatly, “but under the table, my middle finger is raised in your honor.”

She raised her hand. “Oh wait—here it is.”

Murphy laughed as she flipped them both off, then flicked her hand lightly and passed her another tortilla like it was a peace offering.

Sinclair was already chuckling as he topped off their glasses with more wine, the bottle glugging softly in the warm kitchen air.

Murphy took another bite and let out a low, satisfied hum.

“Okay, this is delicious. I’m gonna need the recipe.”

“Old Abuela Maria’s special,” Sinclair said with pride. “High praise coming from a chef.”

Murphy blinked. “Huh?”

“Raven told me you’re good with food. Said you’ve got real talent in the kitchen.” Sinclair smiled knowingly. “Now she’s got you cooking for her, I’m glad.”

Murphy turned his head toward Raven, one brow lifted in a slow, amused arc.

“She told you that, huh?”

Raven made a noncommittal sound, poking at her food like it had personally offended her.

“I’m trying to convince this asshole to open a real restaurant and become my personal chef. But he’s as stubborn as grease on engine parts.”

Sinclair let out a pleased chuckle. “Now that’s a plan I can support.”

Murphy leaned back in his chair with practiced nonchalance, but there was a glimpse of a shadow behind his smirk.

“I’m fine with bartending.”

Sinclair picked up on the shift in tone—didn’t press it. He just gave a nod and changed lanes.

“You staying out of trouble?” he asked, raising an eyebrow over his glass.

Murphy glanced up, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk.

“No more bleeding on anyone’s floor lately.”

Raven snorted. “Wow. Setting the bar nice and low, huh?”

“Well,” Sinclair retorted, lifting his glass in mock solemnity, “progress is progress. I’ll drink to that.”

They all clinked glasses. For a moment, the kitchen settled into a warm, easy silence—the kind that didn’t need words. The kind that made you believe, just for a second, that maybe things were okay.

Then Raven nudged Murphy’s foot under the table. “You know I’m right. You could be doing more. You just have trouble admitting you’re actually good at anything.”

Murphy looked at her, longer than he probably intended to.

“I’m not exactly the ‘goals and five-year plan’ type.”

Sinclair gave a quiet nod, like that was enough.

“It’ll come,” he said simply. “Just don’t count yourself out before you’ve even tried.”

They dug in, and for a while, the only sounds were the clink of forks against plates, soft laughter, the rustle of napkins, and the occasional appreciative “Damn” from Murphy as he piled shredded chicken into tortillas with a generous squeeze of lime.

The conversation drifted easily—from Raven’s job (“We don’t talk about Bruno tonight, Sinclair,” had been Murphy’s quick response, earning a raised eyebrow from Sinclair until Raven offered a rushed, slightly mortified explanation), to their friends, to old childhood memories and Sinclair’s future plans.

Raven found herself relaxing more deeply than she had all week. She watched Murphy as he listened to Sinclair, saw the softening in his eyes, the genuine respect he held for the older man.

“So,” she said, tearing off a piece of tortilla and absently dipping it into her sauce, “are you still thinking about setting up that new space at the garage? Expanding the service?”

Sinclair sighed, sitting back with a tired groan as he nursed his wine. “It’s been on pause, niña. That other room’s still a disaster. Full of old junk we keep saying we’ll clear out. James’s a good kid, but not exactly reliable when it comes to extra work. Guess I’ll have to tackle it myself.” He gestured to his knees with a wry smile. “And as you can see, I’m not exactly spry anymore.”

His gaze drifted across the kitchen to a photo on the far counter—a faded print of him standing beside a woman with dark curls and deep laugh lines, both of them smiling in front of a crooked Christmas tree. 

“My Carmen would’ve yelled at me for even thinking about doing it alone,” he added softly, lips quirking with remembered affection.

Raven’s chest tightened. She’d never met Sinclair’s wife—Carmen had passed away a couple of years before Sinclair had taken her in—but she knew her through the stories. The warmth in his voice whenever he mentioned her. The quiet reverence.

Sinclair reached for his glass again and swirled the wine slowly, his voice quieter now.

“You know the funny thing? I don’t miss the big stuff. Not the holidays. Not even our anniversary. What I miss is her humming off-key in the mornings. Burning the damn toast. Cursing at the coffee machine like it owed her rent.”

Murphy paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. He tilted his head slightly, watching Sinclair with a stillness Raven rarely saw in him.

“I get that,” he said after a beat. “It’s the everyday stuff that sticks with you.”

Raven turned toward him, surprised—not at the truth of his words, but at the way he’d said them. Like he knew what it meant to miss someone’s small, stubborn routines. Like maybe he’d once had something ordinary, and lost it.

His parents.

Emori.

Sinclair smiled faintly but didn’t lift his eyes. “Exactly. Carmen had this kind of patience that I never deserved. I’d come home grumbling, pissed off at the world, and she’d just let me rant. Never interrupted. When I was finally done burning through it all, she’d look at me with those eyes and say, ‘Feel better now?’ She never forced it. Never rushed me.”

Raven swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around her fork. There were days Sinclair had done the same for her—given her space when she couldn’t even name the shape of her pain.

Murphy leaned back, his gaze shifting briefly to Raven, then returning to Sinclair. “She sounds like a hell of a woman.”

“She was,” Sinclair said, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. “Which always made me wonder what she saw in a cranky bastard like me.”

Raven smirked, breaking the heaviness just a little. “She liked a project.”

Sinclair chuckled, eyes misty but warm.

Then Murphy cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, voice casual but firm. “Hey… if you need a hand clearing out that room, I can help.”

Raven froze, fork still in her mouth.

Sinclair blinked. “Really? You don’t have to, son. I appreciate it, though.”

Murphy shrugged, eyes fixed on his plate like it was nothing. “I’ve done worse jobs. Besides… someone’s gotta make sure you don’t fall and break a hip.”

Sinclair barked a laugh, shaking his head fondly. “Well, maybe we’ll get it done before I hit ninety then.”

But Raven couldn’t look away from Murphy.

It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him do something like that—quiet, unexpected kindness, offered like it didn’t mean anything. Like it wasn’t this rare, flickering glimpse of who he really was underneath all the rough edges.

He didn’t advertise the good in him.

But it was there.

She caught herself smiling, a small, reluctant curve of her lips that she quickly masked.

“Okay, where’s my cake?” Sinclair asked, eyes lighting up.

Raven blinked out of her thoughts, pushing back her chair and heading to the fridge. “It’s from that place on 3rd Street you love.”

“The one with the best donuts in town? James always brings them to the garage in the morning." His face lit up even more. "Man, he might be the laziest guy I know, but at least he's generous with his food runs.”

“You need to go easy on the sugar though,” Raven admonished him as she set the cake down on the table. “You heard Abby.”

He waved her off with a fond smile. “You and that big heart, niña. Always worrying.”

The cake was simple but beautiful, topped with flickering candles. The lights had been dimmed, casting a soft, golden glow over the table. Raven clapped her hands together, grinning as Sinclair settled in front of it.

“Alright, old man, make a wish!” she teased, nudging him with her elbow.

Sinclair gave her a playful glare but closed his eyes anyway, leaning toward the candles.

Murphy chuckled, already pulling out his phone. “Come on. Let me get a photo for the memories.”

Raven leaned in next to Sinclair, crouching slightly, her smile wide. The candles caught the warm gold in her eyes.

“Ready?” Murphy asked, lifting the phone.

“Ready!” Raven and Sinclair said in unison.

Click.

“Perfect shot,” Murphy said. “You look beautiful, Reyes.”

She glanced over his shoulder at the screen. “My eyes are closed and my mouth’s half open like a dead fish.”

“Beautiful,” he repeated, smirking.

She rolled her eyes and gave him a light punch on the arm. “Take another one.”

“Okay, okay, kids,” Sinclair said, waving a hand. “Now one with all of us. Come on, Murphy—don’t be shy.”

Murphy didn’t protest. He handed the phone to Sinclair and helped switch it to selfie mode. Sinclair leaned forward, the cake and its flickering candles glowing in front of him, while Murphy and Raven crowded in behind him.

“Wait—ugh, I can’t fit!” Raven laughed, leaning closer and bumping into Murphy’s side without even realizing. She made a goofy face at the camera, tongue out and eyes crossed.

Murphy shot her a long-suffering look and slid an arm around her waist to steady her as she wobbled slightly. 

“You’re gonna take us both down,” he muttered.

Raven leaned into him even more, grinning. “Shut up and smile, Murphy.”

He just shook his head, biting back a smirk as Sinclair angled the phone.

“Alright—smile, boys and girls!” Sinclair called.

Snap.

The photo caught everything: Sinclair’s proud, wrinkled grin; Raven’s mischievous, bright-eyed expression; and Murphy’s trademark unimpressed face—only half-faked—with Raven tucked against his side.

For a moment, everything felt… simple.

________

After saying their goodbyes to Sinclair, and the promise to not be strangers, Murphy drove Raven back to her place. 

The car ride was quieter than usual—not awkward, just easy. The kind of silence that didn’t need filling.

Outside, the city lights blurred softly against the windows, and Murphy’s playlist hummed in the background.

When they pulled up outside her building, Raven didn’t get out right away. She stayed in the car, keys turning slowly in her hand, the soft clink of metal filling the silence.

Then she turned toward him with a half-smile and a raised brow.“So,” she asked lightly, “can I consider myself forgiven?”

Murphy glanced at her, one hand still on the wheel. “The jury’s still deliberating. But you’re earning points.”

She let out a soft laugh and tilted her head. “Thanks for coming. It was a good night. I really needed it. Sinclair was glowing.”

“He’s a good man. And he cares about you. A lot.”

Her smile faltered for just a moment. She nodded, pressing her lips together.

And then — she looked at him. The warm streetlight spilled across his face, catching on the line of his jaw, the quiet calm in his eyes.

It hit her like a light flicking on in the dark.

Ten days ago, she’d kissed him.The first step of her so-called “trial.”

And in the chaos that followed—long hours, pressure, the fight they’d had, even Sinclair’s strangely cozy dinner—she hadn’t really let herself think about it. Hadn’t acknowledged it.

Neither had he. Murphy had just… let it be. Given her space to come back if she wanted to.

She wanted to.

Silence settled between them again. Her fingers curled tighter around the keys.

“So…” she said, her voice aiming for casual. “Do you wanna come in? For, you know… the second session of the trial.”

Murphy arched a brow, and that familiar crooked smirk appeared — amused, predictable, infuriatingly comforting.

“Tempting, Reyes, but I’ve got a shift at the bar in half an hour. Gotta go play babysitter to the drunk and the hopeless.”

She nodded a little too quickly, brushing it off like it didn’t matter. Like she hadn’t just peeled off a piece of armor and held it out to him.

“Yeah. Whatever. Goodnight, Murphy.”

She turned toward the door — but his hand caught her wrist. Gentle. His fingers were warm against her skin.

“But…” he said softly, “I do have time for this.”

He leaned in — slowly, carefully — giving her space to pull away. Raven didn’t move. Her dark eyes met his.

You’re in control.

His lips brushed hers — a question, not a demand. A test.

And this time she didn’t hesitate. She closed the distance, her hand rising to the back of his neck, fingers slipping into his hair as she pulled him in.

You’re in control. It's okay. You can take another step.

The kiss deepened — his mouth parting under hers, and when her tongue brushed lightly against his, he met her without pause.

There was no panic. No tightness in her chest. No voice in her head screaming at her to run.

She was doing it again.

Pushing the line.

Testing her limits.

 Even when it scared the hell out of her.

When they finally pulled apart, her breath came in short bursts. Murphy didn’t move far. He rested his forehead gently against hers, his voice a quiet rasp in the space between them.

“You okay?”

She was okay.

A slow, crooked grin curved her lips. “Yeah. Consider that... trial session two.”

She stepped out of the car, heart still racing, but not for the wrong reasons.

Murphy waited. Stayed there, watching her until she was safely inside, before finally turning the key in the ignition and driving away.

________

@ravenreyes – Instagram Story

Selfie from the birthday dinner.

Music: “Sweet Disposition” – The Temper Trap: A moment, a love, a dream, a laugh…

Caption: Some moments deserve their own soundtrack 🌙✨@sinclairgarageworks @murphy_s_law

Chapter Text

“I used Redlight.”

Raven sat stiffly across from Luna, arms crossed tight like she was holding herself together. The words were already out, and now they hung in the quiet space between them.

Luna didn’t flinch. “The safe word?”

“Yeah. The other night.”

“Okay. Can you tell me what happened?”

Raven exhaled through her nose, fingers digging into her elbows. “I don’t know. Everything had been going fine. I told you about the rooftop kiss. And the one in the car. Those were good. I didn’t freeze. I felt… in control.”

Luna’s expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes warmed. “That sounds like a huge step. You initiated, and you felt safe doing it. That’s progress, Raven. Real progress.”

But Raven’s smile had already faded. “Yeah, well. Then it all went sideways.”

She shifted, uncomfortable. “Friday night. I invited him over after his shift. First time we were alone again since Sinclair’s birthday. I didn’t want to waste time. I went straight into it—set the mood, made it clear I was ready to push a little further. He followed my lead, like always.”

She paused. Frustration flickered across her face.

“He laid down on me—just shifted his weight, not rough or anything. Then he kissed my neck. Something we’d talked about. Something I said I liked.” She rubbed at her temple, searching for words. “Physically, it was fine. I didn’t feel scared. Or trapped.”

A beat passed.

“But my brain just… flipped. Like someone yanked the emergency brake. I wasn’t feeling it anymore, I was thinking. Overthinking. Is this too much? Am I still okay? What if he tries to go further? What if I don’t stop him in time? What if I can’t? What if I break and he sees it?”

Her voice cracked at the edges, but she didn’t stop. “I couldn’t feel him anymore. Couldn’t feel me. Just the panic crawling under my skin, whispering what if, what if, what if…”

She let out a shaky breath. “So I stopped it. I said Redlight.”

Luna nodded once, her voice even. “And what did he do when you used it?”

Raven looked away, jaw clenched. “He pulled off me instantly. Like I’d hit a switch.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He was nuzzling my collarbone. And then—just like that—he was gone. Gave me space. Didn’t ask questions. Just waited.”

She swallowed hard. “I didn’t explain. I didn’t know how. I just… told him I was okay, and asked if he wanted to watch something instead. He said yes.”

Luna gave her a moment before speaking. “That sounds like a respectful, safe response.”

Raven nodded. “He knows the rules. He’s not in this for sex.” She hesitated, then added, quieter, “But it still felt like I broke something. Like I failed. Again.”

Her fingers tightened.

“No matter how ready I think I am, I always get stuck in my head. I can’t stay in the moment. I can’t just be there. I can’t just feel.”

Luna nodded, hands folded loosely in her lap. “It sounds like your body was saying yes, but your mind was still on high alert. That’s not uncommon.”

Raven looked up at that, her gaze unfocused but intent, like she was trying to make sense.

“You’ve built your whole life around control. It’s how you survived. Anticipating every possibility, every threat—it protected you. It helped you through trauma, pain, loss. And it’s made you incredibly capable, especially in your work and your recovery.”

Raven didn’t say anything, but her jaw tensed.

Luna softened her tone further. “But intimacy, especially physical intimacy, asks for something different. It asks you to feel, not just manage.”

She paused, letting that settle.

“But if your mind is always on alert—analyzing, scanning, predicting—you’re not actually letting the experience reach you. It’s like you’re standing just outside the moment, watching it instead of living it.”

Raven bit her lip, nodding slowly. “So I’m still keeping myself separate, even when I think I’m ready.”

“Exactly,” Luna said, with warmth and certainty. “The progress you’ve made is real—you’re no longer freezing. You’re not dissociating. That’s huge. But now, the next layer of healing is about actually being present in your body.”

Raven’s eyes flickered, unsure. “That’s the hard part.”

“It is,” Luna agreed. “Because it means surrendering a little bit of control. Trusting him. And that’s terrifying when control has always meant survival.”

She leaned forward slightly, her tone never pushing, just inviting. “But the difference now is—you have a foundation. You know your boundaries. You have a partner who respects them. You know you can stop things if you need to. That safety net is in place. So the next step isn’t about pushing further physically. It’s about allowing yourself to stay with the sensations, moment by moment, without jumping ahead in your mind.”

Raven sat with that, her breathing just a bit slower. Luna kept talking.

“You said the kisses went well. But let me ask you something more specific, Raven—when you kissed John… or when he touched your neck… did it actually feel good to you?”

Raven frowned, thinking back—to the rooftop, the cautious kiss, the moments in his car and on her couch.

“It was... fine,” she said slowly. “I didn’t freeze. I wasn’t scared. It wasn’t bad.”

The therapist nodded. “That matters. But ‘not bad’ isn’t the same as ‘good.’ And not panicking isn’t the same as enjoying it. When you think about those moments… were you in your body, or were you stuck in your head?”

“I guess I wasn’t really in it. I was doing it, sure, but in my head? I was tracking everything.” Raven ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. “So yeah… I wasn’t actually feeling anything. Not the way you mean. I’m still not letting go.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, thinking. Then, almost absentmindedly, she added, “Except for… the pizza crumbs.”

Luna tilted her head, curious. “The pizza crumbs?”

“Yeah,” Raven nodded, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “The first time. On the rooftop. We were eating after the kiss, and he reached over and brushed some crumbs off my cheek. Just a quick touch. But it… made my skin tingle. In a good way.”

Luna smiled softly. “What do you think was different about that touch?”

Raven didn’t answer right away. Her eyes narrowed in thought. Then they lit up.

“I didn’t see it coming. There was no buildup. No time to brace myself or overthink. He just… did it. It was spontaneous.”

“That moment slipped past your defenses. Your body got to feel something—without interference.”Luna explained, leaning back a little. “How do you usually feel about touch from friends? Hugs, a hand on your shoulder, stuff like that?”

Raven shrugged. “Clarke hugs me sometimes. Sinclair, once or twice. Miller usually just smacks my back. It’s fine. I don’t fight it anymore—but I never seek it out.”

Even when I would like to. Even when I need it.

Her voice dropped slightly. “I’m not exactly used to it.”

Mom dearest only kissed with fists.

Good thing she learned early how to dodge them. By the time she ended up with Sinclair, she’d already mastered the art of keeping people at arm’s length.

So no goodnight kisses for her.

Luna’s expression didn’t change, but her voice softened. “That makes sense. When someone grows up without safe, consistent affection, it’s common to go numb to it. We call it being touch-starved. The need is still there, but your body doesn’t know how to trust it.”

Raven didn’t reply, but something in her face shifted—less surprised, more resigned.

“So here’s something to try. Outside of these more structured moments, I want you to start noticing the smaller things. The spontaneous ones.”

“Like the crumbs?”

“Like the crumbs.Those little, unplanned touches—where you don’t have time to overthink or put up your armor. If John offers a hug, try leaning into it. If your arm brushes his, don’t pull away immediately. Focus on it.”

She paused before adding, “This isn’t about pushing through discomfort. It’s about gently expanding what feels safe… and maybe even enjoyable. Your nervous system needs those small, trustworthy moments to start remembering what healthy touch feels like.”

Raven took a slow breath, thoughtful. “So… it’s not the big moments that matter. It’s the quiet ones.”

“Exactly,” Luna said. “Start there.”

---------------

Harper: [photo of her and Monty in color-coordinated outfits, grinning]

Ready for the Unity Day celebration! Monty even ironed his shirt for once. 😏

Clarke: You two look amazing! Also—I'll have my art stand this year 🎨✨ Come say hi or buy something so I don’t cry into my sketchbook.

Bellamy: So… who pulled babysitting duty?

Jackson: Don’t look at me. I’m stuck at the hospital. No fireworks, no snacks, just twelve hours of people who think sparklers aren’t dangerous.

Miller: Awww, poor baby. I’ll save you a corn dog.

Jackson: This is what love looks like.

Bellamy: Okay then. O, you’re up. Congrats, you're the responsible adult tonight.

Octavia: Wait, WHAT? Since when do I qualify as “responsible”?

Raven: See you all there. I’ll be the one pretending to enjoy humanity.

Harper: Can’t wait! Group selfie or it didn’t happen 💕

Octavia: Ugh, fine. But I swear, if one sticky child touches my new leather jacket—

Miller: We’ll add it to your villain origin story. 

Octavia: I hate all of you.

Bellamy: Aww. She does love us. See you all there.

---------------

Unity Day in Arkadia wasn’t just a spring festival — it was tradition.

Every year, on the first Saturday of April, the town came alive to celebrate its founding: a day dating back to the 1800s, when scattered colonial settlements had come together to build something greater.

Families from different backgrounds, cultures, and beliefs had unified under a shared vision — a town grounded in cooperation, mutual respect, and common purpose. That alliance had shaped Arkadia’s identity for generations.

Now, Unity Day was a cornerstone of the town’s rhythm — equal parts historical commemoration and full-blown carnival.

Main Street transformed into a kaleidoscope of music, color, and community spirit: local vendors in wooden booths, kids darting between food stands, the annual parade with themed costumes, folk dances, and handmade decorations strung from every tree and lamp post.

For Raven, Unity Day had never been the picture-perfect celebration everyone pretended it was.

As a kid, it meant her mother drinking more than usual and dragging strangers home, the joyful noise outside clashing with the chaos inside their apartment.

A couple of times, Sinclair had taken her to the fair. Later, in high school, she tagged along with her friends, but it never really stuck.

She liked the mechanics behind the rides more than the rides themselves — and after the accident, there was no riding anything anyway, not with her leg.

She couldn’t run in the races or join the games. Unity Day became just another reminder of everything she was excluded from.

Only in the last few years had she started to appreciate it again.

She went back to experience it fully, trying to blend in. She still couldn’t do all the activities or walk too far, but she managed. She especially liked the fireworks show.

Crowds, though — she still wasn’t a fan.

She spotted Clarke’s booth before anything else — a splash of cool blues and deep golds in a row of white tents. It had Clarke Griffin Blake written all over it.

Raven took a breath and started walking. Her friend was rearranging a stack of prints when she looked up and smiled.

“Hey, stranger.”

Raven grinned. “Thought I’d swing by before the crowds get too wild. This your empire?”

“Welcome to Brush & Chaos. Very on-brand, I know.”

Raven stepped closer, her eyes scanning the paintings hanging from the panels behind Clarke. Some were loose and abstract — washes of color that felt like emotion suspended in time. Others were more defined: warm portraits of Madi mid-laugh, silhouetted in golden light; a quiet moment of her curled on a couch with a book.

One caught her eye — larger, centered in the display. It showed two figures sitting on the grass, backs to the viewer, a little girl’s head resting on the blonde woman’s shoulder, her hand loosely holding hers.

Clarke and Madi.

“This one,” she said, pointing. “It’s... beautiful.”

Clarke followed her gaze and softened. “That one’s new. I painted it after Madi fell asleep in my lap one evening. I didn’t even think — I just picked up the brush.”

She paused, a little overwhelmed, then added, “It’s about what it feels like. To be her mom. The tiny, lucky moments.”

Raven nodded slowly, then muttered, “You’re a damn good artist, you know that?”

Clarke gave a sheepish shrug. “It helps me sort things out.”

Then she tilted her head slightly. “Speaking of… how are you? I feel like I haven’t really seen you in weeks. Just quick check-ins and sarcastic drive-bys.”

"Yeah. I’ve just been... busy. Work’s been a nightmare. This new project was a pain in the ass, but thank God it’s finally done. You know how it is.”

Clarke didn’t push, but her gaze was knowing. “Well, if you ever want to hang out again—just us, like old times—Madi keeps asking about you. Seems like you’re her favorite adult. Well, besides Murphy.”

Raven smirked. “Then clearly her judgment’s still under development.”

“She’ll grow up. I hope. Although… seems like even full-grown adults have a soft spot for John Murphy. I saw your Instagram story.”

Raven tensed slightly, caught off guard. “Uh?”

“Yeah, Sinclair’s birthday." Clarke raised a brow, amused."That man would sign adoption papers for Murphy in a minute.”

Right. Sinclair. That’s who Clarke was talking about.

Of course.

“Uh-huh,” Raven said, recovering fast and folding her arms with a sly smile. “So, where’s the rest of the crew?”

“Around somewhere. I came early for the booth. Only spotted Monty and Harper so far—they were already dressed up for the parade.”

“And the little spawn?”

“Already winning every kid competition in her raccoon face paint. Octavia sent me pictures. Madi wanted to add vampire fangs—totally threw off the girl at the makeup stand.”

Raven felt her lips being tugged into a smile. “Of course. She doesn’t know about the infamous vampire raccoon.”

Clarke gave her a look. “Sounds like something I definitely don’t want to know more about.”

Before Raven could reply, the microphone crackled across the square. They both turned.

Bellamy stood on the main stage, navy shirt sleeves rolled up, a Unity Day ribbon pinned to his chest.

He was announcing the start of the afternoon parade with his usual mix of charm and authority—enough to make even the fidgety crowd listen.

“Oh my God,” Raven blinked. “They got Bellamy to host?”

Clarke smirked. “He only pretends he hates attention.”

As if summoned, Bellamy stepped down from the stage—walking hand in hand with a grinning, energetic Madi, dressed in a pint-sized version of the old Arkadian pioneer uniform, complete with a satchel and a fake compass.

Behind them followed Octavia and Lincoln, both casually dressed but unmistakably on Madi duty.

“Looks like your babysitters have arrived,” Raven said, just as Madi came sprinting up.

“Hi Mommy! Hi Auntie Raven!” she beamed. “Auntie O promised I could eat cotton candy until my tongue turns blue!”

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “Did she now?”

Octavia shrugged, utterly unapologetic. “I regret nothing.”

“And we’re gonna win the scavenger hunt! And I want to do the ‘Build your Ark’ contest, but she sucks at building stuff,” Madi added, pointing her thumb at Octavia, “so I need Auntie Raven! Will you help me?”

Raven crouched down, bumping fists with her. “We’re gonna reclaim that second place from last year, munchkin. And if it ends in bloodshed… so be it.”

“Great." Bellamy sighed dramatically. "Lincoln, I’m officially putting you in charge. You’re the only one here I trust not to end up in the ER or behind bars.”

“We’ll keep her alive. Sugar levels, though? No promises.”

Clarke leaned down to kiss the top of her daughter’s head. “Just be back in time for the fireworks, okay?”

“Promise!” Madi chirped, already pulling Octavia toward the cotton candy stand. Lincoln followed with an amused shake of his head.

Bellamy turned back to Clarke and gave her a quick kiss.

“You selling out yet?” he asked, nodding toward the booth.

“Define ‘selling out.’ I made $56 and a cupcake from an eight-year-old who tried to trade art for frosting.”

“Honestly, that’s a better deal than most gallery commissions.” Bellamy laughed, then gave Raven a look. “Hey Rae, you sticking around for a while?”

“Yeah. Might grab something to eat before I’m conscripted into manual labor by your daughter.”

“Godspeed. The corn dogs looked deadly, in case you’re feeling adventurous.”

“Noted,” Raven replied, already turning toward the enticing smell of fried everything. 

The scent of grilled meat and spiced fries curled through the air as she wove between the festival booths, each one more colorful than the last.

Her boots crunched over stray popcorn kernels. Kids ran past in face paint. Somewhere behind her, someone was already getting dunked in the water tank.

She spotted him before he spotted her.

Murphy was behind The Dropship’s food stand—every year, the local restaurants jumped at the chance to earn extra cash working directly at the Fair.

He had his sleeves rolled up, an apron slung low on his hips. A streak of mustard marked his wrist, and there was a cocky smile playing on his lips as he handed over a burger with a wink that earned a flustered giggle from the petite blonde on the other side of the counter.

Smug bastard.

Raven slid into the space beside the booth, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in mock judgment.

“Aww, look at you,” she drawled. “Serving capitalism and cholesterol with flair.”

Murphy gave her a lazy glance, the sun catching the spark in his eyes. He didn’t miss a beat.

“Some of us evolve,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel. “What’ll it be, Reyes? Beer or burger?”

“Fries. A mountain of them. And drown ’em in sauce.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

He turned back to the fryer, suddenly very focused on her order.

“You skipping the parade?” he asked, reaching for a fresh batch.

“Not a fan of secondhand embarrassment. Harper and Monty’ll survive without me. I’ll resurface for the games later.”

She paused, then added, “You joining?”

“I’ve got a couple more hours to go,” he said. “Then I’m a free man.”

Raven leaned on the counter, letting the din of the fair fade into the background. Her mind drifted—and not where she wanted it to.

Murphy hadn’t pushed since their last “redlighted” session. No comments, no awkward questioning. Just made sure she was okay, then gave her space.

Like always, she was the one in control. The one who set the pace.

"If he offers a hug, try leaning into it. If your arm brushes his, don’t pull away right away."

Luna’s voice echoed in her head, calm and maddeningly reasonable.

Easy to say.

She wasn’t wired for casual affection. It made her feel exposed—stupid. Vulnerable. So most people didn’t even try with her anymore. She kept her distance, and they respected it.

Murphy wasn’t exactly a hugger either. Their dynamic wasn’t like that—hell, they’d probably only touched in public for a photo or two. And even that had felt like an event.

Maybe I should just practice cuddling with Madi.

That kid was basically a snuggle teddy bear in human form.

Murphy caught her staring and raised a brow, mouth twitching into the beginnings of a smirk.

"You alright over there, or just mesmerized by my flawless apron game?"

She recovered quickly.

"Completely hypnotized," she said, flatly. "You're basically a domestic fantasy."

He grinned slowly, eyes glinting. “Your fantasy?”

Before she could fire back with a deadpan reply, a voice sliced through the crowd like broken glass.

“Well, shit. If it isn’t John Murphy.”

Murphy froze mid-motion. His jaw tightened—just enough for Raven to notice. She turned toward the source of the voice.

Dax Vexley.

Nothing but trouble. Back in high school, he hadn’t just pushed people around—he’d broken them. Fistfights, drug runs, whispers of arson.

She had heard he even killed a man during a bar fight a few years ago. Last she knew, he was behind bars.

Apparently, not anymore.

Tall and broad-shouldered, with dirty blond hair slicked back and a scar slicing through one brow, Dax swaggered up to the stand with a threatening air.

His eyes swept over the booth and the crowd before locking onto Murphy, a smirk tugging at his lips— anything but friendly.

“Didn’t expect to see you flipping burgers and pouring drinks,” he drawled. “This your redemption arc?”

Murphy calmly wiped his hands on a towel, his expression unreadable, but Raven could feel the tension humming off him like static.

“Hi, Vexley. How was prison?” he said evenly. Cold. Controlled.

Dax laughed, low and humorless. “Still got that smart mouth, huh? Never did learn when to shut it.”

Murphy leaned forward slightly, his voice clipped and sharp. “What do you want? Order something, or move. I’ve got people waiting.”

“This is how you treat old friends, Johnny?”

“We were never friends.”

Dax’s smirk twisted. His eyes flicked down to Murphy’s hands on the counter, then back up—sharp, calculating. “Right. You were always the mutt chasing the pack. Loud. Desperate. Never quite fast enough to keep up.”

He leaned in, voice dropping, but not low enough to escape Raven’s ears. “I was there, remember? Watched you fall apart. Hell of a sight.”

He smiled, all teeth, no warmth.

“Funny how the tough ones always crack the loudest. Thought you were done for. But I guess someone still believed you were worth scraping off the floor.”

Murphy’s jaw clenched. A muscle ticked in his cheek. His fingers curled subtly around the edge of the counter—not enough to draw attention, but just enough to show restraint was costing him.

The space around them seemed to contract. Conversations dulled. People instinctively drifted away.

“You done? Because if you’re not buying anything, you’re in the way.”

For a beat, Dax didn’t move. Then he laughed and reached forward without warning, knocking over a tray of condiments. Ketchup spilled across the counter like blood.

“Oopsie.”

He didn’t stop there.

With two fingers, he tapped Murphy’s chest—light, almost casual. But there was nothing friendly about it.

“Where’s that temper, huh? Left hanging with your balls?” he muttered, his breath rank with stale beer. “Come on, Johnny. Show the crowd who you really are.”

Murphy’s hands came down hard on the counter— a crack of palm against metal that sent the remaining bottles skittering.

Heads turned. His eyes snapped up to Dax’s, cold and razor-sharp. Then—

“Dax Vexley.”

The name landed like a warning shot.

Raven stepped forward. Suddenly, the space between the three of them wasn’t just crowded — it was charged. Electric. A fuse waiting for a spark.

She was still, but every line of her posture dared him: Try me.

“Funny seeing you here,” she said, her tone deceptively light, gaze locked on his. “Didn’t think the State let its garbage roam free.”

Dax’s smirk twitched.

“I remember you. Raven Reyes, right? The maimed slut." He turned to Murphy with fake concern. "Johnny, really? You fucking cripples now?”

Murphy’s fist clenched against the counter — but Raven only smiled.

Predatory.

“You know, last I checked, the parole board doesn’t look too kindly on public disturbances. Especially not from violent repeat offenders.”

She took a slow step forward. “All it takes is one accusation.”

Dax’s bravado wavered — just a hair. And Raven saw it.

She knew men like him. Had been surviving them her whole life. They’d slithered through her childhood home, stained her memories.

She didn’t flinch from his type anymore.

“I’m just having a conversation with an old buddy,” Dax sneered. “Why don’t you go back to minding your business?”

“The buddy asked you to leave.”

“Oh yeah? Or what, sweetheart?”

She stepped in fully now, between them — close enough for her shadow to cut across his feet. “Or I scream.”

A pulled trigger.

Dax froze.

It wasn’t the threat itself—it was the certainty in her voice.

Around them, the crowd had thinned but hadn’t vanished. People were watching. Listening. All Raven had to do was raise her voice, call out, accuse. She didn’t need evidence.

His record would do the rest.

He knew it.

And she knew he knew.

A long beat.

Dax’s eyes flicked to Murphy, then back to her. The smirk was gone. What replaced it was uglier: hate.

“This is a public festival,” Raven added, taking a single step back. “Let’s not cause a scene.”

Silence.

Then—very slowly—Dax spat on the ground.

Raven didn’t move. She just raised an eyebrow.

She’d seen worse. She’d lived with worse.

“Fuck you, bitch.”

He turned and stormed off, shoulder-checking people as he went, a storm cloud of fury and bruised pride.

Raven remained still, eyes tracking him until he vanished into the tide of people. Her adrenaline was still spiking, but her stance stayed cool.

“Classy,” she muttered under her breath. Then, with a glance toward Murphy and a wry tilt of her mouth, “Think I can hijack his car system? Make it drive straight into a ditch?”

No answer.

Murphy was still behind the counter—shoulders rigid, fists clenched white-knuckle against the edge of the metal.

His jaw was tight, his eyes locked on the spot where Dax had stood. Like he was still fighting the urge to go after him.

Raven’s expression softened.

She knew that look. He used to wear it when he was a lost, angry boy. She’d seen it after Polis. After pain. It was a look that said I’m hanging by a thread.

She didn’t know what Dax was talking about. Didn’t know what kind of mess Murphy had been caught in, or what ghosts still haunted him. Most of him was still a mystery.

But she wasn’t about to let him slip into that hole.

She stepped in front of his gaze, resting both elbows on the counter, leaning in just enough to draw his eyes to hers.

“Murphy,” she said, softly. Just his name.

He blinked, like surfacing from underwater. Finally looked at her.

“You good?”

A long pause.

“I almost lost it.”

Raven shook her head.“You didn’t.”

“I wanted to.”

His voice was rough now, stripped bare. “I wanted to break his fucking face. Right there. In front of everyone. You know what that would’ve looked like?”

“Yeah,” she answered without missing a beat. “It would’ve looked like that motherfucker got exactly what he deserved.”

That pulled something out of him—not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. He dragged a hand down his face, shaking his head like he could rattle the weight loose.

“Aren’t you gonna ask?”

His voice was quieter now. He didn’t need to explain what he meant.

What Dax had hinted at.

And yeah, a part of her wanted to ask. But she wanted to do this right even more.

“Only for my fries, chef.” She offered a half-smile. “For everything else… I’m just gonna listen.”

Their eyes met. A silent understanding passed between them.

Then Raven straightened, tapping two fingers on the counter—an echo of Dax’s earlier move, but hers was laced with irony, not threat.

“And don’t forget the extra sauce. Or I will start another scene.”

Murphy let out a breath and moved—finally. He reached for the basket with mechanical ease, as if the motion itself grounded him. When he set the fries in front of her, his fingers brushed hers.

A silent thank you.

It lingered. She noticed.

“Extra crispy,” he said, voice firmer now.

Raven smiled. “Better be. Here’s the money. See you later, cockroach.”

She grabbed the paper tray and turned to go, tossing one last glance over her shoulder.

Murphy was already back behind the counter, serving the next customer like nothing had happened—mask firmly in place again.

She walked away, the adrenaline fading, the heat of the confrontation slowly burning off her skin like steam after a storm.

---------------

She wandered back into the heart of the fair, weaving through a tide of familiar faces—neighbors, coworkers, people from the clinic.

Near one of the food stands, she spotted Ryker, surrounded by his wife and two kids. He gave her a nod and a small wave.

Raven returned it with a tight smile and kept moving.

A few stalls later, something caught her eye: a display of old mechanical trinkets and restored tools. One of them—a vintage spanner, polished and set into a custom wooden handle—reminded her of Sinclair. He hadn’t come to the festival—said he was too tired, which usually meant he didn’t want to deal with people.

“Perfect,” she muttered, picking it up. She handed over a few bills and tucked the gift into her bag.

She turned to leave the booth—and nearly bumped into someone.

“Sorry—”

“Hey, Raven. Didn’t expect to see you out here.”

It was Shaw. Dressed down for once in jeans and a worn gray jacket, looking relaxed. He wasn’t alone—beside him stood an older woman, probably his mother, and a younger woman holding a toddler. Two more kids trailed behind.

“Yeah, I’m allowed to leave the office once in a while,” Raven said, dryly. “Hey, Shaw.”

He chuckled, then turned to the group. “This is Raven Reyes—one of the smartest engineers I’ve ever worked with. We’re at Eligius together.”

Raven blinked, caught off guard by the compliment—especially after the mess that was their last project.

He gestured to the others. “This is my mom, and that’s my sister Dani—and her crew.”

Raven offered a polite nod. “Nice to meet you.”

His mom smiled, warm and curious, the kind of woman who made you feel at ease just by standing near her. She had laugh lines around her eyes, the soft kind carved by years of kindness, and her gaze lingered on Raven like she already knew her and liked what she saw.

“So you’re the one my Miles keeps mentioning.”

Raven arched an eyebrow, surprised. “All the bad stuff’s true.”

Shaw laughed. “Nah, you’ve officially made it into the ‘good colleague’ category.”

There was a brief pause before he added, “You sticking around for the fireworks?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Meeting up with some friends later.”

“Right.” He nodded, then glanced at his family. “Well, if you feel like it, we’ll be over by the lake stage.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They exchanged a smile—easy, professional, maybe even almost friendly now—and then Raven continued on, the noise and energy of the festival swelling around her again.

---------------

The park was packed, buzzing with laughter and the hum of anticipation. Blankets stretched across the open field like a patchwork quilt—couples curled against each other, families sprawled under the dark sky, everyone waiting for that first explosion of light.

Raven moved along the outskirts, slipping past the thick of the crowd, drawn toward the edge where the trees loomed tall and silent.

She walked with purpose, knowing exactly where she was headed.

Her tree.

It stood at the far end of the clearing, half-shrouded in shadow, its thick limbs stretched wide like welcoming arms.

When she was a kid—before the accident, before everything—she used to climb it every Unity Day, trying to get just a little closer to the stars. It had been her lookout. Her escape. Her secret place.

Still was.

She sank down at the base of the tree, back resting against the rough bark, legs stretched out. The fries were long gone, but the salt still lingered faintly on her fingers.

The day had been full—louder than she liked. But this year, she hadn’t slipped away early. She’d stayed. Let herself be drawn into the noise, the color, the people. And somehow… she’d had fun.

She’d even let Octavia and Madi drag her onto the bumper cars. Madi insisted on driving, legs barely reaching the pedal, while Raven sat beside her and held on.

Octavia was in the next car over, grinning like a maniac as she rammed into them—on purpose, obviously.

Raven shouted something half-hearted about sabotage, but she was laughing too hard to sound convincing. Her leg ached a little after, but it had been worth it.

Bellamy had then roped her, along with Miller and Monty, into a ring toss game. Monty’s aim was tragically bad, but they’d all laughed so hard they nearly got kicked out for heckling the poor booth guy.

And of course, she’d ended up winning the “Build Your Ark” contest. Her miniature ship—cobbled together with copper wire and a salvaged fan motor—didn’t just float. It moved.

Madi had lit up when they announced their team as the winner, her grin brighter than the string lights overhead.

And now the sky had deepened into velvet black, and the first star flickered quietly to life overhead.

She folded her arms around her knees, chin resting lightly on top. Nearby, voices rose in a cheer. Someone popped open a soda. Someone else tuned a ukulele.

Across the field, she spotted Clarke, Bellamy, and Madi seated together, the little girl tucked between them, waving a sparkler. Lincoln and Octavia weren’t far, heads tilted together as they whispered.

A bit farther off, Monty and Harper were still in their ridiculous matching costumes, holding hands and grinning like the dorks they were.

Miller had claimed the best vantage point for the fireworks, already holding his phone up—probably on a call with Jackson, giving him a virtual seat.

Maybe she should’ve stayed with them. Maybe she didn’t always have to play the loner. The outsider.

Maybe it was even her fault—this constant feeling that she didn’t belong.

But she needed this. The stillness. The distance.

You always end up here, Reyes. Just you, the old tree, and the fireworks.

The first explosion lit the sky in a burst of silver and red, drawing gasps from the crowd.

She didn’t move. Just watched as the colors bloomed above and the sound rolled over her like a wave. When she was a kid, she used to pretend they were supernovas being born. Brief, brilliant, and gone.

And the noise—they were loud enough to drown out everything else. Even the shouts inside her house.

Just as the light faded, someone sat down beside her. She turned, startled.

Murphy. She hadn’t seen him since she’d left him at the food stand earlier that night.

He didn’t speak right away. Just leaned back against the tree, eyes fixed on the sky.

She didn’t say anything either, but she studied him out of the corner of her eye, trying to read what was left behind after everything with Dax.

Another firework bloomed—gold and green this time. The burst lit his face for a moment, casting sharp shadows beneath his eyes, along the angles of his jaw. 

“You always sit here?” he asked, his voice low beneath the crackle of fireworks overhead.

“Yeah. I used to climb it as a kid—wanted to be closer to the sky. But that was… before.”

Murphy gave a slow nod, eyes still fixed ahead, not on her.

They sat in silence as another firework painted the sky in blue and silver. The sound rumbled low through the ground, distant cheers echoing like ghosts.

Then she felt it—his shoulder, brushing just barely against hers. Not enough to lean, but enough to feel like maybe he needed to.

“It was in Polis,” he said suddenly.

She turned toward him, her brow furrowing. “What was?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes were on the sky, but his mind was somewhere in the past.

“I got there not long after I left Arkadia. Thought I was clever. Thought I could outsmart everyone. Classic me, right?”

He gave a crooked smile, thin and bitter, and dragged a hand down his face. "I got in with the wrong people. Started small—some bets, light scamming. Then it got worse. Running packages. Drugs. Shady shit I should’ve stayed away from.”

Raven felt a slow twist in her chest. He’d always been reckless, sure. But she hadn’t known it had gone this far.

“One night, I skimmed a little off the top. Just a bit. Thought they wouldn’t notice.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “They noticed. And they weren’t the forgiving type.”

He paused, jaw tight. Then, quieter:

“Dax was with them. Might’ve been the one who set it up. I don’t know. All I know is, they didn’t just beat the crap out of me.”

He swallowed hard.

“They hung me. In an alley. Like trash. Strung me up by the neck.”

Raven’s breath caught. She felt his words sinking in, heavy and cold.

“I remember the rope,” he said. “How it burned. I remember the ground slipping away. And thinking... maybe this is it. Maybe this is how it ends. For people like me.”

She sat frozen, the fireworks lighting up the night behind her, but all she could see was him, sitting there like he wasn’t sure he deserved to be.

That’s what Dax meant.

Her fists curled tight in her lap. Anger burned in her chest.

That fucking bastard.

She should’ve hijacked his damn car and set it on fire.

“But then… Jaha found me,” Murphy said, voice hoarse. “Dragged me down. Saved me. Paid off the gang. Didn’t ask for much. Just said I owed him now. Put me to work in his kitchen, like some twisted penance.”

Raven blinked, confused. “Jaha? The restaurant guy?”

He gave a dry laugh, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. The restaurant guy. Talks like a philosopher, always going on about balance and rebirth. Thought he was nuts. Still kinda do.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, and she saw it then—the phantom ache of the rope, the weight of that night still clinging to him.

“I was just… empty after that. But weirdly, working in that kitchen gave me something to hold onto. And a couple years later… I met Emori there. She came in for a delivery and stayed for the sarcasm.”

He tried to smile, but it was a tired thing—thin and fragile, like it might fall apart if she looked too closely.

And Raven did look.

She looked at him—the boy who’d been left to die in an alley, who’d clawed his way back with nothing but grit and a strange kind of grace.

He shouldn’t have survived. But he had.

“You’re still standing,” she said softly, echoing the words she’d spoken that night on his rooftop.

“Barely,” he replied, a faint, familiar echo of his old answer. But something in his voice was different—almost tender.

Their shoulders touched again, closer now. This time, it was intentional. She didn’t move away.

Raven felt like she was holding her breath and her heartbeat at once.

There was too much in her chest: fury for what had been done to him, a cold ache at the thought of a world where he hadn’t made it.

Where he wasn’t here beside her now.

Dax Vexley was a threat. A dangerous man. 

She would deal with him.

She tilted her head up, eyes catching the last flicker of a firework—red and white bursting and dissolving into the dark, like breath fading in winter air.

And then—before she could think better of it—she reached out and took Murphy’s hand.

Their fingers slid together. She squeezed them. Firm. Certain.

He didn’t hesitate. He squeezed back.

She didn’t think.

She just felt.

---------------

Later that night, Raven lay sprawled on her bed, laptop open, earbuds in. Music blasted through, loud enough to drown out everything else. Jonah Kagen. Don't you give up on me yet.

... I′ve been gone a minute, don′t know where I'm heading

Waiting for a white light that can point me in the right direction

I′ve been lost a while, these tires are seeing the miles

And God knows I'm the one who made the mess

But I′m fucked up, and they left me for dead, oh

Don't you give up on me yet

I′ve been gone a minute

Don′t know where I'm heading

But I know you′re all that I got left

Don't you give up on me yet... 

Time to work.

---------------

Murphy: 📄 Excerpt from the Arkadia Times – Crime & Justice Section

Title: Major Crime Ring Brought Down in Arkadia After Anonymous Tip

Authorities confirmed late Tuesday night that five individuals were taken into custody in connection with a large-scale criminal enterprise involving illegal trafficking and violent offenses across the Arkadia region.

The breakthrough came after an anonymous data dump was delivered to local law enforcement, containing highly incriminating material pulled directly from the personal phone of Dax Vexley—one of the primary suspects.

Sources within the department described the evidence as “surgically precise,” noting it bypassed advanced encryption protocols and offered clear documentation of the group’s communications, locations, and planned operations.

“We don’t know who sent it,” said Captain David Miller of the Arkadia Police Department. “But whoever it was… they knew exactly what they were doing.”

Murphy : Well, what a nice coincidence...

Raven: Arkadia just got a little safer.

Murphy: Remind me never to piss you off with a smartphone in my pocket.

Murphy: And... thank you.

Chapter Text

“This dress makes me look like a giant feather duster,” Raven announced, stepping out of the fitting room while tugging irritably at the layers of tulle that engulfed her like a sparkly, vengeful cloud.

Clarke clasped her hands to her chest, dreamy. “Aww. You’re beautiful, Rae.”

Harper blinked. “You’re… very textured,” she offered delicately.

Jackson tried—and failed—not to laugh as he adjusted the lapel of his navy blue suit in the mirror. “I mean… she has a point,” he said diplomatically.

“Thank you!” Raven gestured at him like he was her personal fashion oracle. “Let’s listen to the wedding boy.”

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, and they were deep in the chaos of wedding prep at a downtown boutique.

Jackson and Miller’s big day was less than three months away now—set for the last weekend of August. Not your standard church-and-ballroom setup, but a lakeside forest wedding upstate. Picture fairy lights, open air, soft breezes, and vows whispered under the stars.

Miller wanted something meaningful but low-key. Jackson just wanted everyone to be comfortable—and for Monty to not try DJing again.

Octavia, lucky her, was off-grid on a road trip with Lincoln in Utah, completely spared from the fashion circus.

“I’m telling you, I could trip on this thing and faceplant down the aisle,” Raven kept complaining, struggling to free her brace from a rogue tangle of netting around her ankle.

“Okay, okay,” Clarke conceded. “Let’s swipe left on Feather Duster Fantasy and find something that won’t try to kill you.”

“Thank you, Wedding Tyrant,” Raven muttered, ducking back into the fitting room.

Clarke had unofficially—but fiercely—taken over as wedding planner. Every decision had to be Griffin-approved

 A benevolent dictatorship, if you asked her. A straight-up nightmare, if you asked anyone else.

Jackson glanced at her as she flipped through soft blush gowns with unnerving efficiency. “You really think Rae’s gonna let us dress her in anything pink and princessy?”

Clarke snorted. “I’m not suicidal. I’ve got a deep burgundy jumpsuit on hold for her. But I enjoy watching her suffer first.”

She pulled it off the rack with a wink. The jumpsuit was made of a matte satin that draped like liquid, elegant without clinging. The bodice was one-shoulder, tailored but relaxed, with a soft self-tie belt that cinched the waist just enough to flatter without restricting.

The real brilliance, though, was in the wide palazzo pants—perfectly cut to hide Raven’s leg brace while letting her move freely.

“That,” Raven called from behind the curtain, having clearly peeked at the new option, “actually looks like something I can survive.”

“Good,” Jackson said with a small grin. “Because if I have to witness one more tulle tantrum today, I’m moving the wedding to a courthouse.”

“Right, we’re stealing attention from the actual star of the day—you,” Clarke said, turning back to him. “Now give me that jacket. Come on.”

She wore a floral-print maxi dress that swayed as she moved, helping Jackson adjust his sleeves while Harper—dressed in a sage green gown—fussed with the laces of her corset in the background.

And when Raven finally stepped out again in the jumpsuit, all movement in the room paused.They all nodded in unspoken agreement.

There they were, dressed for the big day, standing together in front of the boutique’s full-length mirror. Late afternoon sunlight poured through the wide windows, casting everything in a warm, golden glow.

A rare, quiet moment—one part laughter, one part love, all parts them.

“Okay, let me get a picture so the other delinquents can vote yay or nay on our choices,” Clarke said, already pulling out her phone.

“Wait, the groom can’t see the bride’s dress before the ceremony! It’s bad luck!” Harper gasped, clutching her chest dramatically.

“Harper, technically, there is no bride here,” Clarke replied dryly, lining up the shot anyway.

“Details,” the other girl said with a flip of her hair. “Tradition still stands.”

Jackson chuckled. “Pretty sure we tossed tradition out the window the second we decided to get married barefoot in the woods with Abby as our officiant.”

“Or,” Raven cut in with a smirk, tightening the belt of her jumpsuit, “we can pretend Miller is the bride. Which means all you have to do, Jackson, is not peek at his outfit before the ceremony, and bam—eternal happiness secured.”

“See? This is why she’s the smart one,” Clarke grinned. “Now come on, all of you—stand side by side for the picture.”

As the group shifted into position, Raven’s phone buzzed in her hand. She glanced at the screen and let out a quiet snort.

Sinclair : I think I’m gonna fire James and hire him.

Attached was a blurry, terribly framed photo of Sinclair at the garage, grinning like a proud dad.

Behind him, Murphy stood holding a heavy box of old parts, mid-eye-roll, one eyebrow raised at the camera like he was questioning every life decision that led him here.

They were cleaning out the back half of the garage today. Raven’s mouth curled into a smile.

Raven: Awww look at my two favorite things: a cleaner, bigger garage and a slaved John Murphy.

“Raven!” Clarke called. “The pic!”

“Who’s the lucky guy, Rae? Please don’t say Wick,” Jackson teased, pulling a mock-disgusted face.

“Yeah, you look like a teenager with a crush, grinning at your phone like that,” Harper added with a smirk.

“It was Sinclair,” Raven said, rolling her eyes and slipping the phone back into her bag. “They’re clearing out the back of the garage to expand the workspace.”

She added, almost too casually, “Murphy’s helping him.”

That got their attention.

“What?” Jackson blinked. “John Murphy doing manual labor? For someone else? And with no obvious personal gain? That’s… new.”

“The gain is Sinclair’s undying loyalty,” Clarke quipped. “Still—how the hell did he convince him? I have to bribe Murphy to babysit Madi.”

“Yeah, we love the guy,” Jackson added with a shrug, “but he’s not exactly known for community service.”

“We have to admit he’s improved since high school,” Harper offered.

“Please,” Clarke said, rolling her eyes. “If Bellamy hadn’t randomly decided Murphy was his personal ‘I’ll save you from yourself’ project, none of us would’ve put up with his crap.”

The silence that followed was telling—no one disagreed.

Raven’s smile vanished. She crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall, her voice suddenly slicing through the air.

“Maybe you guys should stop acting like you know everything about him.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow, half-amused. “Okay… since when do you defend him? Weren’t you the one who tried to sell him out to Mr. Peterson to save Finn’s ass when they both cheated on that math final?”

Harper winced. “Guys, come on. We were kids. Things are different now—we’ve grown.”

Raven didn’t blink.

“Yeah. We grew up. Some of us even learned we’re not better just because we never got caught doing worse.”

The silence hit hard. Thick. Heavy.

Jackson gave a low whistle. “Damn.”

“Okay, being around this much silk and organza clearly makes you cranky,” Clarke muttered, trying for a joke. It didn’t land.

Raven looked away, jaw clenched.

That had come out… rough. Even for her. Why the hell did it get under her skin like that?

They’d been teasing Murphy. That wasn’t new. Hell, she’d done worse. Been worse.

They were right—she had sold him out once. Not to hurt him, she told herself. Just to protect Finn.

Like that made it any better.

She still remembered the way Murphy had looked at her that day. Not angry. Not even surprised. Just… resigned. Like betrayal was just another Tuesday.

She hadn’t given a damn, back then. Hadn’t blinked when he nearly didn’t graduate because of it—even though she knew that might’ve been his only chance to turn things around.

And now here she was, snapping at people for doing less than that.

Things have changed.

An intrusive flash hit her—Murphy strung up in the back of an alley, bloodied, limp, too still.

It had happened after Unity Day. More than once. More than she liked to admit. Another ugly image to add to the collection she carried from childhood. Only this one wasn’t about her.

She shook her head, just slightly, and focused on her breath. In. Out. Like Luna had taught her. Let the image pass through. Don’t fight it. Just let it go.

Around her, silence lingered. Too long to be comfortable. Then Clarke cleared her throat and lifted her phone again.

“Okay. Everyone say ‘forest fairy wedding realness’ on three…”

The group chuckled, low and awkward. The tension cracked just enough to let the moment move on. They gathered close, plastered on smiles, and took the photo.

And Raven smiled, too—small, tight, but there.

But enough to make it through the rest of the day.

___________

Sinclair: Hi niña, the garage is all clear now — your old man can finally start on his renovation project! Murphy was actually helpful. Weirdly quiet, but I guess people work better when they’re not busy talking.

___________

Monday – 10:54 AM

Clarke: Forgot to send this one yesterday — a pic of Raven in her tulle “feather duster” dress (taken in secret 😇). It wasn’t fair to leave the best contestant out. Now you all have the full lineup to vote on.

Monty: 😳

Miller: Thank you, Reyes, for not outshining me on my wedding day. Very thoughtful of you.

Octavia: I say yes to the dress.

Raven: Since Octavia still has to find hers, I vote to give it to her. She seems very enthusiastic.

Harper : It looked better in person.

Bellamy: New group chat pic 😏

___________

Wednesday – 03:56 AM

Murphy: Nice.

08:23 AM

Clarke: Just “nice”? After two days? Really, Murphy? You’re losing your touch.

___________

@lincoln_warrior – Instagram Story

[Video of Bellamy lying on the basketball court, completely wiped out.]

Caption: The rematch has been won. The enemy is dead. @murphy_s_law was too scared and made up an excuse not to face the battlefield.

___________

“So, how’s the exposure going? Particularly the spontaneous contact?”

Raven exhaled slowly, like she’d been holding something in for days. Her fingers tapped against her knee—restless, rhythmic. She didn’t meet Luna’s eyes.

“It’s... stalled,” she said, voice low. “A dead end. No more sessions after the redlighted one. And since Unity Day, I’ve barely seen Murphy.”

His name landed in her mouth like a bitter pill. She repeated it quickly, brushing it off. “Murphy.”

Luna stayed quiet, letting the silence stretch in that way Raven had come to recognize. It wasn’t uncomfortable, not really. It just left space. Space she didn’t want to fill though.

“He’s been... weird. Weirder than usual. Quiet, withdrawn. He barely responds to texts, turns down every invite. A few days ago, I stopped by the bar with Clarke—she needed to drop off those paintings the manager bought at Unity Day. I offered to help carry them.” She shrugged, like it was no big deal. “Figured it was a good excuse. Not for him. Just... whatever.”

The silence stretched again.

“He didn’t even really notice we were there. He was behind the counter at first, looked like he was on autopilot. Then his phone rang, and he stepped out back. Didn’t come out again.”

Luna’s voice was soft. “How did that make you feel?”

Raven’s jaw tensed. She focused on a faint scuff on the floor, a crack in the tile.

“I don’t know,” she muttered. “It’s not like I expected anything. He’s always been like this. And with everything going on—” She waved a hand vaguely in the air. “That whole mess with Dax Vexley… I’m guessing it hit him harder than he let on.”

And me too, apparently.

“You told me he had a traumatic experience with that guy.”

Raven nodded once, sharply. She had told Luna. She just hadn’t told her everything. She hadn’t told her what Dax had done. Not in detail. And she definitely hadn’t told her what she’d done in return.

Luna went on. “It must be hard for him. Have you tried to ask him?”

“You don’t ask Murphy. He’ll tell you if he wants to. Plus, every time I reached out, he didn’t really engage. Just… polite brush-offs.” 

It had been a couple of weeks since she made sure that piece of shit would never hurt him again. He’d looked fine after. Relieved, even. So what the hell had changed? Why pull away now?

It was always like this with him. A step forward, then two steps back.

“So, are you worried about him?”

Raven hesitated. “Maybe a little. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. He’ll come around.”

She said it like a fact, but it felt like a lie. A thing she wanted to believe. And just like that, she shut the door on it, as she always did when things got too close.

“Anyway, we can move on. That part’s just... not going anywhere, so it’s not like we should waste time talking about it today.”

Luna studied her for a moment. Raven could feel it—that quiet, perceptive gaze that saw more than Raven wanted to admit. The frustration behind the mask, the disappointment she wouldn’t let herself feel. 

But she didn’t press. She never did when it wouldn’t help.

“All right,” she said gently. “What would you like to focus on instead?”

Raven leaned back into the couch, the tension in her spine relaxing just slightly now that the conversation had shifted.

“I don’t know, you’re the one with the plan,” she said with a half-hearted smirk. “Work’s been fine. No more screw-ups. No more feeling like shit every time Diyoza looks in my direction. Yay me.”

She paused. “I went dress shopping for the wedding. Did I tell you that already?” She frowned. “Yeah, maybe I did.”

Her words tumbled out quickly, too quickly—like she was just trying to fill the air, not really connect to any of it. Luna noticed.

“You seem distracted,” she said, kind as ever.

Raven shrugged. Another wall going up, brick by brick.

“How have you been sleeping lately?” Luna asked.

“Same old,” Raven said, avoiding the question without really lying.

“Any more nightmares?”

“They come and go. Lately it’s been a come.”

“I see. Do you want to talk about it?”

“I just want to forget.”

The answer was too blunt. She hadn’t meant to say it like that. Raven looked away. Her throat felt tight, like words were stuck there, too heavy to speak.

She didn’t know what was wrong with her today. Luna had always been patient. She’d always listened. Helped her figure things out when she let her.

But today... the walls were up and sealed. Everything inside her felt noisy and tired and full of static. She just wanted to go home.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “Today I’m just…”

Luna smiled softly. “You can bring the version of yourself that shows up. That’s enough.”

She didn’t answer.

It was never enough.

___________

Then came a knock at the door—three slow, uneven taps. Raven froze, fingers still curled around her tablet.

She wasn’t expecting anyone. Not at ten on a Monday night.

She was curled up on the couch in a worn T-shirt and threadbare shorts—her version of comfort after another mind-numbing day.

A half-read journal article about black holes glowed on her screen, completely forgotten. Her leg ached, as always. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t focus.

Restless.

She didn’t know why. Didn’t want to know why.

“Coming.”

When she opened the door, the surprise flickered across her face before she could stop it.

There he was.

Murphy.

Leaning against the frame like gravity had given up on him. Eyes bloodshot. Jaw clenched tight. The dim hallway light caught the sheen of sweat at his temple.

It had been days. Days of silence. Distance.

And now, suddenly—he was here.

“Hey,” he muttered, not quite meeting her eyes.

He looked like hell. Like something had torn through him and left the edges raw. Like sleep was a rumor and peace a memory.

Damn.

Raven arched an eyebrow, keeping her voice even. “Pretty sure we didn’t have a session scheduled tonight.”

Her tone was light, teasing—but her eyes were already scanning him, instinctively checking for damage. Physical or emotional.

With Murphy, it was always a bit of both.

He huffed a breath. It might’ve passed for a laugh, in some other timeline. “Guess I forgot to book in advance.”

The usual smirk wasn’t there. His fists were clenched. Shoulders tight.The shadows beneath his eyes were darker than she’d seen in weeks.

She stepped aside without a word and let him in.

Whatever ghosts had crawled back, she didn’t know their names. But she knew their weight.

He moved like he was underwater. Like it took effort just to exist. He stopped in the middle of her living room and just stood there—lost, disoriented.

Like he didn’t know what to do next.

So she did it for him. She crossed the space between them. Calm. 

“Jacket,” she said.

He shrugged it off and handed it to her. Muscle memory.

The scent hit her first—alcohol, sweat, smoke. He was drenched in it.

“You’re drunk,” she stated , quiet.

“Not enough.”

She didn’t argue. Just turned and disappeared into the kitchen. Came back with a mug of black coffee.

He took it with both hands, fingers trembling around the ceramic like it was all that kept him from unraveling.

Raven returned to the couch, curling into her usual spot without a word.

No questions. No commentary.

Just silence.

Just space.

Enough for him to decide if he’d fill it.

What happened this time, Murph? What the hell did you walk through to end up there again?

Eventually, he moved. Slowly. Carefully.

Sat down beside her, elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the floor. Still gripping the mug like it might shatter—or maybe like he might.

She didn’t touch him. Didn’t press.

“You don’t ask Murphy. He’ll tell you if he wants to.”

She grabbed the remote and put on one of those old horror movies he liked—the ones he pretended were stupid but always watched through to the end.

And then she waited.

Because Raven Reyes knew exactly what it meant to fall apart. And exactly how much strength it took to sit still while someone else did.

Silence stretched thick between them. The sounds of the movie filled the room like white noise.

Murphy’s jaw worked.

Tight. Gritted. Like he was grinding glass between his teeth.

And then, finally—his voice broke the quiet.

“My mom’s not dead.”

The words landed like a slap.

Hard. Unexpected. Wrong.

Raven blinked, confused. “What?”

Everyone knew his mom was long gone. Out of the picture since they were kids. That was the story. Always had been. But the way he said it—flat and hollow—

Something in her gut twisted.

“What do you mean she’s not dead?”

“She’s not dead,” he repeated, voice barely above a whisper. “I mean... everyone thinks she is. I let them. Hell, I did. Made it true in my head.”

A bitter, empty laugh slipped out. He set the mug down with a dull thud and dragged both hands over his face, like he could scrub the truth out of himself.

“She’s been in a psych facility for years,” he said. “After my dad died, she started drinking like it was the only thing keeping her alive. Pills too. Whatever she could find. And one night... she tried to kill herself.”

Raven didn’t speak. She just watched him, eyes wide, brow drawn tight. The words hit her like echoes. Close. Familiar.

Murphy kept going. Now it wasn’t a story. It was a confession unraveling fast, too long buried to stop now.

“I was thirteen. Came home from school and the front door was cracked open. Not wide. Just... wrong. Like something had slipped out and hadn’t closed it behind.”

He swallowed. “I walked in.”

Another beat.

“She was on the bathroom floor. Pills everywhere. Blood on the tile where she hit her head. I thought she was dead.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than anything he’d said.

“I called 911. They got there in time. She lived. If you can call it that.”

Raven sat beside him, their knees barely touching. Listening. Barely grasping the emotional weight it carried.

“She was in and out of facilities for years. Get ‘better,’ come home, fall apart again. Over and over. Until eventually...” He exhaled, slow. “Her brain just... gave up. Psychosis. Hallucinations. One time she tried to drown the neighbor’s dog because she thought it was possessed.”

He shook his head, eyes focused on a point far away.

“They committed her long-term after that. Full lockdown. She’s been at the same place in TonDC ever since.”

A pause.

“I never visited. Not once. I told myself she died that night on the bathroom floor. Made it easier.”

And Raven understood that in her bones. She’d done the same with her own mother—buried her long before the grave had.

But some ghosts didn’t stay dead. Even when the person did.

Murphy looked down at his hands. They were still shaking.

“State took me in after that. Foster care. Some decent homes. Some that weren’t. No one kept me more than a few months. My grandparents were disasters. On both sides.”

She pictured him in high school—those brutal years when they fought the world and each other. The orphaned boy bouncing through foster homes. The genius girl in a wheelchair.

Arkadia wasn’t a big town. But it was good at burying ugly truths. Nobody knew the real story behind his mother. Just like no one knew the full truth about hers.

Murphy let out a long breath. Then glanced over at her, as if just remembering she was still there.

“They asked if I wanted to sign a waiver. To stop getting updates. I said yes. Out of sight, out of mind.”

Another beat.

“But a few days ago, they called.” His mouth curled into a crooked smile. “Guess someone didn’t read the damn paperwork.”

He tried for humor, but it came out flat. Brittle. 

“She’s got cancer. Late stage. They want me to come in. Talk to doctors. Make… decisions.”

Raven’s chest tightened, a sharp twist of protectiveness curling low in her stomach—the same gut-deep instinct she’d felt on Unity Day, when every fiber of her had screamed to shield him.

How many skeletons were hiding behind your closed doors, John Murphy?

He turned fully toward her now, eyes hollow.

“They were pretty damn persistent. I finally caved and said yes. Got an appointment for tomorrow.”

He let out a shaky laugh—bitter and raw, like it scraped his throat on the way out.

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to feel. And now I can’t even pretend she doesn’t exist anymore.”His voice cracked, then dropped into a whisper: “I’m a thirty-year-old man scared to see his own mother. What kind of fucking mess does that make me?”

And just like that, here he was.Opening the door. To her. Again.

So that was what had been eating at him for days. Not just Dax Vexley. Not just the firestorm he'd survived.

It was this.

The ghost he’d buried so carefully—denied, ignored, rewritten—was still breathing. Barely.

And now he, the master of escape, the runaway boy turned reluctant survivor, was being summoned to witness her final, fractured act.

It hurt more than Raven expected. And so she did it. Again.

Took the leap.

Without thinking, she reached out.Her fingers brushed his.

He flinched—barely.Then let her hold on. He didn’t look away.

She didn’t offer advice or comfort or a plan. She just held his hand. Tight. And when silence returned, Raven surprised herself even more.

“My mom was an alcoholic.”

Murphy turned, his face mirroring hers from moments ago.

Surprise. Recognition.

She inhaled slowly, grounding herself in the couch cushions, like they could keep her steady.

“She was rarely home. Always chasing jobs she couldn’t keep. And when she was...”

When she was, it was hell.

But Raven didn’t open that door. Not all the way. Instead, she said quietly:

“She was driving drunk the night of the accident.”

Her lips twitched. Not a smile.

A scar.

“She’s the reason I lost my leg.”

Murphy didn’t flinch. He just looked at her with understanding. After all he’d just shown again how he'd lived through his own fire. And clawed his way out of the ashes.

“She never took responsibility. Not once. Never said sorry. Just made it all about her—like always. Even when her heart gave out and she died alone.”

A long silence followed. Full of shared truths and bruises no one could see.

“Shit,” Murphy muttered finally.

Raven gave a humorless smirk. “Yeah. Shit.”

They didn’t add more. The TV played on. The movie had reached its climax—flashing lights, sharp music—but neither of them was really watching.

They sat there, two broken kids in the dark, holding hands like lifelines.

After a while, Murphy yawned softly, his eyes blinking slow—heavy-lidded from exhaustion and whatever alcohol still lingered in his bloodstream.

“When’s the last time you actually slept properly?” Raven asked, breaking the quiet.

He made a tired noise—somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Define properly.”

She rolled her eyes. “Exactly what I thought. Okay. Lie down.”

That came with no overthinking. Yet another surprise. 

He raised an eyebrow. “What, we skipping straight to the final lesson?”

She gave his shoulder a light shove. Good to know that despite almost falling apart five minutes ago, he could still act like his idiot self.

“Please. You’d pass out before we even got through the warm-up. You don’t need sex, Murph. You need sleep.”

“I can go home,” he mumbled, though even he didn’t sound convinced.

“You’re half-drunk,” she shot back. “If you crash, I’ll die a virgin, and I am not going out like that.”

That earned a real laugh—small and frayed around the edges, but real. It curled the corner of his mouth just enough to loosen something tight in her chest.

Then, without a word, Murphy shifted and lay down on the couch.

Raven moved, ready to get up and let him take the whole thing—he looked bone-tired, unraveling at the seams. But instead of stretching out at the far end, he simply lowered himself… and rested his head in her lap.

Oh. Okay.

She froze, caught somewhere between surprise and something she couldn’t name. The moment hung in the air, soft and unsure, like the breath before a song begins.

What the hell was she supposed to do?

His hair was softer than she expected. Thick and slightly disheveled. Like him. The kind of hair that asked to be touched.

Alright. Whatever.

Her fingers slid into it—hesitant at first, like testing cold water with her toes. But then they found a rhythm. Slow. Gentle. Comfort without conditions.

Soothing him. Maybe soothing herself, too.

“I’m sorry I crashed here,” Murphy said quietly. His voice cracked at the edges, like glass beginning to splinter. “I just… I didn’t know where else to go. I didn’t wanna be with the world tonight.”

He sounded younger. Smaller. Like the kid he used to be before the world carved him into the scarred, complex man he was now.

This time, Raven didn’t hesitate.

“Then that’s what you get,” she murmured. “No world allowed. Just Raven and Murphy. Population: two.”

He let out a breath—half laugh, half relief—like something in him had finally been allowed to settle.

“Population: two sounds perfect.”

He curled closer, breath warm against her bare thighs, eyes fluttering shut as her fingers continued to comb gently through his hair.

She tried to stay in that feeling. Focus on what was.

“I knew you were a softie, Reyes,” he mumbled, voice slurred with sleep. “This is dangerously close to tender.”

Her resolve wavered.

She stilled again, just for a heartbeat—suddenly hyperaware of her hand in his hair, his weight resting in her lap, and the vulnerable tug in her chest.

Part of her screamed for distance. For armor.

But the other part—the one that had sat with Luna, that still believed in healing, that still wanted to try—leaned in.

It’s okay. Just feel.

“Shut up and enjoy it,” she muttered. “It’s a limited-time offer.”

Then she let the fear go, and focused on the rhythm of his breathing and the steady motion of her fingers in his hair.

Just Raven and Murphy. Population: two.

The room fell into a soft quiet again, broken only by the ticking of the wall clock and the faint hum of the city outside the windows. But her brain was in full activity, churning with thoughts. Before she could second-guess herself, the words slipped out.

“If you want… I can come with you tomorrow. To the clinic.”

He didn’t answer at first. His lashes fluttered. Then his shoulders rose and fell in the barest hint of a nod.

When he turned his head slightly, his eyes met hers—and there was a softness in them she wasn’t used to seeing. A kind of silent gratitude.

Then, without speaking, he reached up and cupped the hand she’d been running through his hair, pressing his lips to her palm.

A shiver darted up her spine. She held her breath.

“You are… a lot, Reyes,” he murmured.

The same words he’d said the night everything began, clumsy and uncertain on that balcony at the engagement party. 

Words she'd heard as a warning her entire life. Now, they held a profound awe.

And just like that, his eyes closed. His breathing slowed. He was asleep almost instantly, completely surrendered to exhaustion.

The couch was warm beneath them. The world outside dissolved—muted and irrelevant.

Raven watched him, one hand still in his hair, palm still tingling where his lips had touched it. She curled the other instinctively around him, holding him close.

She wasn’t used to this—being this. Holding someone like this. Being someone’s safe place.

She’d always been the tough one, the fixer, the fighter. Emotions had sharp edges in her world. Vulnerability wasn’t just unfamiliar—it was dangerous.

She hadn’t learned how to nurture. No one had ever nurtured her. But somehow, here in the quiet, in the darkness of her apartment, it felt like something she already knew, a dormant instinct waiting for her to simply let it flow.

She leaned her head back against the couch cushions and exhaled slowly.

“Alright,” she whispered into the stillness, voice barely more than breath. “Then get some rest. I got you.”

Chapter Text

"Good morning, Arkadia! How are we feeling out there today? The sun is blazing, the sky’s clear, and it’s already pushing 75 degrees—a typical Arkadia spring, folks!

Coming up on today’s show: we’ve got special guests dropping by the studio—including Dr. Chang, who’ll be talking about the latest trends in cosmetic surgery. You won’t want to miss it.

But first—let’s kick things off with a little music. Here’s a hit to wake you up and keep things moving. Stay with us."

Raven turned the volume down a notch, her fingers loose on the wheel. Her eyes flicked toward the passenger seat.

Murphy hadn’t moved.

He sat slumped back, hood up, arms crossed—silent since she picked him up twenty minutes ago. His profile was tense, jaw tight, eyes fixed on something far away beyond the window. Not a joke. Not a snide comment. Just… absence.

Not a good sign.

She knew a storm when she saw one forming, and this one had been brewing for days.

The silence sat heavy. Her mind kept spinning—replaying last night. His voice cracking. The hollow look in his eyes. The way he’d fallen asleep in her lap like it was the safest place in the world. And then this morning, coming out from her bedroom… she’d found the couch empty. Just a text waiting.

Murphy: Appointment’s at 11. You don’t have to come.

To which she had replied:

Raven: Already took the day off. I’m driving.

And that was that.

It wasn’t something she did—taking a day off. Not unless she was dying, and even then HR had to threaten her. But today it was different.

The clinic sat nestled outside TonDC. They had another forty minutes to go, the GPS chirping gently in the background as the road stretched endlessly ahead. Too far for this kind of silence.

So Raven did something to fill it. She reached down, scrolled through her old playlists… and tapped one.

“There was a farmer who had a dog, and Bingo was his name-o…”

The cheery children’s tune burst through the car speakers with horrifying enthusiasm.

Murphy blinked. Slowly. Then turned his head to her, deadpan.

“…Really, Reyes?”

She didn’t even flinch. “Told you. Next road trip, I pick the music.”

His mouth twitched. The ghost of something not quite a smile. “If word gets out that Raven Reyes—the no-nonsense mechanical genius—drives around blasting music for toddlers…”

“Cute of you to think I’d be embarrassed,” she shrugged. 

He snorted, barely audible. But it was there. And then—nothing. He turned his head back to the window, eyes a little less dead, and let the silence settle again, this time less suffocating.

A few miles passed like that, soft green blurs out the window, the sun rising higher.

Then Raven spoke. Her voice was lower, almost tentative. Like it had taken her an extra effort to find the words.

“When I was a kid, I had this stuffed dog. Just this cheap, sad little thing with one ear half sewn on. My mom gave it to me. Only Christmas gift I ever got before she stopped pretending Christmas existed.”

Murphy didn’t look at her, but she could tell he was listening.

“If you pressed its paw, it played that song. Bingo. Over and over. I used to pretend he was my co-pilot on space missions. Built a whole spaceship out of laundry baskets and junk. We went to the moon like twice a week.”

She smiled faintly, eyes still on the road. “I was maybe seven. Thought that thing was magic.”

Still, he said nothing. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, his hand reached forward and tapped the dashboard.

The music, which had long faded out, restarted with a quiet click. "B-I-N-G-O..." the song chirped cheerfully through the speakers.

He gave the volume knob a small twist, nudging it up just a little. The absurdity of the moment, mixed with the quiet understanding, filled the car as they continued their drive towards TonDC.

The GPS fell silent as they turned off the main road and onto a long, tree-lined drive. The car hummed on, tires crunching gently over gravel.

The sign appeared like a whisper at the edge of their view—simple, clean white lettering on a pale stone pillar:

City of Life Psychiatric Care Facility.

Raven eased off the gas.

The grounds stretched wide before them—deceptively peaceful. A manicured garden wrapped around the main building like a soft disguise, all sunlight-drenched lawns, orderly hedges, and carefully arranged flower beds bursting with early spring color. Tall oaks framed the edges of the property, their branches swaying lazily in the breeze, casting dappled shadows on the walkways below.

It wasn’t cold or clinical. Not the sterile, fluorescent-lit institution she had braced herself for.

The main structure stood low and wide, made of old brick softened by creeping ivy and decades of weather. A wraparound porch with white railings gave it almost a residential feel—like a converted estate, not a psychiatric facility.

It was… nice.

But Raven’s stomach still twisted.

Not because of the place, but because of what it meant. What it held inside.

Murphy had gone still beside her. His hands sat flat on his thighs, knuckles pale from how hard he was pressing them down. His jaw flexed once, like he was grinding the words back into his throat.

She pulled into a visitor spot near the entrance and cut the engine. For a moment, they just sat there.

“This is the part where you breathe, just so you know,” Raven said, her voice light, careful.

He didn’t answer. But he opened the door.

She followed.

They stepped out into the warm air, the quiet of the grounds pressing in around them like a blanket. No city noise. No sirens or traffic or shouting. Just birdsong and the occasional murmur of conversation drifting from the garden paths.

He didn’t look around. He walked straight toward the entrance, shoulders squared like he was preparing for a war.

Raven trailed half a step behind, eyes scanning the peaceful grounds one last time before the glass doors closed behind them.

The reception area smelled faintly of lemon disinfectant. Soft instrumental music drifted from the ceiling speakers, too polished to be comforting. Raven stayed close to Murphy’s side as they checked in.

She didn’t let him out of reach.

A nurse led them down a quiet corridor, the hush of the place thick like wool. They stopped at a consultation room that looked more like a therapist’s office than anything clinical: bookshelves lined with worn spines, a soft couch, chairs that didn’t feel like they were meant for interrogation.

Then the door opened.

A man stepped inside—mid-fifties, calm posture, kind eyes, dark skin. He wore a white coat, but nothing about him felt cold.

“Dr. Calloway,” he said, offering his hand. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Murphy.”

Murphy gave a tight nod, said nothing.

The doctor turned to Raven. She hadn’t moved an inch away from him.

“Raven Reyes. I’m here with him.”

Calloway nodded gently, gesturing for them to sit.

As they settled, Raven's eyes drifted. Something about the place—its quiet, its careful warmth—triggered memories she hadn’t visited in years.

Rehab.

She remembered standing in the doorway at twelve, watching her mother across the rec room. That half-smile. That empty promise.

She’d believed, then. Thought it could work. Thought maybe that place could fix her.

But then she came home—and the cycle restarted. Faster. Uglier.

Her mother refused help. Told the world she was fine. Told Raven that if she didn’t feel safe, it was her own fault.

Social services closed the case.

Resolved.

She never told Sinclair. Never told anyone. She thought if she could just hold on long enough, get out, get smart, get away—maybe none of it would matter.

She was wrong.

Dr. Calloway’s voice cut through the fog.

“Mr. Murphy… I know this wasn’t an easy decision to come. I want to start by thanking you for being here.”

Murphy didn’t respond. His shoulders had drawn tight again, his jaw locked.

The doctor continued, gently, “Your mother, Ms. Eileen Murphy, has been under our care since 2011. When she was admitted, there were signs of drug-induced psychosis. Over time, her diagnosis developed into a persistent schizoaffective disorder. She’s been largely nonverbal for the last four years. But she’s stable.”

He paused—long enough for the words to settle, then continued, more carefully this time.

“About five weeks ago, during a routine scan, we found a mass. Pancreatic cancer. It’s advanced. Metastatic.”

Raven’s breath caught. Dr. Calloway’s tone was even, but the weight behind it landed like a punch.

“She has, at most, a few weeks. Possibly a couple of months, if it progresses slowly.”

Murphy didn’t react at first. He stared past the doctor, toward some invisible point on the wall, his body still as stone. But Raven could feel his knee bouncing under the table, a silent tremor.

“We understand you asked not to be contacted, but you’re her only living relative. We’ve reached the point where we need to discuss comfort care. Continued intervention versus allowing her to pass peacefully. And eventually… the arrangements.”

Raven’s hand found his arm. Light. Just a touch.

“I’m not here to pressure you,” Calloway continued. “But ethically, we had to give you the chance. To know. To decide.”

Murphy’s voice, when it came, was low. Detached. Like it had to fight its way out of his throat.

“Decide what?”

The doctor met his gaze. “To see her, for a start.”

Murphy swallowed, a flicker of emotion breaking through. “She… is she lucid?”

Calloway’s expression softened. “There are moments. Especially in the mornings. But they’re fleeting. Her delusions are strong. She often confuses the past with the present. The medication helps, but not enough, her brain is too damaged. I won’t lie to you—she may not recognize you.”

He hesitated, then added, “But sometimes even being there, even if they don’t know your name… sometimes that matters.”

Another silence. Heavier than the last. Murphy didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just sat, rigid, like if he stayed perfectly still, he could avoid being dragged under by it all.

Raven leaned in, close enough that only he could hear her whisper. “If you want out… I’ll take the car. I’ll drive you home right now. Say the word.”

His eyes shifted to hers. He looked… lost. She nodded once. No pressure. No shame.

He swallowed. Slowly. Like every muscle had to be convinced to move.

And then—barely above a breath—

“…Okay. I’ll see her.”

Dr. Calloway stood. “I’ll have someone take you down in just a moment.”

And Raven didn’t let go of his arm. 

______________

An older nurse led them down a quiet corridor, her footsteps hushed against the linoleum floors. They passed faded bulletin boards lined with paper hearts and wilted construction paper flowers, rooms labeled with numbers and soft colors meant to feel comforting—normal, even. But nothing about this felt normal.

Murphy moved like a man walking to the gallows, his shoulders rigid, each step slower than the last.

Room 23B.

The nurse pushed the door open with quiet care. “She has good days and bad ones,” she whispered. “Today… isn’t a good one.”

Inside, the room was small and sterile. A narrow bed against the far wall, a nightstand with untouched water, and a chair beside the window. The blinds were drawn, casting the room in a dull grey hue. 

And in the bed, barely more than a whisper beneath the covers, was a woman.

She was frail—bones sharp under parchment skin, her once-dark hair now a sparse, white tangle. Her face was gaunt, hollowed by time and sickness, and her eyes, dull and distant, stared blankly at the ceiling above.

Raven had never met her before. But she didn’t need to. She could still see traces of him—Murphy—in the lines of her cheekbones, the angle of her mouth.

Murphy hesitated in the doorway, his entire body taut, frozen. Like crossing that threshold might undo him completely.

So Raven moved first. She stepped inside, quiet as breath.

The nurse went quietly to the bedside, her voice gentle as she said, “Eileen? You have a visitor today.”

 Then she turned to Murphy and Raven. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything. Take all the time you need.”

She slipped away, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Only then did Murphy enter. One step. Then another. Each like it cost him something. He stayed just inside the room, arms folded tightly across his chest—like he was holding himself together through sheer force of will.

His eyes locked on the figure in the bed.

“Hi, Mom,” he said softly.

Eileen stirred, barely. Her head turned, eyes blinking sluggishly toward the sound of his voice.

Then, like dried paper, she murmured, “Are you… the man who brings the flowers?”

Murphy blinked.

She wasn’t looking at him—she was looking through him. Past him. Into a space that wasn’t here.

“He always says he’ll bring me flowers,” she added. “But he never does.”

He swayed slightly, like the words had struck something vital. His breath caught, ragged with disbelief. Grief.

“Mom, I'm John. Your son.”

But her eyes were already drifting again. Toward the window. Toward the dust drifting in the sunlight.

He tried again. “I used to be shorter,” he said with a half-choked smile. “Had worse hair.”

A flicker. Her lips moved.

“John?”

He stilled, breath held.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah, Mom. It’s me.”

But her gaze never quite landed. Never locked. She still stared past him, eyes glassy with memory or delusion—it was hard to say which.

“I had a boy once,” she whispered. “He had my eyes. Mean little thing. Sweet, too.”

Murphy swallowed hard. “That was me.”

“He liked peanut butter,” she went on. “And putting ants in the microwave.”

Raven nearly let out a soft laugh.

Murphy knelt, slowly, beside the bed. “Mom. I’m here. It’s okay.”

And then—for just a breath, a blink—her eyes met his. A faint curve touched her lips. It was gentle. Fleeting. And achingly human.

But it passed. Like a cloud drifting over the sun.

Her gaze shifted again, unfocused, until it landed on Raven.

“Is that your girl?” she asked, louder now. “She’s pretty.”

Murphy glanced back, surprised she'd registered anything at all. Raven offered him a quiet nod, her mouth tugging into a tight line, concern etched in her eyes.

Then Eileen’s eyes narrowed, focusing on Raven’s brace.

“Oh no,” she murmured, voice sing-song and sharp. “She’s broken.”

The words sliced through the quiet like a blade. Raven stiffened. But before she could respond, Murphy’s mother sat upright slightly, face contorting. The softness evaporated.

“You always break things, John, don’t you?” she spat, suddenly vicious.

Murphy blinked. “What?”

The air in the sterile room crackled, heavy with the weight of decades of unspoken rage.

"If it weren’t for you, he’d still be alive! My Alex! My husband! You didn't just ruin him, John! You ruined everything!" Her hand shot out, a bony finger pointing a trembling accusation. "GET OUT! I don’t want to see your face. GET OUT!"

The words hit him like gunfire. Murphy flinched, his eyes wide and unblinking, like a deer caught in headlights.

Raven turned sharply toward him—but he was already stumbling back, retreating with the wild, hollow stare of someone watching his childhood go up in flames again, helpless against the blaze of his mother’s fractured mind.

Then he was gone. Out the door.

Raven stood frozen for a moment, her pulse pounding in her ears.

 What the hell just happened?

She spun to follow him—but a sudden grip clamped around her wrist. Startled, she looked down.

Eileen Murphy’s thin fingers had latched onto her with startling strength, bone and skin like paper, yet her hold was unshakable.

“No one will ever love a broken thing,” she whispered.

Then her gaze went glassy again, slipping into nothing. Her hand dropped away. And she sank back into the pillows like her strings had been cut.

Raven staggered back, chest tight, ears ringing.

No.

She stepped out into the hallway, the soft click of the door behind her sounding louder than it should have.

The corridor felt colder now. Longer.

Murphy was gone. Walked it alone.

She leaned against the wall, eyes closed, trying to get her breath back. Her wrist still tingled where his mother had grabbed her. Her body trembled.

She wasn’t in a psychiatric wing anymore.

For a heartbeat, she was back in time, standing in a cluttered kitchen with the reek of cheap vodka and cigarette smoke in the air, listening to a woman’s voice that never softened.

“You’re too much work. No one wants a girl like you. You’re broken.”

Raven’s hand curled into a fist against the wall.

No.

She couldn’t go there. Not now. Murphy needed her.

She forced a breath and made her way to the vending machine in the lobby. The blinking lights stared back at her like a dare. She selected water—nothing stronger. Caffeine wasn’t what either of them needed.

Two bottles dropped into the tray with a thud.

She went to find him.

The garden outside was quiet, sun-warmed and deceptively peaceful. Birds chirped in the trees. A patient walked in a slow loop with a nurse, humming faintly. Somewhere, wind rustled the leaves.

She spotted him under a wide tree, sitting on a bench like he was made of stone—hood up, arms folded, spine curved in on itself like gravity had finally won.

She approached without a word and sat down beside him, close but not touching, offering one of the water bottles with a light hand.

He didn’t take it. Didn’t look at her.

She set it gently on the bench between them and waited.

Nothing.

Maybe he wants to be alone. Hell, maybe he should be.

She stood and brushed her hands off on her jeans. “I’ll be in the car,” she said quietly. “Take your time.”

She’d barely taken two steps before his voice broke through.

“Even a fried brain doesn’t forget who to blame, huh?”

She turned back.

He still didn’t look at her. His voice was flat, tight.

“They say she barely remembers her name. Doesn’t know what day it is. But she remembers that.” His jaw tightened. “That I killed him.”

Raven didn’t move. She let him go on, let the silence stretch just enough to give him room.

“Before…” he started, voice barely above a whisper, “before everything went to hell—it wasn’t always like this.”

He paused, drawing in a long, unsteady breath.

“My dad… he was good. Really good. He loved me.”

A bitter smile ghosted across his lips. “You could feel it. He used to tell me stories, make me laugh—these stupid, made-up adventures. And even when Mom was… off, too wound up or too quiet, he made everything feel okay. Safe. Like the world couldn’t touch me.”

He went quiet again, and Raven waited.

“Then I got sick,” he said finally. “Just the flu. I was nine. Had a fever, nothing serious. He kissed my forehead and said he’d be back in twenty minutes—just needed to get medicine.”

Another breath. Sharper this time.

“He never made it.”

His jaw tensed. “Wet roads. A truck didn’t stop. They had to ID him by his wedding ring.”

Something in Raven flinched. Her fingers brushed unconsciously against the edge of her brace.

Just for a heartbeat, the ghost of twisted metal and the sting of rain flashed through her.

But she blinked it away.

Murphy turned his head slightly. Not all the way, just enough for her to see the outline of his expression. The quiet devastation in his profile.

“She didn’t need to scream it,” he continued, voice flat. “Didn’t have to throw anything. Just said it. Over and over. In all the right ways to make it stick.”

He laughed once, low and humorless.

“That I was the reason he died. That if I hadn’t needed him, he’d still be alive. And I believed her. For years, I believed I was the reason the only person who gave a shit about me was gone. That I was poison. Bad. Rotten at the core.”

Another pause, a heavy, silent breath filling the space between them.

"And you know what happens when a kid believes that? He starts acting like it's true. Gets angry. Pushes people away. Breaks shit. Picks fights. Becomes the asshole everyone expects.”

His voice hardened, a bitter edge returning.

“So yeah. Congrats to her. She might not remember what day it is, but she remembers that. That I’m garbage. And no matter how I tried to be better in these years, at Jaha's, with Emori…A part of me—part of me still thinks she’s right.”

He finally looked at her, and the tears were there now, clinging to his lashes but not falling. His eyes were glassy and hollow all at once.

Raven didn’t hesitate. She sat back down. Not close enough to smother, but enough to say I’m here.

She didn’t rush in with words. Just let the pain settle. Then, gently, she picked up the water bottle and pressed it into his hand.

“Grounding,” she said softly, more to herself. Like Luna had taught her.

Murphy didn’t look at the bottle. But he didn’t let go either.

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, voice calm and steady.

“You know what my mom said to me after the accident?” she asked, not waiting for permission. “When I was still bleeding in the passenger seat, barely hanging on? She leaned over, reeking of vodka, and said: ‘Don’t tell them I was drinking.’”

He blinked.

“No ‘Are you okay?’ No ‘I’m sorry.’ Just that.”

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.

“She drove drunk. I lost my leg. And her first thought was to protect herself.” Raven’s voice stayed steady, but barely. “And the worst part?” She glanced at him, jaw tight. “I covered for her. I protected her. Because I was still that kid who thought—if I’m just good enough, maybe she’ll love me better.”

Her next words came quieter. Almost a confession.

“I’m still that kid most days.”

Her voice broke, just a little—but she didn’t stop.

“She didn’t. Love me better, I mean. Not really. And it took me years to understand that some parents... they just don’t know how to love right.”

Even now, the truth sat uneasily in her chest. Understanding something wasn’t the same as accepting it. Knowing it wasn’t her fault didn’t stop the old whisper that maybe, just maybe, it was.

She had no neat answer for that. No wisdom that made it easier to carry.

Murphy’s jaw worked, like he was trying to form words but couldn’t quite get them out.

“So no,” she said gently, “I’m not going to tell you it wasn’t your fault. Because you already know that.” She met his eyes, unwavering. “You just don’t want to let go of the guilt. Because if you hold onto it, at least the pain means something. It gives you a reason.”

She took a breath, steady and sure. “But you have to believe it’s still a lie.”

She reached for him, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. Her hand landed on his. His fingers tensed… then slowly, they opened. And finally, finally—his shoulders sagged.

The first tear fell.

He didn’t sob. Didn’t break apart. But the tears came, quiet and slow, and Raven didn’t flinch from them.

She moved closer and, hesitating just a beat, wrapped one arm around his shoulders.

He let her.

Leaned in.

He pressed his forehead to her shoulder, a silent surrender, and let the quiet cradle them both. Raven closed her eyes, her hand instinctively sliding gently through his hair, already feeling the soft strands between her fingers.

It was an astonishing familiarity, a profound comfort that had bloomed between them in the span of a single, tumultuous night.

They stayed like that until the sun dipped behind the trees and the shadows grew longer.

And for the first time in years, Murphy let someone hold the weight with him.

______________

Afterward, Raven waited in the car, fingers drumming absently against the steering wheel, her eyes fixed on the entrance of the facility.

Murphy had said he’d only be a few more minutes—just signing some papers, tying up a few loose ends.

“I won’t pick everything today,” he’d told her. “I’ve got it. Go wait in the car, Reyes. I’m okay.”

She wasn’t entirely sure she believed him. But she’d listened.

The engine was off. The spring breeze slipped in through the window, and the half-empty bottle of water sat sweating in the cupholder.

She leaned her head back against the seat, eyes distant. Her thoughts kept circling—his voice in the garden, the weight in his words, the bruised places he’d let her see.

They hadn’t just faced his demons today. Some of them had worn familiar faces. Some had sounded a lot like her own.

She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. Then the facility doors opened.

Murphy walked toward the car with more purpose than before. His shoulders were straighter now, though the exhaustion in his eyes lingered. Still, he managed a crooked, almost-boyish grin as he reached the driver’s side.

“You gonna move over,” he said, tapping on the window, “or do I need to pry you out of the seat myself?”

Raven rolled the window down a little more, lifting an unimpressed brow. “Excuse me? This is my car, Murphy. And you just—”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Had a whole emotional breakdown, cried in a garden, bared my tragic backstory, blah blah.” He waved a hand, breezy but not mocking. There was a glint of sincerity behind the grin. “Which is why I’m calling driver’s rights. You brought us here. I get to take us home. That’s balance, Reyes.”

She let the silence stretch, eyeing him.

Then sighed and unbuckled, climbing over the console with exaggerated effort. “Fine. But don’t scratch the dash. I like this one.”

He smirked as he slid into the seat, adjusting the mirrors like he owned the damn thing.

The drive began in silence—but it wasn’t the strained kind anymore. The air between them had shifted. Lighter now. Easier.

The windows were down, letting in the wind. A radio station neither of them had chosen hummed softly in the background. Murphy focused on the road, his profile calm and quiet in the fading afternoon light.

Raven stole glances at him from the corner of her eye.

He looked... different. Not fixed. Not magically healed. But more himself. Or maybe more honest about who that self was.

His silhouette against the blue sky was still the same sharp-edged Murphy she’d always known—but now, she was seeing what lay beneath the edges.

The selfish jerk. The survivor.

The scared, angry kid who’d spent too long thinking he was poison.

They drove for a while, the road rolling out smooth and familiar beneath the tires. But then, Murphy veered off—taking an exit that didn’t lead back to Arkadia.

Raven sat up straighter. “That’s not our turn.”

“I know,” he said, not even glancing at her.

She frowned. “So… where are we going?”

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, in rhythm with the music. “Detour.”

“Murphy—”

“You’ll see.”

He didn’t elaborate, and Raven didn’t push. She just sighed and crossed her arms, eyeing the road ahead with mild suspicion.

Eventually, they pulled into a gas station. Murphy hopped out to refuel, then disappeared inside the convenience store.

When he returned, he was carrying a paper bag and two coffees, his expression just smug enough to raise an eyebrow.

He handed her one of the cups. “Black, no sugar. Just the way you like it—because God forbid you enjoy anything sweet in this life.”

She accepted it with a snort. “And yours is what, exactly? Liquid honey and glitter?”

“Close,” he said, popping the lid off his. “Caramel latte. Because I’m confident enough in my masculinity to drink something that actually tastes good.”

She shook her head, smiling into her coffee.

They ate right there in the car—simple sandwiches from the store, nothing special—but halfway through hers, Raven realized just how hungry she was. Neither of them had eaten since morning.

“Thanks,” she said after a quiet moment, wiping her hands on a napkin. “For driving. For the food.”

Murphy shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “Least I could do. After, you know…” He trailed off, then shot her a sideways glance. “Nice work, Dr. Reyes.”

Raven raised an eyebrow. “Doctor?”

He smirked. “You know, head-shrinker type.”

She let out a soft snort, catching the irony.

Look at that. Maybe she would earn a decent grade in emotional literacy. Luna would be proud—especially since Raven had just managed to preach what she still barely knew how to practice.

Murphy glanced sideways at her, then added, voice casual but edged with mischief, “Anyway, like I told you… we’re not done yet.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m officially concerned.”

He only grinned and turned the key in the ignition, pulling back onto the road.

As the afternoon sun began its slow descent, painting the sky in softer yellows and oranges, Raven leaned back in her seat, watching the world shift its colors.

They’d long since passed the signs for Arkadia—but she didn’t ask again. She just watched him drive, letting the silence fill with possibilities.

Then she saw it.

A sleek rocket sculpture pierced the skyline at the edge of a wide parking lot, its steel curves gleaming against the dusky light.

She blinked.

TonDC Advanced Aerospace Dynamics Institute.

Murphy pulled in without a word and parked, cutting the engine.

Raven slowly turned toward him, astonishment and awe flickering across her face. “Is this…?”

He unbuckled, already climbing out. “Surprise.”

She didn’t move. Just stared.

He stood outside the car now, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “Found it while I was looking up directions to the clinic. Didn’t even know it existed until today. But then I saw the name and… well, you always said you wanted to fly among the stars, right?”

Her eyes drifted to the glass-fronted building, the giant telescope sculpture by the entrance, the bright signage catching the last of the sunlight.

He cleared his throat, like he wasn’t used to explaining gestures like this. “They’ve got a zero-gravity simulator open to the public. Figured maybe you’d want to try it.”

She turned to him, fully now. The weight of the day still clung to her, heavy and unshakable—but this? This cut through it like light breaking through clouds.

“You did all this…” Her voice faltered. “For me?”

Murphy shrugged, gaze flicking away like it was no big deal. “Don’t make it weird, Reyes. It was on the way. I just drove.”

But it wasn’t just a drive. And they both knew it.

This wasn’t just a detour. It was a glimpse into a dream Raven had never said out loud in full, not in years—not since life had demanded she be practical, hardened.

She felt a warmth spread through her chest, a feeling so potent it bordered on pain.

The smirk tugging at his mouth was softer than usual. Nervous. Almost shy.

“You coming, Reyes?” he asked, his voice low, a teasing challenge threading through it. “Or am I going to have to go to infinity and beyond without you?”

She stepped out of the car slowly, her feet touching the pavement like it was unfamiliar terrain. The world felt different—tilted, almost. Like gravity had already started to shift.

Inside, the building hummed with quiet life—soft conversations, the shuffle of jackets, a group of kids laughing near a digital display.

Raven moved slowly, almost reverently. Murphy stayed a step behind, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets, watching her take it all in with the awe of someone stepping into a long-lost dream.

Her eyes widened as they moved through the exhibits—scale models of rockets, framed mission patches from decades past, flight suits displayed like sacred relics. She stopped in front of a suspended lunar lander, her fingers lifting instinctively to rest against the glass.

“You know,” Murphy said behind her, “if you stare any harder, that thing’s gonna file a restraining order.”

She didn’t look back, but the faintest smirk tugged at her lips. It was the same look she wore when coding late into the night, or soldering circuit boards with surgical precision. But this wasn’t work. This was joy.

“Don’t ruin this for me,” she murmured.

He held up both hands in mock surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They wandered without rush, Raven absorbing every detail—orbital trajectories, Mars rover schematics, vintage launch consoles. At one point she pulled out her phone, snapping pictures, recording short videos. She didn’t want to forget a single thing.

By the time they reached the far wing, her excitement was practically humming under her skin. Her eyes locked on the smooth steel doors ahead:

Zero Gravity Simulation Experience – 10 Min Per Session

This was it. Here were the stars.

A staff member approached, offering her a headset and walking her through the rules—keep your arms close to your body, no sudden movements, no more than one person per session.

When they called her name, Raven turned toward Murphy.

“Say hi for the camera,” he said, lifting his phone and snapping a quick picture of her in front of the simulator, eyes bright, grin unstoppable.

She rolled her eyes. “You sure you’re not coming in?” There was a flicker of hope in her voice.

He shook his head. “Someone’s gotta stay grounded in this relationship.”

She smirked. “Coward.”

“Yep. Go meet the stars, Reyes.”

And with that, she stepped inside.

The doors closed behind her with a hiss. A harness was secured around her torso, and the visor fitted snugly over her eyes. Then—

It began.

The world around her vanished, replaced by black velvet skies lit by an infinite scatter of stars. Earth spun slowly below, a marble of blues and greens.

Then came weightlessness.

Her body rose, light and unburdened. The brace on her leg didn’t matter. The stiffness, the chronic ache—none of it existed here. She drifted freely, arms floating beside her, heart pounding with wonder.

It wasn’t real. But God, it felt real.

She was seven again, flying invisible ships through the living room, Bingo at her side. She was dreaming wide open, unafraid. Her laugh burst out—bright and breathless, echoing inside the simulator.

Stars spun around her. Nebulae blossomed like cosmic flowers. She reached for them with shaking fingers, her chest rising with a breath so deep, so pure, it nearly cracked something inside her open. There was no pain. No past. No weight. Just light. Just flight.

When the voice came through the headset—"Simulation complete"—she was still laughing.

The doors opened, and there was Murphy.

Leaning casually against the wall at first, but when he saw her he stood up straighter.

She looked wild. Electric. Like someone had struck a match inside her and she hadn’t stopped burning since.

He opened his mouth to say something—but he didn’t get the chance. Because Raven moved before thought could catch up.

She launched herself into his arms. No warning. Just motion—pure, unfiltered.

Her arms locked tight around his neck, her face burying itself in his shoulder, feet lifting clean off the ground from the force of it.

The impact made him stumble back a half-step, completely off guard—but his arms came up around her without thinking, steadying them both.

She held on like she’d never held anything in her life.

Murphy was stunned. “Uh—Reyes?”

But she just pressed her face to his shoulder and whispered, breathless, “That was—holy shit, Murphy. That was everything.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, still holding on like gravity hadn’t quite reclaimed her yet. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair a little wild from the visor, her eyes alight.

“You’re glowing,” he murmured, caught somewhere between amazement and affection.

“I was in space,” she whispered, like she still couldn’t believe it. “I was in space, Murphy.”

He exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. I know.”

Raven didn’t step away completely. Her arms remained around his waist, fingers curled in the fabric of his hoodie. Still tethered. Still floating.

“I don’t know why you did this,” she said, voice smaller now. “But… thank you.”

“John Murphy makes dreams happen,” he deadpanned.

She huffed a laugh, and then he added—quieter, more honest, “Seemed like a good way to make you smile.”

And she did. She smiled.

And just like that, they stood there, in the center of the aerospace institute—surrounded by posters of astronauts and constellations—holding each other like the world had finally aligned their broken parts.

Like gravity had pulled them home.

______________

Evening had settled over Arkadia by the time they pulled into Murphy’s driveway. The sun was long gone, replaced by the soft orange haze of streetlights and the distant hum of a quiet town.

The day had been long.

It had started in a psychiatric ward, steeped in grief and history and guilt, and somehow ended in the stars.

Raven’s mind was still spinning from the weight of both—like her body hadn’t quite landed back on Earth yet.

As Murphy parked outside his apartment building, the thought of the day simply ending—of them parting ways—felt like a brutal severance.

She felt the urge to just... stay. To hold onto this fragile, newly-forged intimacy born from the weight of his past and the spark of her dreams.

"Wanna come up?" He asked.

She nodded, pushing down the last flicker of instinctive caution. "Yeah. Yeah, I’ll come up."

Inside, the place was quiet. Familiar. Murphy tossed his keys into the bowl by the door and kicked off his shoes. Raven did the same, toeing hers off beside his.

He moved toward the living room and switched on a lamp, bathing the space in a warm, golden glow.

"You want anything?" he asked, already heading toward the kitchen.

She hesitated. "No. I’m good."

"Still amazed they had a fast food stand beside the aerospace institute," he said, grabbing a glass from the cabinet. "The "Space Fries"? Chef’s kiss."

He tried to keep the tone light, but she could see it—he was drained. The calm he’d worn in the car had started to slip. Raven leaned against the doorway, arms crossed loosely.

Her heart ached as she watched him. The raw image of his face in the garden—grief laid bare—lingered in her mind. A boy who had believed he destroyed the only person who'd ever loved him, and still, somehow, had turned around and given her the stars.

"You okay?" she asked, softly.

Murphy turned, leaning against the counter with the water in his hand. He rubbed the back of his neck and met her eyes.

"No," he admitted. "But I’ll get there."

That simple honesty made her chest tighten. He wasn’t hiding. He wasn’t deflecting with sarcasm. Just telling the truth.

She nodded once. It was enough.

"Thank you," he added after a moment. "For coming with me today."

"Thanks to you," she replied. "For the stars."

Murphy met her gaze, a flicker of pride in his expression. She smiled. Small. Lopsided.

The space between them shifted, charged. Time seemed to slow, the moment stretching like it might break.

Then she stepped forward.

Slowly, with purpose. Her fingers brushed the edge of the kitchen island, grounding herself, but her eyes never left his. Searching. Asking.

Murphy didn’t move. But he didn’t look away either.

"I don’t want to go home,” she said, her voice a little hoarse, the admission tumbling out before her usual filters could catch it. “Not yet.”

His posture remained still, but something in his eyes shifted, softening, understanding. A silent invitation.

“You don’t have to.”

That was all it took. The words, so unburdening, dissolved the last vestiges of her caution.

Raven closed the distance without another word. Her hands found his face, and she kissed him.

There was no thought, no calculation, no second-guessing. The raw, exhilarating freedom she’d felt among the simulated space surged through her veins, overriding every last doubt, every lingering fear of vulnerability.

Murphy responded instantly. His hands found her waist. Her fingers tangled in his hair. Their bodies crashed together in an urgent, aching rhythm. 

It was unlike any kiss they’d shared before.

It was a kiss of relief, of gratitude, of shared trauma and exhilarating joy. She poured every emotion of the day into it – her worry for him, her awe at his strength, the profound, dizzying pleasure of flight.

She tugged at the hem of his hoodie, and he helped her, pulling it off to reveal lean muscle and old scars. Her hands ran over his chest, tentative, curious.

His lips moved to her neck, trailing heat along her skin. She arched into the touch, her fingers digging into his shoulders, urging him closer.

This time, there was no warning bell in her brain, no sharp scream of alarm. There was only sensation, pure and undeniable.

They moved through the quiet house, a silent, desperate dance, mouths meeting again and again, hands exploring, until they stumbled back to the worn comfort of the couch.

He kissed down her collarbone, his touch reverent and sure, a featherlight brush of lips that left her shivering. No redlight this time.

His hand slid from her waist, fingers brushing the sensitive skin of her stomach, making her breath catch.

When he reached for the hem of her shirt, he paused, eyes searching hers. One last silent check.

"Raven?" he asked, voice thick, seeking permission.

She didn't need to speak. Her body leaned into him, her hips grinding against his, a silent, desperate plea for more. The subtle friction sent a jolt of pleasure through her, hot and undeniable.

That was her answer.

He grinned, fingers fumbling with her shirt. When the long sleeve got tangled, he laughed under his breath. "Smooth, Murphy. A couple of months of celibacy and you're already losing your touch."

Raven found herself smiling, the genuine levity of the moment, even in their heightened state, paradoxically even more helpful to let go of control.

“Maybe you need a new lesson plan, Professor Murphy. This one's clearly flawed.”

“The lesson plan is perfect, brat. And you're just about to be my star pupil.”

She pulled him back to her, bodies flushed, kissing and tasting, exploring with a new, exhilarating freedom she’d never known. Her fingers, emboldened, traced the hard line of his abs, slipping lower, feeling the press of him against her.

And then his hands reached her back, fingers brushing against the delicate clasp of her bra. He paused again, one last silent question in his intense gaze.

Raven nodded, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

Yes. Please.

The words didn’t come out, but they were there—in every breath, every look, every trembling inch of skin.

Murphy unhooked her bra with practiced care, the soft click seeming louder than it should’ve been in the quiet of the room. Then, with a slow, almost worshipping touch, he slid the straps down her arms.

And suddenly, she was exposed.

She froze for half a second, scanning his face instinctively, bracing for the judgment she’d been taught to expect.

But it never came.

Murphy’s eyes didn’t waver. There was no mockery in them, no discomfort. Just hunger. He looked at her as if she were a precious discovery, utterly whole and intensely wanted.

And his hands came back to her skin like he meant to learn every inch of it.

He reached out, fingertips brushing the curve of her breast. Testing. Exploring. When his thumb grazed over her nipple, a shiver rippled through her.

Then his mouth replaced his hand, warm and eager. When he took her nipple between his lips, tongue flicking lightly—her whole body jolted. A soft, stunned gasp escaped her lips before she could stop it.

It was too much. It was not enough.

Murphy didn’t stop. His mouth lavished attention on one breast while his hand moved to the other, drawing slow, deliberate circles over the sensitive skin. 

Raven arched into him, a soft moan escaping her lips as her hips rolled instinctively against his thigh.

“Sensitive indeed,” he murmured, a smug smile tugging at his lips—clearly recalling what she’d once confessed about her preferences.

She let out a shaky breath, too warm, too dizzy with sensation to offer a comeback. Her underwear was damp, her skin buzzing. The way he touched her—focused, attentive, unrushed—was new. And yet her body didn’t resist it. Didn’t tighten in panic.

It welcomed him. Like it had been waiting for this. 

And then she felt it.

The firm, unmistakable press of him beneath his jeans. Her breath hitched, her pulse jumping.

Murphy stilled, just for a second, his body going taut like he’d noticed the shift too. Raven looked up at him, a little stunned.

“Murphy… are you…?”

He blinked, and a slow, wicked smile curved across his lips as he understood. 

“Told you,” he said, voice rough with heat and amusement. “The problem was Finn. Never you.”

A startled laugh escaped her, sharp and warm all at once. But then she sobered—just slightly—her gaze dropping, her fingers tracing the waistband of his jeans with sudden intent. Her voice was soft when she asked, “Can I…?”

Murphy didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.

The look in his eyes—dark and open and burning—was answer enough.

He reached for her wrist, gently, and guided her hand down.

Her hand closed over him through the denim, fingers slow, deliberate. And when Murphy’s breath hitched, Raven felt something deep inside her settle. Like the ground had shifted in her favor.

He was hard.

For her.

She watched his face as she moved her hand, slowly, rhythmically, her thumb dragging along the outline of him. His eyes fluttered closed for a second. His jaw tensed.

And when she leaned in, pressing a kiss just under his jawline, she felt him twitch beneath her palm.

Murphy’s breath caught again, but his hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer. His mouth found hers in a messy, desperate kiss—nothing polished or careful. Just heat. Tongue and teeth and want.

Then he dipped lower, lips brushing down her neck, until his mouth was on her breast again, tongue flicking, sucking gently. Raven gasped, her grip never faltering around him.

She kissed the side of his neck in return, open-mouthed, dragging her lips along the skin just beneath his ear, feeling the way his body shuddered against hers.

His only answer was a groan when she unbuttoned his jeans, her fingers slipping beneath the waistband. He hissed as she wrapped her hand around him—bare skin to bare skin now. Hot, hard, and pulsing in her grip.

She should’ve felt awkward. Or self-conscious. But she didn’t.

There was only want.

Murphy’s hand found hers and he guided her, just slightly, showing her a better rhythm. She caught on fast—stroking him with confidence, fingers curling just enough, pace steady.

He cursed softly, forehead pressing to her shoulder.

“Fuck, Raven…”

She was doing this.

She was the reason his breath hitched, why his body tensed beneath her touch. It was a feeling she’d never had with Finn—this direct, undeniable link between her hands and someone else’s pleasure.

She was in control.

A different kind. One that felt powerful.

He kissed her again, slower now but no less intense, his fingers roaming over her back, her sides, anywhere he could touch. She moaned softly into his mouth, never stopping the motion of her hand. Her other arm curled around his neck, holding him to her as if anchoring them both.

Murphy’s hips jerked once, breath unraveling into ragged, uneven pulls.

“Shit—I’m—” he choked out, lifting his head. His eyes were dark, glazed, desperate. “Raven—”

“Let go,” she whispered, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. Her fingers tightened, her rhythm steady and unrelenting.

And he did.

With a low, guttural groan, his body locked against hers—trembling, pulsing heat spilling into her hand as he came, his forehead dropping to her shoulder again. She held him through it, her free hand tracing soothing patterns along his spine.

When it passed, he collapsed into the couch, breath shallow, limbs heavy. He tugged her gently with him, and she went willingly.

They stayed like that for a while, breathing in sync, heat still lingering between their bodies.

Eventually, Raven glanced down, took a tissue from the coffee table, and wiped her hand with a crooked smirk.

Murphy lifted his head just enough to look at her, eyes still half-lidded, voice wrecked but amused.

“Looks like you’re not the only one who saw stars today.”

She snorted softly, still flushed. “You’re an idiot.”

“Mm. A grateful idiot.”

Then he leaned in again and kissed her—slow, a little lazy, but firm. When he pulled back, he gently bit her bottom lip, just enough to make her gasp.

Her body pulsed again.

His hands slipped over her waist, rough thumbs brushing skin. “Your turn, Reyes?” he murmured, his gaze lingering on her still-bare chest.

Raven's heart hammered. She was definitely turned on, but this was enough for now. This was a massive step.

“No… This session’s good for tonight.”

Murphy nodded.

“Noted.” Then, with that infuriatingly smug smirk curling back onto his lips, he added, “Gotta say, though… if that was your initial field test, Reyes—you’re already topping the class. Way to overachieve on your first assignment.”

She rolled her eyes, though the smile tugging at her lips gave her away. “Don’t get cocky, Professor. Looks like I’m just a natural.”

She bumped his shoulder lightly, her fingers brushing against his bare arm. The moment was easy, playful—but under the surface, her skin still buzzed. Her hands still trembled slightly with the weight of what had just passed between them.

When Murphy disappeared into the bathroom with a lazy stretch and a yawn, she took the chance to pull her shirt and bra back on, then padded quietly to the kitchen sink. She washed her hands slowly, the cold water grounding her, easing the leftover charge still prickling along her nerves.

When he came back, he’d changed into sweatpants and a loose black T-shirt, his hair still tousled from her fingers.

He leaned against the doorway with a lazy grin. “So… you sticking around? I was thinking bad TV, worse snacks. Real highbrow evening.”

Raven hesitated, then shook her head. “I should go. I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow and… I’m exhausted.”

His mouth pulled into a mock pout. “Cold. Love ‘em and leave ‘em. Heartless Reyes strikes again.”

“You’ll survive,” she said with a smirk, already pulling on her shoes.

Murphy stepped aside, holding the door open for her with an exaggerated bow. “Always.”

She rolled her eyes and stepped past him, pausing on the threshold. Their eyes met. She leaned in, kissed his cheek, just barely missing his mouth.

“Goodnight Murphy” she whispered.

And then she was gone—down the stairs, out into the cool embrace of the Arkadian night.

______________

@murphy_s_law – Instagram Story

 📸 Image:

A dimly lit museum display—just the edge of a vintage space capsule, encased in glass. Reflected faintly in the surface: Murphy’s silhouette, half-obscured, more shadow than man. No tags. Just an enigmatic moment, caught and posted without context.

🎵 Music: “In the Cold” – Vincent Lima. Full lyrics overlayed, slow fade-in as the song plays:

 I felt her scars and asked her nervously

 Who was the thief that stole your certainty?

 She didn't know, she lost it some time long ago

 I've fought so long, it's what I do

 My fists are fine, it's just my soul's a little bruised

 But I'll stay on my feet until I lose

 But I never learn to lose

 It's hard to know me

 At least you tried

 It's hard to love in the cold

 And it's gotten so cold outside

 My younger years went by so urgently

 And left me grief that I'm still servicing

 If good times change, why do the bad days stick around?

 So now you see me

 For the first time

 ______________

@ravenreyes:📍TonDC Advanced Aerospace Dynamics Institute

 ✨ "I met the stars today." 🌌

 #ZeroGravity #DreamsTookFlight #ReyesOnMars

📸 The photo:

Raven in front of the Zero Gravity Experience entrance, the silver letters of the sign glow just above her head, and the background hums with faint starlight from the display wall inside. 

Comments:

@greenmonty: Wait wait wait… is that THE simulator? Did you float for real?! 

@jasperjordan: Zero gravity? Nerd alert 

@miles_shaw: Engineer mode: activated. 

@harpergram: I love this for you. You deserve galaxies.

@murphy_s_law: 🐶🐦‍⬛🚀

@ravenreyes: 🪳

@bellamy_b: You look like a kid on Christmas morning.

@clarkegriffinblake: This looks unreal. You better be taking me next time 💫

Chapter Text

"Are you sure the front door is locked?"

"Triple-checked. Twice for the lock, once for your paranoia."

Raven arched a brow, her lips brushing the line of Murphy’s jaw. "Can’t blame a girl for wanting to avoid jail time for public indecency."

His mouth found the spot just below her ear—the one that made her knees buckle—and she shivered in response.

"Technically not public," he murmured. "Semi-private back room counts as... gray area."

The air in the cramped “gray area” of The Dropship was thick with the scent of stale beer, aged wood, and Murphy—something so distinctly him she could almost taste it.

He was everywhere: on her skin, in her lungs, wrapped in the ache that had been building over the last few weeks.

Something had shifted.

Since TonDC. Since the stars, the quiet, the pain, and all the confessions whispered into the dark.

Their “sessions” had grown in frequency and intensity. This was their new rhythm—charged, consuming, borderline reckless. 

Murphy was doing better. Or trying. He hadn’t gone back to the clinic, but he’d told the doctors to keep him updated. And that was something.

His mother’s condition was stable, if that word could even apply—trapped in a body that refused to shut down and a mind that no longer worked.

But in Murphy’s eyes, she was already gone.

"She died with the pills," he’d said. "That thing in the clinic? It’s just what was left."

He wasn’t wrong. But grief didn’t bend to reason. It clung like smoke, even after the fire was gone.

And Raven? Raven barely recognized herself.

Take now for example. She was pressed against the rough wall of the bar’s back room, her shirt discarded somewhere beside her, Murphy’s forgotten over a crate.

She’d slipped in during his lunch break, the ‘Closed’ sign hanging crooked in the window.

He’d called earlier—almost casually—asking if she could take a quick look at the sound system. It was glitching. A band was playing that night.

The sound system inspection had lasted all of five minutes. Then the new, unplanned session began.

His hands were everywhere—hot, familiar, hungry—sliding over the slope of her waist, the curve of her ass, the bare skin of her back. They looked like two hormonal teenagers, a decade late to the party.

Unconventional therapy, sure. But it was working.

So far.

She leaned into him with a sigh, her forehead resting against his collarbone.

"You’re still thinking," he said, softer now.

She gave him a playful smile. "Always."

He grunted. "Well, if I’m not shutting that brain off properly, then clearly I’m not doing my job. I’d feel a hell of a lot better about my performance if you’d stop overanalyzing and just let go."

Easier said than done, Murph.

That part was still a work in progress.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Guess I’ll just have to try harder.”

Then his mouth was back on her—along her jaw, down her throat, tracing fire over the soft swell of her breast—and the moan that escaped her was involuntary.

“Now that’s a sound I like,” he murmured against her skin, voice rough.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“Always so bossy.”

But he did. He kissed like he was starving. And she matched him, urgent, wild. Their mouths clashed, tongues and teeth and heat.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders, grounding herself as the world shrank to the pressure of his body, the thrum beneath her skin.

Brain out of service.

Slowly his hand traced a downward path. Over her jeans. Under the waistband. His fingers found the lace of her underwear and moved with intention.

Then it hit.

A jolt—sharp, unwelcome—surged through her. Her body stiffened. The alarms screamed awake.

Too much. Too far.

She clamped her hand over his wrist, halting him. Murphy froze instantly.

“Redlight?” he asked, voice low near her ear.

She nodded, breath shaky.

He eased his hand back without question, though his body stayed close—warm, hard, wanting. But waiting.

She looked up at him, her eyes still clouded with desire but focussed now.

She was okay. Just not there yet.

He gave her a crooked grin. Soft. Not mocking.

“Not that I’m complaining, Reyes, this whole ‘sex coaching pact’ is a pretty sweet deal for me, seeing as you’ve become a certified expert at, you know…” He lifted a brow. “...making me come spectacularly.”

Raven laughed, breathless. Flushed. But she didn’t pull away.

There was embarrassment, sure. But there was also something else—pride. He wasn’t wrong. She hadn’t expected to be good at this. Or to like it this much.

She was out of practice—hell, she barely had the practice to begin with—but she was a fast learner. And Murphy, infuriatingly, happened to be an excellent teacher. 

He let her explore. Gave her room to figure out what he liked, how he responded to her hands, her mouth. And when she hesitated, unsure, he just guided her. Like it was natural. Like she wasn’t broken or behind or failing some unspoken test.

Good job picking the right tutor, Reyes.

She had made progress. Faster than she’d thought possible.

Luna had reminded her of that during their last few sessions—how far she’d come, how much more connected she was to her body now. How pleasure didn’t have to mean risk. How touch didn’t have to feel like a transaction.

But letting Murphy return that pleasure? Letting go like that?

It still felt like standing on the edge of a cliff. No railing. No parachute.

“I’m still trying to reciprocate here. Feels like that’s only fair. I mean, if we’re both givers in bed, and I know I like being a giver…” He gave a mock-dramatic sigh. “...we may have a real problem.”

He wasn’t wrong about that either.

Murphy was a giver. It wasn’t just about skill—it was something deeper. Rooted in that gnawing need to be worth something to someone. If you gave enough, maybe they’d let you stay. Maybe they’d think you were good.

He read her like code, like a puzzle worth solving. The hitch in her breath. The twitch of her fingers, the tension in her thighs.

Every reaction, every gasp—he remembered them. Used them. Not for power, but for connection.

For her.

So different from Finn’s clumsy, careless fumbling—always assuming, never bothering to ask what she liked. Never noticing when she flinched or went quiet.

Murphy never assumed.

She didn’t have much to compare it to—but in her book? That man knew his way around a bed.

“Oh no. Tragic. We’re both generous in bed. Whatever will we do?”She rolled her eyes, but her smirk faltered just a touch. “Look… it’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just...sometimes it feels like stepping onto a live wire. Not exactly relaxing.”

He looked at her for a long moment, his thumbs tracing slow, idle circles on her hips.

“Then we don’t rush it. No circuits get fried unless you say so.”

She gave a small nod, lips pressed together in that way she did when she didn’t trust them to stay steady.

And because he couldn’t resist—

“Though if anyone’s getting electrocuted, it’s probably me. You’ve definitely got the whole dominatrix vibe down.”

Before she could fire back, he kissed her, deep and unhurried, swallowing whatever sarcastic protest she might’ve had.

She was just starting to melt into it—into him—when her phone buzzed sharply against the metal table by the door.

Raven groaned, letting her head thump back against the wall.

“That ringtone means work. It is my lunch break, for god’s sake.”

“Which is exactly why you should ignore it,” Murphy said, mouth pressing insistently against her neck.

She shivered, hating how good he was at making her forget.

But the phone kept buzzing. Shrill. Insistent.

With a reluctant sigh, she pushed him away, already reaching for it.

He made a dramatic face of protest.

“Shaw,” she muttered, reading the name flashing across the screen.

Murphy didn’t bother hiding his grimace.“Mr. Engineering Prodigy?”

She shot him a look.

“What? Does he want to show you a new rocket he pulled out of his ass? Ask you to pose for the launch campaign in a tight jumpsuit?”

The phone stopped. Missed call.

“Murphy,” she warned, voice sharp.

He raised both hands in mock innocence.

“Hey, I’m not blaming the guy. I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a tight jumpsuit,” he added with a smirk. “Just saying—I remember when you were working yourself into the ground and he got to be the golden boy who saved the day, while you were left cleaning up the mess.”

“He’s a nice guy,” she stated flatly. “He did his job. Better than me. It’s not his fault I feel like shit when I screw things up.”

“Right,” Murphy muttered, unconvinced.

Raven sighed again and reached for her shirt, tugging it over her head in one smooth motion.

 “Gotta go. The sound system’s fine, your precious band is safe, and your bar hasn’t burned down. Class dismissed.”

“You swinging by later? Come admire the disaster you narrowly avoided?”

“Yeah,” she said, grabbing her bag. “The whole Scooby gang’ll be there. I’ll tag along.”

Then, without thinking, she leaned in and kissed him—quick, soft, automatic.

And just like that, she was gone. Her footsteps echoed down the hallway. The door clicked shut behind her.

Murphy stood there for a moment, silent. Then exhaled slowly and dragged a hand through his hair, the ghost of her mouth still lingering on his skin.

________

Raven made it to Eligius just in time, narrowly dodging the worst of Arkadia’s post-lunch traffic.

Apparently the whole damn city decided to hit the road the second the clock struck noon.

Her leg was killing her. The brace was sitting wrong again, pinching in that familiar, maddening way just above the joint.

She’d already adjusted it twice in the elevator, but the pressure still radiated in sharp pulses up her thigh.

Not enough to stop her. Just enough to make her want to punch a wall.

She stepped into the open workspace and dropped her bag with a grunt. Shaw’s desk? Empty.

Great. First he interrupted her very recreational lunch break, and now he was conveniently MIA.

“Hey, Reyes,” Ryker called without glancing up, already half-buried in diagnostics. “Tom from Prototype was looking for you earlier. Said he wanted to show you something—looked excited, which was weird, so maybe bring backup.”

“Got it,” she muttered.

She headed down the corridor, the click-thud of her steps echoing across the polished concrete. Her limp more pronounced now, but she kept her head high.

She passed a group of guys clustered near the break room vending machines—the usual suspects from Systems and Fabrication.

She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But their voices carried.

“Swear to God, if she cries during one more movie, I’m filing for divorce.”

“Mine keeps asking me to talk about my feelings,” someone added, mock horror lacing his tone. “Like, what even is that? ‘I’m tired and I hate my boss.’ There. Feelings. Done.”

Laughter rippled through the group.

“I just smile and nod,” another one chimed in. “Pretend I’m listening. Works like a charm.”

“Congrats, boys,” someone said. “You’ve all unlocked Husband Mode. At least the sex is decent, right?”

“Sure, when she doesn’t have a headache or some deadline. And god forbid we try something new.”

“Oh, you mean like bending like a pretzel and riding you into the mattress like a porn star?” another joked.

“Only place I’m getting that is in the chronological history of my browser,” one of them snorted. “Guess I really am getting that divorce.”

More laughter. Loud, crude, effortless.

Raven didn’t stop. She just kept walking, the ache in her leg suddenly insignificant compared to the dull burn crawling under her skin.

She’d heard this kind of talk a thousand times. It shouldn’t bother her anymore. But it did.

It was the way they talked about their partners—like women were burdens, chores, disappointments.

The anger came first. Hot, burning, righteous. She didn’t want anything to do with men like that.

But behind the anger… something else curled tight in her chest.

That voice. The one she hated.

Nobody will ever want you.

The girl with the scarred leg and the scarred soul. The one who couldn’t bend like a pretzel or fake soft sweetness on command. 

That was the part that stung.

Not their words—but the way they echoed the cruelest corners of her own mind.

She shook her head, set her jaw, and walked faster. She had a prototype to look at and zero time for misogynistic noise or self-pity.

Tom was waiting in the lab, waving her over with a tablet in hand. She forced a smirk, stepped forward, and did her job.

“There she is,” he said, grinning like someone who’d just solved a three-week-old bug. “Got a minute? You remember the flow regulation model we tested last quarter? The one with the compensatory valves you tweaked?”

Raven gave him a flat look. “The one you said wouldn’t hold under pressure past 90 psi?”

“Yeah, that one,” he admitted sheepishly. “Turns out it does. Held up through a 120-pressure simulation. I, uh, might owe you a drink or five.”

“Damn right you do,” she muttered, but a small smirk tugged at her lips as she leaned in to look at the new data. The schematic flickered on the screen. Exactly what she’d predicted.

“Anyway,” Tom went on, flipping through a few additional metrics, “we’re thinking of adapting it for the Mars Hab unit prototypes. I figured you’d want to be in on that.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Try stopping me.”

After a few more quick notes and a promise to send her the new code string by end of day, she turned and made her way back to her desk, that faint buzz of victory still warming her chest.

She’d needed that.

When she stepped into the main workspace again, Shaw was there, seated at her terminal, half-turned toward her with a mild expression that instantly triggered her suspicion.

“Touch my rig and die,” she said dryly.

Shaw held his hands up in mock surrender. “I swear I didn’t touch anything important.”

She dropped into her chair, sighing as she stretched her leg under the desk, trying to ease the growing ache.

“I was looking for you earlier,” he added. 

“ Yeah I saw the missed call. Was busy, Sorry.”

“Had a weird code error in the propulsion sim for the Mag-3 drone series. Keeps glitching on input shift. I think it’s a variable overflow issue, but every time I try to isolate it, it reroutes through the system loop. You wanna take a look?”

Raven rubbed her temple. “God, that old thing? Yeah. Probably a float limit problem in the legacy subroutine—someone coded that thing in 1995.”

“So... you’re saying I’m not completely incompetent?”

“I’m saying I’m the better mechanic,” she replied, already pulling up the code window.

Shaw chuckled. “Fair.”

A beat passed as he hovered near her desk, then cleared his throat.

“Oh—also, random question,” Shaw said, aiming for casual as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Are you going to the Eligius Gala next Friday?”

Raven blinked. The Eligius Gala.

That Eligius Gala.

The one she’d said yes to months ago in a moment of “do it now, think later.” One of the many rash decisions that had kickstarted her exposure project.

She had completely forgotten about it.

“Oh. Uh… no. I hadn’t even thought about it.”

“Well,” Shaw continued, trying not to sound too hopeful, “I was gonna ask if you wanted to go together. Not, like, together together—just, you know, as friends. Share a cab, dodge awkward small talk. I don’t really know many people yet, and you don’t strike me as the type who’d let me get cornered by some exec who wants to debate propulsion dynamics over overpriced canapés.”

Raven’s mind raced.

Go with Shaw?

It was definitely better than the half-assed invite she’d gotten from Wick. But still—not good enough to change her mind. Not worth the dress, the fuss, the pretending.

Better to stay away altogether.

“Thanks, Shaw,” she said, offering a polite smile. “But I think I’ll probably just… skip it this year. Too much going on.”

He nodded, disappointment flickering before he masked it with an easy shrug. “Fair enough.”

She gave him a smaller, more genuine smile this time. “But thanks for asking.”

He lingered for a second, gaze thoughtful. Then:

“How about a coffee, then?” he asked, voice softening, just a bit less formal. “One of these days. My treat.”

There it was—the shift. A gentle invitation. Nothing pushy, but unmistakable.

Raven stiffened, just slightly. No. She didn’t want to go down that road.

Not yet. Not…

She kept it light. “Let’s fix your code first.”

He grinned. “Sure.”

She turned back to her screen, fingers already moving. “Watch and learn.”

________

Bellamy: The band just started and… they’re actually good? Who let Murphy book someone with talent?

Harper: They’re HOT. Like, distractingly hot. Octavia, back me up.

Octavia: One hundred percent. The guitarist looks like trouble—and I’m very interested.

Lincoln: You know I’m right next to you, O?

Clarke: Raven, you’re late!

Raven: Sorry, can’t make it. My leg’s a mess tonight. Bad rash from the brace.

Harper: Ugh, that sucks. Do you need anything?

Clarke: Ice and no movement for 48 hours!

Jackson: And cortisone cream, twice a day. No skipping.

Raven: Thanks, moms.

Bellamy: Love you, Reyes. Feel better. You’re missing good music and bad dancing.

Harper: We’ll FaceTime you when Clarke starts drunk-singing. So in like… ten minutes.

Raven: Living through my suffering just to witness that moment.

________

Murphy: Saw your message in the chat. No-show at the bar? You ghosting me, Reyes? I was very much looking forward to being dragged into a closet again.

Raven: Guess you’ll have to find a new student for tonight. This one’s homesick.

Murphy: Pass, Hands already full serving assholes. Burned the gears right off your cyborg knee?

Raven: More like the brace threw a tantrum. Skin’s all raw and swollen. It’s been a bitch for a couple days.

Murphy: Shit. You didn’t say anything this morning.

Raven: Used to it. And I was… distracted.

Murphy: Yeah, well, I am very distracting. Still—you should’ve told me.

Raven: I was talking about work. And the sound system. And then work again.

Murphy: Now we both know that’s a lie. But I’ll allow it. Gotta go—duty calls. Let me know if you die.

Raven: You’re a beacon of concerned sunshine, Murphy. Who knew?

Murphy: Only for special projects. Or when my best student goes AWOL.

________

The next morning, the pain was no better. If anything, it had settled deeper—thicker, meaner, the kind of ache that didn’t just sit in her muscles but spread like heat under the skin.

Raven woke late after a night of restless sleep, her body twisting away from the sting only to land in positions that made it worse.

Every time she dozed off, the fire in her leg dragged her back to the surface. By morning, she felt like she’d fought something all night and lost.

Sitting up took effort. She gritted her teeth, peeled back the blanket, and glanced at her leg.

Red. Swollen. Angry. The skin around the brace line was raw again, raised in welts that pulsed with each heartbeat.

Well, not her first rodeo.

“Guess it’s you and me again, old friends,” she muttered, eyes flicking to the crutches leaning against the wall beside the bed.

They were never far. Just in case. For days like this—when the brace was out of the question and standing unaided felt like a gamble.

She sighed, dragging them closer. Her fingers wrapped around the grips with the ease of old muscle memory.

Before moving, she reached for her phone, blinking blearily at the screen. The group chat was still active.

No FaceTime call had happened in the end, but Monty had dropped a video from the bar. Clarke and Octavia were singing over each other at what looked like an impromptu karaoke night. 

Raven smiled faintly—a small, tired tug at the corner of her lips.

She was genuinely glad they were having fun.

And, for once, she wished she could’ve been there too.

She was already too good at shutting herself out of things—she didn’t need more reasons to feel alone.

She tapped out a quick reply—just a “10/10” GIF of an approving judge holding up a scorecard—then tucked the phone into her pajama pocket and forced herself up with the crutches.

The bathroom was rough, every step a test of balance and pain tolerance. But she made it. She always made it.

It wasn’t until she reached the kitchen that her body gave out.

There was no crash. No dramatic fall. Just a slow collapse, like her bones had called it quits.

One moment she was moving, determined as ever. The next, her knees buckled, her palms kissed the cold tile, and she was down. Breathing shallow. Wrung out.

The chill of the floor seeped through her pajamas, and her pride stung almost worse than her leg.

She just sighed.

She’d been here before. Too many times. Pain like this was an old companion.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

Slowly, she sat up and let her head fall back against the cabinet door with a soft thud, eyes squeezed shut.

Silence wrapped around her, thick and pressing, interrupted only by her unsteady breathing.

Then—three casual knocks.

She didn’t move. Probably just one of the neighbors again, asking for help with something broken.

Not today. Today she was the broken thing.

The knocking came again.

Persistent.

She groaned, voice hoarse and flat. “If this is about the water heater again, I swear to god I will throw my crutch at you.”

A familiar voice called back, muffled through the door:

“That’s a very aggressive greeting for a hot guy standing outside your door on a Saturday morning holding breakfast.”

Her eyes blinked open.

“Murphy?”

“Who else breaks into your weekend uninvited?”

She groaned inwardly. She wasn’t in the mood. She didn’t want to be seen, didn’t want to talk, didn’t want someone here.

Still, she dragged herself upright with the help of her crutches, made her way to the door, and yanked it open—if only to send him away.

She still had manners afterall.

Murphy stood there in jeans and a hoodie, a brown paper bag in one hand and two coffees in the other. His usual cocky smirk flickered the second he took her in—her pale face, the tension in her shoulders, the pain she clearly hadn’t been able to hide.

“Yikes. You look like shit. Rough day?”

“Rough life,” she muttered, leaning on the frame.

He didn’t miss a beat. “Always the overdramatic. I like it.”

He stepped inside without waiting for permission. “I brought pancakes. The real kind. None of that protein-powder horror show you like to pretend is food.”

He dropped the bag on the counter and started unpacking like he owned the place, moving around her kitchen like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Something about that bothered her, and she couldn’t even name why.

“I’m not in the mood for company, Murphy,” she said flatly, not budging from the door. “Seriously. Go home.”

He turned, completely unfazed. “You’re a charming host, Reyes, truly. But no thanks. Saturday mornings at my place mean the Ramirezes go full samba next door and this poor bastard worked till two. I need peace. And carbs. And this couch.”

She raised an eyebrow. He shrugged, already reaching for plates.

“You can do your whole broody loner thing. I’ll just exist in the background, eating pancakes. Couch is comfy. I liked it and I am back for more.”

And just like that, he disarmed her. She hated that he had that kind of power.

With a sigh, she hobbled past him and perched on the edge of the counter.

He grinned—smug, victorious.

She stared at that expression and made a mental note to wipe it off his face later. Maybe with a well-aimed punch.

But not now.

Right now, she was starving. And he’d brought real pancakes. She could suffer his presence for the sake of carbs and improved brain chemistry. Then, once fed, she could kick him out.

They started eating in silence, the room slowly filling with the scent of syrup and coffee.

Murphy looked over at her crutches.

“So…” he said, gesturing with his fork, “the vibranium leg’s in the dishwasher?”

It was crude. Blunt. But there was no pity in his tone, no edge of condescension—just Murphy being Murphy. And Raven appreciated that more than any soft-voiced sympathy.

She arched an eyebrow. “You’re a dick”

He didn’t even flinch. He just smirked, licking syrup off his fork with zero shame. “You say that like it’s news.”

Then he leaned back in his chair, that lazy, wicked gleam flickering in his eyes—the one that had recently started throwing her off balance in the most irritating way.

“Besides… you didn’t seem to mind the last time my dick got involved.”

Raven felt it—that unwilling rush, heat blooming low despite her best efforts.

Stupid, traitorous body.

She deadpanned, keeping her expression flat. “It’s a tool. A means to an end.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, narrowing her eyes with faux seriousness, she added, “But hey, if this is too much for you, it’s probably not too late to ask Wick to cover for you next time.”

Murphy gasped in theatrical offense and launched a blueberry at her. It bounced harmlessly off her shoulder and hit the floor with a soft plop.

“Blasphemy,” he muttered darkly.

They bickered through the rest of breakfast, slinging insults and pancake toppings at each other like weapons. It was ridiculous. Petty. Familiar.

And it worked.

Despite the sleep deprivation, despite the dull throb in her leg that refused to be ignored, Raven felt the edges of her mood shift. The ache was still there, but it wasn’t as sharp anymore. It didn’t feel like it was winning.

Murphy stood to gather the plates, when both their phones buzzed.

Group chat.

Clarke : I am serious Raven, ice and cortisone cream twice a day and absolutely REST. That’s not your friend talking but your doctor!

Murphy glanced at the message and grinned. “Poor Griffin. You are her worst patient. I feel bad for her. She actually tries.”

He tossed a dish towel over his shoulder, turning to face her. “Guess I gotta be my most selfless humanitarian self and play nurse. Just so Clarke doesn’t have to live with the guilt of your tragic death while trying to reach the top shelf.”

Raven snorted. “Such a martyr.”

“You’re welcome. You’re a very lucky woman.”

“The luckiest,” she muttered dryly, pushing to her feet and grabbing her crutches.

“Where are you going, patient?” he called out, eyebrows rising.

“Shower. You know, hygiene.”

His eyes lit up, predictably. “Not a bad start for my first nursing assignment,” he said, giving her a slow once-over and an entirely inappropriate smile.

She didn’t miss a beat. “Head out of the gutter, Nurse Dickhead. ‘Shower with me’ means orthopedic seat and anti-slip mat. Not an acrobatic sex montage.”

“Still think I should keep a close eye on you. Just in case.”

She rolled her eyes and shut the bathroom door on his laughter.

________

Raven stepped into the shower, lowering herself carefully onto the built-in stool. She balanced on one leg, gripping the grab bar as she adjusted the water temperature.

It was a practiced routine by now—navigating the narrow space with aching joints and limited mobility, shifting her weight to avoid pressure on the bad knee. Still, even with all her years of practice, it was exhausting.

The hot water helped. Not enough to erase the pain, but enough to ease the worst of it, loosening the stubborn muscles that refused to unclench. The ache never fully left, just changed its shape.

When she was done, she dried off, wrapping herself in the thick robe that lived on the back of the door.

She changed into a pair of soft, worn sweatpants and a loose tank top—the kind of clothes that didn’t press against sensitive skin or tug on the wrong places.

By the time she made it back to the living room, her hair was still damp, pulled back in a lazy tie.

Murphy was sprawled across the couch like he owned the place, one of her mechanical engineering magazines in his hands—held upside down.

“And he’s still here,” she said dryly, arching a brow.

He looked up, completely unbothered. “Found something to keep me entertained, since you wouldn’t.”

He flipped the magazine over, squinting at the pages. “This one has graphs, Reyes. Actual graphs. You read this stuff?”

“It’s a journal,” she replied, unimpressed.

“Yeah, well, if I ever can’t sleep, I’m stealing one.”

Raven smirked faintly, shaking her head as she moved toward the kitchen. She grabbed the ice pack and the cortisone cream Clarke had insisted on, tucking them into her pocket.

Then she slowly, carefully, made her way back to the couch.

With practiced gestures, she sat beside Murphy and rolled up the leg of her sweatpants. She turned slightly, instinctively angling her body to keep it out of his sight.

Murphy set the magazine aside without a word.

She pressed the ice to her calf first, then reached for the cream, starting to apply it to the rash with slow, stiff fingers—jaw tight, refusing to wince.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he said.

She shot him a sideways look. “Excuse me?”

He nodded at her leg. “The ice has to be pressed more firmly. And you need to use your knuckles or something harder to work the cream in properly.”

“And you know this because…?”

“Personal expertise,” he explained with a smirk. “Now give me your leg.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t need help. I can do it.”

Her voice was sharper than she intended—defensive. But it wasn’t anger. It was shame. She hated being seen like this.

She wasn’t weak.

Murphy didn’t back off. He just sat there, hand outstretched, waiting.

A silent standoff. The kind of head-to-head stare that could’ve been a poster for their relationship—equal parts stubborn, competitive, and unspoken dare.

Raven held his gaze, jaw tight. But after a beat, she sighed and shifted, maneuvering her leg awkwardly with both hands until it rested across his lap.

He took the cream without comment, rubbing a bit between his palms to warm it. Then he leaned in, fingers gentle as he began to work it into her skin. Slow, practiced circles. He started at the edge of the rash, careful not to aggravate the worst of the inflammation.

His hands were warm. It made her uneasy.

She rarely let anyone touch her leg these days. Not like this. Roan did, sure—but that was medical. Detached. Clinical.

This wasn’t. This was… intimate.

Murphy’s hands moved to the points where the brace left its cruelest marks.

When he reached the section just above her knee—the area where sensation had long since disappeared—she murmured, “You don’t have to bother with that. I can’t feel anything down there.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not tight as hell,” he replied. “Your muscles are as stubborn as you are.”

She huffed a breath, somewhere between amused and exhausted. “You do this like you’ve done it before.”

He didn’t glance up. “I dated a massage therapist once. She taught me a few things.”

“Really?”

“No,” he deadpanned. “I just patched up a lot of sore muscles and black eyes during my golden age of bad decisions. Which, if we’re being generous, ended sometime around... tomorrow.”

That pulled the ghost of a smile from her lips—but it vanished the moment he nudged the fabric of her sweatpants higher.

Her body tensed instantly.

“Don’t,” she said quickly. “It’s not… pretty up there.”

The scarring across her hip and lower back wasn’t just visible—it was visceral. A jagged, brutal reminder of everything she’d lost in a single moment. What followed. What never really healed.

But Murphy didn’t stop. He pushed the fabric up gently, and when the scars came into view, he didn’t even blink.

He just kept going.

“I’ve always seen you deal with it like a damn force of nature,” he said quietly. “Even back in high school—when you threatened to run me over with your wheelchair.”

That startled a real laugh out of her—bitter, but real.

“I had so much respect for you even then,” he added.

She shook her head. “I didn’t have a choice, Murph. I dealt with it because I had to. That’s not strength. That’s survival.”

He looked up, eyes softer than she was ready for. “Sometimes they’re the same thing.”

Her throat tightened.

“Sometimes I wish they weren’t,” she whispered. “I pretend it doesn’t get to me. But it’s always there. Every step I take. Every second. Some days it’s background noise. And some days—like today—it screams.”

Murphy’s fingers slowed, but they didn’t leave her.

She let her head fall back against the couch cushions, the cold pack balanced awkwardly on her thigh. “Some days I manage. I work, I fix shit, I get through. And other days…”

Her voice faded. Then she exhaled a short, bitter laugh. “Thank god I don’t have to share this mess with anyone, right?”

Murphy glanced up, frowning. “What does that mean—‘share’ it?”

She waved a hand over her body, frustration laced in the motion. “This. The leg. The scars. The flare-ups. The schedule. The goddamn painkillers. The limitations. It’s mine. At least I don’t have to make it someone else’s burden.”

His expression tightened. “You think this makes you a burden?”

“I don’t think,” she said quietly. “I know.”

“Raven…”

“No, listen,” she said, cutting him off. “It’s not just the brace. It’s everything. People don’t want complicated. They don’t want to sign up for discomfort and planning and having to hear ‘hey, can we stop because I’m in too much pain?’ They want easy. Spontaneous. Normal.”

Murphy raised an eyebrow. “You’re talking about relationships?”

She shrugged. “Or anything close to them.”

He tilted his head, still watching her. “So… you’re saying you’re not relationship material because your leg’s a bitch sometimes?”

“Sometimes?” She shook her head. “You don’t get it. It’s always. Constant. Every single fucking second of the day.”

She didn’t wait for a response—just pushed forward before she lost the nerve.

“Take sex, for example,” she said, words clipped. “You know, it’s kind of… physical? And my body doesn’t exactly cooperate.”

Murphy didn’t interrupt. He just stayed still, listening.

“If I take the brace off, I can’t do half the things most people do. I can’t be on my knees, I can’t put weight on it, I can’t move the way people expect. And even with the brace, some positions hurt like hell.”

The words landed between them like a dropped weight. Her shame sat there with them, humming just under her skin, too loud to ignore.

You did it again. Opened the damn gates. Let the inside spill out. God, Raven, you used to be better at holding this shit together.

She looked up, bracing herself for the wince. The awkward silence. A bad joke. Or worse—a pitying smile.

But Murphy just… shrugged.

“So?”

Her brows drew together. “Murphy, I’m telling you I’m limited. There are things I can’t do.”

“Yeah,” he said again, like it wasn’t news. “And?”

She stared at him. “And guys don’t want that. They want someone who can bend like a pretzel and ride them into the mattress like a goddamn porn star. They want easy.”

More than she liked to admit, those words had gotten under her skin.

Murphy tilted his head like she’d just told him gravity was optional. “Have you ever heard me complain since we started your insane little sex-pact?”

Raven opened her mouth, then shut it.

He smirked. “Exactly. Shocking, I know.”

“That’s not the point—”

“It kind of is. Raven, I’ve never once thought, ‘Man, this would be hotter if she could do the splits while hanging upside down from a ceiling harness.’ I mean—would that be hilarious? Yes. Practical? Fuck no.”

She crossed her arms tightly. “What we’re doing is different. I told you not to expect anything. You’re not here for the good sex—or if you are, then you’re delusional.”

He didn’t react much—but his eyes told a different story. And when he spoke, the roughness in his voice had eased into something almost tender.

“Is that why you keep holding back? Why intimacy’s off the table?”

She didn’t answer right away.

No.

And… yes.

Even if she’d never said it aloud—not even to herself—there was a part of her, hidden deep and small and ugly, that believed it.

She exhaled hard, arms still crossed like a shield. “I work with guys, Murph. I hear the way they talk. I know what they expect. I’ve seen what they want.”

“And I’m a guy.”

“Yeah, but—”

“No but. Look, we both know I’ve been around. I’ve seen and done enough to know there’s no single formula for pleasure. There are a thousand ways to make someone feel good. And I guarantee—with my extensive, rigorously tested, peer-reviewed experience—” he flashed a grin, “—we can find what works for you. Whenever you’re ready, of course.”

Raven blinked. John Murphy had managed to surprise her again. 

“It takes two, you know,” she muttered. “It’s not just about what works for me.”

“Sure,” he said easily. “But let’s be honest—guys? We’re simple creatures. Half of us could jizz in our pants from a good ass shake and a suggestive look. The rest just pretend we need pretzels and pornstars so you’ll think we have standards.”

That surprised a laugh out of her. Murphy’s grin widened.

“Besides,” he added, “if we’re talking bad sex, I’ve got stories.”

“Oh god, no.” She groaned, clapping a hand over his mouth.

He immediately nipped at her fingers with mock offense.

She laughed. “I take it back. Regret. Instant regret.”

He tugged her hand away and kept grinning. “Too late. You opened the floodgates.”

“So,” he continued, stretching out on the couch with that infuriating air of confidence, “the incredibly talented man you now know and benefit from? Wasn’t always like this. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

She shook her head, but the warmth in her eyes betrayed her.

“I’ve fumbled more sex than I’ve nailed. Once I hit my own head on a headboard trying to look suave—nearly concussed myself.”

That earned him a snort.

“True story,” he added with mock solemnity. “And then there was the time I tried a shower rendezvous and slipped on a bar of soap. Dislocated my thumb. Very romantic. Ten outta ten. Highly recommend.”

Another one.

“And you want to hear about my big goodbye to virginity? Remember Ontari? From school? Killer smile, brain of a full-blown sociopath?”

Raven’s brows shot up. “Wait. Ontari was your first?”

That name alone was enough to raise every red flag she had.

Ontari had been the girl in high school—the kind everyone knew, and most tried to avoid.

She was beautiful, brilliant, and ruthless. A queen bee with a mean streak a mile wide.

She didn’t date—she used. And when she got bored, she left them wrecked and wondering how they ever thought they had a chance.

Her family had money, legacy, and a reputation to protect, but Ontari had a habit of tearing through people like they were disposable.

In senior year, she shocked everyone by showing up suddenly pregnant by some college legacy kid from Azgeda University. A senator’s son, if the rumors were true.

She disappeared soon after graduation—vanished into some out-of-state private school or family estate, no one really knew. Or cared.

“What can I say… my early experiences were… formative.”

Raven burst out laughing, and this time it didn’t feel foreign. It felt good—like something inside her had finally unclenched.

Her shoulders dropped a little. The knot in her chest loosened. Even her leg, still propped up in his lap, had stopped throbbing for the first time all morning.

Murphy glanced down at it, one brow raised. “So, how’s the limb of doom?”

She gave him a wry look. “Looser.”

He smirked, leaning in slightly, voice dropping into that lazy drawl. “What can I say? Nurse. Masseuse. Sex oracle. I do it all.”

Raven shook her head, but her smile was still there. “Thanks.”

He nodded and stretched out on the couch a little more, making space and gently tugging her other leg until it rested across his lap with the first.

“So,” he prompted, tone light, “what’s the plan for today? You gonna keep riding out this solo pity party—which, by the way, is so not your brand—or are we accepting fate and cuddling until your leg stops being a complete asshole?”

He shot her a cheeky grin. “For the record, I vote cuddling.”

Raven rolled her eyes, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she shifted just enough to settle in, her head resting on the pillow at her end of the couch.

“How does Nurse-Masseuse-Sex Oracle-Dickhead Murphy usually spend his Saturdays?” she asked, voice dry but tinged with genuine curiosity.

He arched a brow. “Oh, you know, the dream life. Sleeping like the dead until noon. Laundry I forget in the washer for three days. Leftover Chinese that may or may not kill me. Maybe a B-movie marathon if I’m feeling classy. Or video games, because nothing says well-adjusted adult like screaming at twelve-year-olds online.”

He paused for a beat, then added under his breath, “It’s nothing fancy. No cozy brunches or family walks or whatever the hell people with normal lives do.”

Raven looked at him and for a second, saw past the jokes, the attitude. Just him. Alone in his own way, like she was.

“That sounds…” she started.

“Tragic?” he offered, grinning again.

“I was gonna say like a good plan.”

They both smiled.

________

“Checkmate!”

Raven grinned, victorious and absolutely smug, tapping the screen of the tablet with a flourish.

Murphy blinked at the board. “Wait—what?”

“Queen to E7” she said, pointing at the tiny digital piece. “Game over.”

He stared at the board for a long second, then tilted his head like the position personally offended him. “Okay. Alright. What kind of glitchy-ass app is this? That’s the only explanation.”

She laughed. “Or—and hear me out—I just beat your overconfident ass.”

Murphy narrowed his eyes. “Can't be. I am very good at this game. You just know the rules. Barely.”

“And yet… here we are.”

He shook his head, muttering something about divine injustice.

They were still lounging on her couch, tablet balanced between them, a mug of half-drunk tea on the side table, and the remnants of dinner still warm in the kitchen.

In the end, it had been a quiet, domestic kind of day—the kind that crept in when neither of them tried too hard.

The morning had been a lazy sprawl of blankets and half-watched TV, drifting in and out of sleep, skipping lunch without a second thought.

When they finally emerged from their respective nests—Raven from the bed, Murphy from the couch—the rhythm stayed slow.

Raven had started toward the laundry, but Murphy threatened to send pics to Clarke, so she backed off and let herself take the rest she needed.

Later, Murphy went out for groceries—loudly announcing her fridge was a post-apocalyptic wasteland stocked with nothing but expired yogurt and soy sauce. (Not that she told him she managed to sneak in a load of laundry while he was gone.)

He returned with actual food, filled the kitchen with the smell of garlic and sautéed vegetables, and made a delicious dinner.

"I only did it because I refuse to eat like a toddler," he muttered while plating.

After they ate, the competition began. A Mario Kart round (Raven destroyed him), followed by Mortal Kombat (he destroyed her), leaving them even.

So Murphy brought out his best weapon: chess.

He’d learned from his father when he was a kid—one of the few untainted memories. He’d played for years. He thought he had this one in the bag.

He underestimated Raven’s brain.

She learned fast. Read patterns like blueprints. And she played with the same relentless focus she brought to engines and circuitry.

Now, with the tablet game complete and her queen standing smugly victorious, Raven stretched and reached for her crutch.

“All right, chess boy,” she said with a grin. “Time to deal with the consequences of dinner.”

Murphy stood, groaning theatrically. “Guess I deserve this for trusting the tablet. Clearly rigged.”

Raven chuckled and started toward the kitchen, crutch tucked under one arm.

But Murphy raised a hand, stopping her with a look. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold it, Reyes.”

She turned. “What?”

“You’re about to attempt plate transport with crutches. I’m getting disaster movie vibes,” he said, pointing a fork at her like a sword.

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve been a one-leg-show since I was eleven. I’ll manage.”

She turned and started toward the kitchen.

He followed with the rest of the dishes. “Rematch after we clean?”

“You sure you can handle another loss?”

Murphy snorted. “That’s it. I’m bringing out the big guns next time. No more Mr. Nice Knight.”

And then—the crash.

The plate hit the tile with a shattering finality. Too loud. Too sharp. Too familiar.

Raven’s breath hitched. Her whole body stilled. Not just startled—frozen.

Her fingers locked around the crutch. Vision narrowing.

She was six again. Ducking under the kitchen table while her mom screamed at a man whose name she never learned.

She remembered the sting of her mother’s slap after he left. Her fault. It was always her fault.

“Thank you for giving me another reason to say ‘I told you so,’” Murphy called, already looking for something to clean up the mess. “You know how much that means to me.”

She didn’t respond.

She couldn’t move.

Her body was trapped between the memory of pain and the dread it would happen again. She knew it wasn’t logical—but logic had nothing to do with it.

Murphy turned toward her, confusion flickering across his face. His tone softened. “Reyes?”

You’re not there. You’re not there anymore.

She tried to breathe, but her lungs wouldn’t cooperate.

Get out. Think. Name it. That’s step one.

Luna’s voice in her head. A lighthouse in the storm.

“And what if I freeze again?”

“You notice it. Say it to yourself—‘I’m freezing.’ That alone helps. Then breathe. Slow, steady. That tells your body it’s not in danger. And if the person you’re with is someone you trust, tell them. Let them in.”

Murphy moved closer, waving a hand in front of her face. “Uh, hello? Anybody home?”

She flinched. Eyes flying open wide.

He froze too, stepping back instantly. “Whoa. Okay. What the hell just happened?”

Her mouth opened, then closed. Then—

“Freezing.”

The word came out flat. Distant. Like she was reading it off a teleprompter.

Murphy blinked, then his expression shifted. He looked down at the broken pieces. Her bare feet. The tremble in her shoulders.

He got it.

“Okay, it’s just a plate,” he reassured her. “You’re okay. We’re okay. We’ll clean it up. No big deal.”

She didn’t respond. Still stuck.

“But first,” he added carefully, “I need you off the floor so you don’t get hurt, all right?”

Nothing.

He tried a joke. “All right, lazyass, I’m gonna help you—but just this once.”

Her nod was barely a breath. But it was enough.

He moved slowly, like you would do with a wounded animal. No sudden moves. One arm slid under her knees, the other behind her back, and he lifted her like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Got you,” he murmured.

Her crutch hit the floor with a dull thud.

He carried her to the counter, setting her gently down. One hand on her thigh, the other brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“Come on, Reyes,” he whispered. “Come back to me.”

Come back to him.

She took a breath. Started the drill.

Five things you can see.

A mug. Murphy’s shirt. The ceiling light. A wrench magnet. His concerned face.

Four things you can touch.

The cool tile. Her tank top. Her hair. His fingers.

Three things you can hear.

Her breath. The hum of the fridge. A car passing outside.

Two things you can smell.

Pasta. Murphy’s soap.

One thing you can taste.

Salt. Her own tears.

Her body slowly began to let go. Muscles uncoiling. Chest loosening.

She nodded, shutting her eyes closed.

“Good girl,” Murphy whispered, relief clear in his voice. Then he stepped away.

No questions. Just a rag and the sound of him cleaning.

She watched him—grateful for the calm. For the space to breathe. For the fact that he didn’t try to fix her. He just made room for her to find her own way back.

When the last piece of porcelain was gone, he nodded toward the living room. “Couch?”

She gave another soft nod.

He came back to her and lifted her into his arms again—his hands sliding beneath her thighs to support her as her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

Her arms looped around his shoulders, clinging tight. And for just one breath—just one—she let herself fold into him, resting her face in the curve of his neck, seeking shelter.

He didn’t mention it.

He set her down, tucked a pillow under her knee, and disappeared into the kitchen. Returned with water. Sat beside her.

They sat like that for a while.

Then Raven spoke, eyes on the carpet. Voice barely above a whisper.

“You weren’t supposed to see that.”

Murphy tilted his head, lips quirking in a mock pout. “Well, I knew you were competitive. Couldn’t stand that I had two mental breakdowns and you had none. I was finally winning, Reyes. First chess, now this. You never let me win.”

She let out the smallest huff of air—a half-laugh, half-exhale—and it almost surprised her. The softest pull at her lips. Reflex, not effort.

“I’m in therapy,” she said, after a beat. “Been for months.”

Murphy’s teasing faded. He looked at her, careful now.

“That’s where… our intimacy deal comes from.” She kept her gaze fixed on some invisible point on the wall behind him. “Back then I was having episodes like tonight’s all the time. Nightmares every night. Freeze responses. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t be.”

She swallowed. “Roan saw one, told me I should talk to his wife. She’s a shrink. I didn’t want to. But I went.”

Murphy didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

“I thought it was all about the accident. The leg. The pain.” Her voice thinned out. “But it wasn’t. Or, not just that. Turns out, most of it was… her.”

She didn’t say “my mother.” She didn’t need to.

“I used to think the worst thing she ever did was how she reacted after the accident. The way she looked at me like I’d ruined her life. But it started way before that. She hated me. Always said I was too much or not enough. That no one would ever want me. And I believed her.”

Her eyes dropped to her lap.

“She had these explosions. Of rage. Drunk, sober—didn’t matter. Sometimes she’d just snap. And the men... her men. I never felt safe in my own house. I grew up terrified and trying to disappear. Or be perfect. Anything to keep control.”

Murphy’s posture was open but still, giving her space to keep going.

“I don’t know who my dad was. Could’ve been anyone. She never told me. For a while, I made up stories—an astronaut, a spy, someone good. Someone out there saving the world, too busy doing important things to be here. That’s what I told myself. That’s why he wasn’t around. Not because he didn’t give a damn about his own daughter. But eventually, I stopped pretending. Didn’t matter.”

Her voice faltered again, bitter. “By the time I landed with Sinclair, I already knew how to survive. Keep people away. Don’t expect kindness. Don’t trust softness. I was done hoping.”

She exhaled, slow and uneven.

“Loud noises meant pain. Shouting meant danger. And if I kept people at a distance all these years, it wasn’t because of Finn. He just added fuel to a fire that was already burning. Intimacy—real intimacy—it’s terrifying. Because letting go, even for a second, used to mean…” She stopped, teeth catching her lip. “It used to mean getting hurt.”

Murphy’s throat worked, his eyes still on her like she might shatter if he blinked too hard.

She looked at him then, vulnerable in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to be with anyone. Not even herself.

“I know you’d never hurt me. But in that moment, back in the kitchen—you weren’t you. You were her. I was there again. And I couldn’t pull myself out.”

Her eyes were glassy, a knot tightening in her throat. There went the last of her armor—gone. Now she was bare. Defenseless.

Murphy didn’t speak.

Instead, he moved slowly, rolling up the leg of his jeans. Raven’s gaze followed—and then she saw it: a pale, jagged scar just above his ankle. Long. Angry. Ugly.

“My mom threw a bottle at me,” he said, his voice rough. “One of her bad nights. I ran. She was aiming for the door. Caught me instead.”

Then he pushed up his sleeve and showed her the faint, round cigarette burns lining the inside of his arm.

“These?” he added.“Courtesy of a foster guy. His way of reminding me I didn’t belong.”

Raven’s chest twisted, her already-bruised heart breaking wider for him.

“They made me go to therapy when social services finally stepped in. I never talked. Just joked my way through until they gave up. I haven’t been back since.”

He offered her a crooked smile—thin, sad. “Guess I took the coward’s way out. But you? You’re doing the hard thing, Reyes. That’s braver than I ever was.”

She blinked quickly, trying to clear her vision, her throat thick.

His face was reassuring. His voice held nothing but respect. Admiration.

And his words wrapped themselves around something in her chest she’d never let anyone touch.

“We survived,” she whispered. “That’s what we do, right?”

He nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving hers.

“Yeah. We did.”

Raven swallowed hard and looked down, fingers tugging absently at the string of her sweatpants. Her voice, when it came, was smaller. Fragile.

“I hated her. I still do. But sometimes… I’m still just that kid. The one who wanted her mom to hold her. Just once.”

That was it. The ache behind all the fire, all the fierce independence. The place where the scar hadn’t quite healed.

The raw, desperate truth that she needed far more care and affection than she ever let show.

All she had ever truly wanted was her mother’s love.

Murphy didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to patch the silence with hollow words, didn’t pretend he could fill a void that would never be whole.

He just moved toward her carefully, like she was something precious and infinitely breakable. He reached out, slowly, giving her every chance to push him away.

She didn’t. She didn’t have the strength, not anymore.

Please let me have this. Just this once.

He pulled her into his arms. This time, it wasn’t lust. It wasn’t flirtation. It was something Raven Reyes had never had before: warmth. Shelter. Safety. She tucked her face against his chest, tears soaking through the fabric of his shirt.

It was another first. Another step.

No one had ever held her while she cried—not because she hadn’t needed it, but because she’d never let them.

Or they’d never cared enough to try.

She’d always retreated into herself, a fortress of solitude built against a world that had taught her softness was weakness.

But now, in Murphy's arms, the dam broke completely.

She cried all the tears she’d held back for decades: for that little girl who only wanted to fly among the stars with a mother who was proud; for the woman who fought every single day not to crumble under the relentless weight of a past she couldn't escape. 

For a long time, they didn’t speak. 

Murphy only held her, stroking her hair, his arms a silent declaration to the world that it wasn’t allowed to touch her. 

Not anymore.

He just kept her close, letting her weep, her sobs a raw, visceral sound against his steady heartbeat.

He was her anchor, her unexpected haven.

When the worst of the wave was finally starting to go away, quieting to soft, shaky breaths, he lowered his head. His lips brushed the top of her hair.

“Some parents… they just don’t know how to love right.”

She exhaled, her body sagging into his. 

Those were her words. Her truth.

The beginning of healing.

He didn't release her. Instead, he carefully shifted, easing them both down onto the couch.

He settled her against him, her head resting on his shoulder, his arm still firmly around her, one hand still stroking her hair.

She felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest under her palm, the warmth of his body seeping into hers, chasing away the cold dread. His thumb stroked lazy, slow circles on her spine.

This was a new kind of intimacy.

One that promised healing.

Minutes passed. Her breathing slowed. Her body finally relaxed.

Then, just as she was beginning to drift, he murmured against her hair,

“Doesn’t matter that you had a total emotional breakdown. You still owe me a rematch in chess. Tomorrow, no dodging.”

Raven stirred, a faint, tired smile brushing her lips where they rested against his shirt.

“You’re still gonna be here tomorrow?” she whispered, the question laced with a vulnerability she couldn’t quite hide. Not tonight.

His arm tightened around her.

“Try getting rid of me, Reyes.”

She wouldn’t.

Chapter Text

A crack of thunder jolted her from sleep.

Normally, it would have been enough to make her heart spike, those endless seconds of panic before her mind caught up, before she remembered where she was, before she forced herself to breathe through it.

But this time… there was none of that.

There was only warmth. A deep, pervasive warmth that wrapped around her, pressing in from all sides. 

The rise and fall of breathing, the gentle weight of an arm slung low across her waist, the soft tickle of breath at her hairline.

Weird.

She never woke up like this. The best times she surfaced from sleep, she came up from nothing. The worst, she clawed her way out of nightmares, chased by old ghosts. But always, always alone.

Raven blinked, lashes heavy, the world still soft and hazy as gray morning light seeped through the blinds. 

Rain tapped gently against the windows. Her cheek rested against something solid and warm.

Murphy.

They were still on her couch, exactly as they’d fallen asleep: tangled together, her bad leg awkward but cushioned.

And somehow—against every rule she thought her body and mind obeyed—she felt rested.

Her muscles weren’t knotted. Her heart didn’t ache.

It was so foreign, she barely dared move.

So she didn’t. She stayed still, just breathing him in. The heat of his skin, the soft scratch of stubble against her temple, the slow thud of his heart under her ear.

Tu-tum.

You’re safe.

A low rumble of thunder rolled overhead, and she shifted slightly—just enough to glance up at him without breaking the moment.

His face was soft in sleep, dark lashes brushing his skin, lips parted slightly. 

Memories of the night before flickered through her: the freezing, the unraveling, the way she’d let herself fall apart in front of him—and how he’d stayed.

He stayed. But what would it look like now, in the morning light?

A small, involuntary sigh escaped her lips.

Luna, guess we have a lot to talk about tomorrow. 

At the third crack of thunder, Murphy stirred.

He groaned softly, shifting just enough to bury his face briefly into her hair. His arm tightened instinctively around her waist, the kind of sleepy, unconscious gesture that made something twist sweetly in her stomach.

After a second, his voice came.

“Tell me we’re dead,” he mumbled, “and this is some weirdly cozy afterlife.”

A breath of laughter escaped her, surprised. “Sorry, we’re still alive.”

He cracked one eye open, blinking at her, lips twitching into a faint smirk.“Damn. And here I thought I finally made it to the good place.”

She raised an eyebrow, her hand resting absently on his chest, fingertips brushing there without thinking.“Trust me, if you’re with me, this is definitely not the good place.”

Murphy’s lips curved into a lazy, crooked grin, his thumb tracing idle circles against her back. “Well, if this is my eternal damnation… I can’t say I’m complaining.”

The words slipped through her like warmth, gentle and light, and she shook her head slightly, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, her own lips tugging upward despite herself.

Then, with a familiar spark in his eyes, he added, “Except for the fact that you drooled.”

She let out an actual laugh, swatting his chest. “Did not.”

“Did too,” he shot back, tugging her closer without hesitation. “Evidence is all over my ribs. Left side. Check for yourself. I’m too tired to sue.”

“Well, you snore,” she quipped, arching an eyebrow. “But I’m a gentlewoman, so I didn’t say anything. Learn some manners from me.”

She gave his side a playful pinch, her eyes glinting. Murphy caught her hand immediately, grinning as he pulled it up and laced their fingers together over his chest.

“A gentlewoman,” he repeated. “And a liar.”

There it was—the same old ease between them, as if she hadn’t cried herself out in his arms less than twelve hours earlier. 

Almost normal.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The rain tapped softly against the window, thunder rumbling somewhere in the distance, the world outside muted and blurred.

Then, because her mind wouldn’t just shut up, she murmured, “Murphy… about last night—”

But he cut in immediately.

“If you’re about to thank me for merely providing structural support during a moment of… advanced emotional recalibration,” he said, his lips twitching into a smirk, “then you’re welcome.”

His tone was light, teasing, but his hand came up, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. His fingertips lingered, tracing the curve of her cheekbone with feather-light care.

The touch was soft, without any sexual undertone, but it sent a shiver through her all the same.

It was pure. Simple. Affectionate. And somehow, it was overwhelming.

A strange tangle of emotions stirred inside her—apprehension, longing, disbelief.

This quiet, gentle version of him felt so fragile, so unreal, and some part of her feared it would vanish. That at any second, he’d snap back into the detached flirt, the smooth-talking cynic she knew so well.

“Right,” she murmured softly, a crooked smile tugging at her lips. “Advanced emotional recalibration. Got it.”

He kept looking at her, his gaze intense, like he was searching for something.“You okay?”

“Yeah,” she answered honestly. “I think I am.”

His smile softened, eyes crinkling at the edges. “Good.”

They lay there for another stretch of quiet. The weight of the night before still lingered, but it no longer felt suffocating. 

Finally, Murphy groaned and stretched his arms, grimacing in exaggerated exhaustion.

“But next time we have a breakdown,” he muttered, deadpan, “can we maybe do it on a bed?”

Raven huffed, reluctantly pushing herself upright “You’re the one who said my couch was comfy.”

“Comfy, yeah, but definitely not made for two people. My back is currently filing a formal complaint.”

“I thought you said you had nothing to complain about.”

His smirk deepened as he sat up beside her, raking a hand through his hair. “Almost nothing.”

Then, glancing down at her leg, a clear wave of genuine concern washed over his face. “How’s the recalibrated limb?”

Raven exhaled slowly, pushing up the loose fabric of the sweatpants and flexing her thigh with careful precision. The muscles trembled slightly, but the familiar stabbing pain was dulled.

“It’s… better. Surprisingly.”

Murphy leaned in, his fingers brushing her shin without hesitation.

“Yeah,” he murmured, nodding. “Less red, not as swollen. Keep the ice and the cream, and I’m betting by tomorrow you’ll be off the crutches.”

“Dr. Griffin would be proud of you, Nurse Murphy,” she teased, one eyebrow arching as she gave him a crooked smile.

He grinned, handing her the crutches.“Come on, patient. Bathroom, caffeine, food. In that order. Let’s go.”

She grumbled under her breath, but a strange, almost giddy lightness bloomed in her chest as she followed

When she emerged from the bathroom—face washed, hair combed, and breath freshly minted—Murphy was already there, casually leaning against the doorframe, clearly waiting.

Without a word, she extended a hand, offering him a still-wrapped toothbrush.

He arched an eyebrow but took it.

“Fancy,” he whistled, shaking it playfully like a prize.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t say I never take care of you.”

Ten minutes later, both of them marginally more presentable, they found their way into the small kitchen. 

Murphy waved a hand toward the counter. “Sit. You’re gonna learn something useful. Namely, how to not starve.”

Raven gave him a skeptical look but couldn’t stop the grin tugging at her lips as she clumsily hopped up onto the counter, careful of her leg.

She swung her good one lazily, watching with amused eyes as Murphy rummaged through her fridge.

“Let me guess,” she drawled, arms folded. “You’re about to blow my mind with cereal.”

He turned around dramatically, brandishing eggs, cheese, and a loaf of bread.

“Excuse you,” he said, mock-offended. “You are in the capable hands of a man who makes a mean French toast.”

She snorted. “Big claims.”

“That’s the crown jewel of Murphy’s Hell Kitchen, little miss judgy,” he shot back, waggling his eyebrows. “Prepare to be amazed.”

With exaggerated precision, he cracked an egg into a bowl, then handed her the next one. Raven raised an eyebrow but gave it a go. The egg cracked awkwardly, half the shell falling in. She grimaced.

“Not bad,” he teased, fishing the shell out with a smirk. “We’ll call that… rustic.”

She flipped him off, making him laugh. But she played along, carefully whisking as he sprinkled in cinnamon and sugar.

It was… domestic. The way they moved together in the kitchen—bumping elbows, stealing glances.

At one point, when she reached too fast for the pepper, her fingers slid right through a smear of butter on the counter. She pulled back, inspecting the mess on her hand.

“Nice,” Murphy muttered, reaching automatically for a paper towel.

Instead of taking it, Raven’s lips curved into something mischievous. She leaned forward and, without warning, wiped her buttery fingers straight down the front of his t-shirt.

Murphy froze, staring at her with raised brows, then looked down at the grease stain. “Oh. Oh, that’s how it is?”

She grinned shamelessly. “Yup.”

He gave her a slow, dangerous smirk. “You just started a war, Reyes.”

Before she could react, he swiped two fingers through the leftover shredded cheese and flicked them at her. She yelped as the tiny bits hit her cheek, laughing in disbelief.

“Are you five?” she demanded, wiping at her face, but she was already giggling too hard to sound truly outraged.

“Five? With that aim? Please. At least six and a half.”

She grabbed a spoon and threatened to hit him with it. He held up both hands in mock surrender, eyes twinkling, before lunging to smear flour across her forearm.

“Murphy!” she gasped, laughter bubbling out of her uncontrollably.

They wrestled half-playfully in the tiny kitchen—him smudging flour on her jawline, her retaliating by flicking drops of egg batter at him.

The ridiculousness of it all, the pure, stupid fun, made her stomach ache with laughter, her chest tight in the best way. 

When was the last time she had felt like this?

By the time the French toast was actually done, both of them were a mess. Her tank top had smudges of flour, he had cinnamon dust on his cheek, and they were breathless.

“Here,” Murphy said in mock solemnity, handing her a plate and a mug of coffee with an exaggeratedly formal bow. “Your gourmet breakfast, madam.”

Raven was still catching her breath, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. 

“Your back may be wrecked,” she said, shaking her head, “but your ego’s definitely alive and well.”

“Let’s all sing the Hallelujah,” he quipped, dropping down next to her on the counter with a dramatic sigh.

She started eating—damn it, of course it was delicious—and Murphy, licking cheese from his thumb, nodded towards the living room. “Rematch.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? Already?”

“Deadly serious,” he replied, already sliding off the counter to grab her tablet. “I said I’d have my revenge this morning. It’s happening.”

“Murph, I destroyed you yesterday.”

“Temporary setback,” he corrected her, clicking through the app. “Come on, Reyes. Don’t deny me my redemption.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled, setting down her already empty plate as he perched beside her, tablet balanced between them.

The second game took longer. Murphy played smarter this time, brow furrowed in exaggerated concentration as he muttered under his breath about “psychological warfare” and “rook betrayal.”

Raven teased him relentlessly, stealing bites of his leftover toast as he glared at the board.

Mental breakdowns made her hungry.

“I swear to God you’re cheating,” he grumbled fifteen minutes in as her pieces slowly, systematically, dismantled his. “There’s no other explanation.”

She popped the last piece of toast into her mouth and smirked. “Or maybe you just suck.”

“Maybe I let you win,” he countered, folding his arms as her knight cornered his queen. “Because I’m generous.”

She gave him a look. “Oh, yeah. That’s totally your vibe.”

When she finally won again, he groaned theatrically, leaning back on the counter and tossing a hand over his eyes. “Unbelievable. I’m filing an official complaint.”

“Same department your back’s using?” she teased, nudging his foot with hers.

“Exactly,” he sighed, grinning despite himself.

Raven smiled back.

It wasn’t the morning she expected.

It was better.

__________

“I think we need to talk about my mother.”

Raven didn’t waste time with preambles. The words came out before she could second-guess herself. It was now or never—either she said it or she’d keep running, like she always had.

And she couldn’t afford to run anymore. Not after Saturday night. Not after the way it cracked her open.

Luna didn’t blink. “Alright. I’m listening.”

Raven let out a slow breath. “Something happened this weekend. I—” She hesitated, searching for the thread, her hands restless in her lap. “I was with Murphy. My leg was acting up and… he came over. To help, I guess. We were cleaning up after dinner and I dropped a plate. It shattered. Just a stupid plate. But I—I froze. Completely. It was like time folded in on itself and suddenly I was six again. Bracing for the hit.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I was there. I could smell her perfume. I could feel it—the panic. Like it never left.”

Luna’s gaze stayed soft, as she wrote something in her note. “And then?”

Raven swallowed. “I tried to do what you taught me. Name it. Ground myself. Tell the person I was with. And… it worked. I got through it.”

“That’s important, Raven. You dealt with it. You brought yourself back.”

Maybe all therapists had that strange habit of finding the good even in the middle of hell—or maybe it was just Luna. Maybe it was the way she always seemed to believe people could come through the darkness.

Either way, sometimes… it was a blessing.

“Yeah, I guess,” Raven agreed, exhaling slowly. “Murphy being there… it helped. In some completely unfathomable way.”

She gave a small, tired laugh. “He didn’t freak out. He just… stayed. He picked me up—literally.”

Her throat tightened, the words catching, but she forced herself to keep going.

“So I told him. About her. About… all of it. The things I’ve never said out loud. He didn’t even blink. We just… compared our scars. And then he held me. He didn’t leave.”

She stared down at her hands, her fingers curling loosely.

“Something broke open. Or maybe… maybe something finally settled. I don’t know.” She let out a breath. “But I don’t want to build the wall back up.”

Luna just nodded, her expression open, encouraging.

“My mind keeps screaming the usual,” Raven went on softly. “Run. Hide. It’s too dangerous. I’m too exposed. But—” She shook her head, her voice finding bits of certainty. “All this pain… everything I’ve done to fight my way back to myself… it has to mean something, right? I didn’t survive all this just to stay trapped in the same old chains.”

The breath she drew trembled, but determination anchored it.

“I’ve been dodging this for months. Skirting around it because it felt too big. But I don’t want to avoid it anymore. I want to face it. I want to work through it. Really work through it.”

She lifted her eyes at last. “I’m ready to talk about my mother. About what she did to me. And about what I became because of it.”

For a heartbeat, the room was silent. But it wasn’t an empty silence. It was full, heavy with understanding, with respect.

Then Luna smiled. Small, warm, proud.

“Another brave step, Raven,” she said gently. “A hard one. Maybe the hardest. And I’m proud of you for taking it. We’ll go at your pace. I’ll be here for all of it.”

Something inside Raven shifted. The weight didn’t disappear. But it eased.

Just a little. Just enough to breathe.

“Let’s do this,” she murmured. “No more running.”

Luna nodded. “Let’s begin.”

__________

She stepped out of Luna’s office with her shoulders lower than when she’d walked in. She wasn’t crying, but her face was pale, her jaw tight, and the emotional fog still clung to her like static.

It had been hard—brutal, even—but necessary.

She’d started by telling Luna about the memory that had resurfaced during her freezing episode: under the table, the scream, the slap.

Luna had gently guided her to recount it in the present tense, as if she were there, reliving every detail.

At one point, in the visualization, her adult self had stepped into the memory to protect her younger self. It had wrecked her. Painful.

Powerful.

She was spent.

The road to change passed through moments like that. And she still had miles to go. But she’d started.

She made a beeline for the vending machines, punching the button for a bitter, too-hot coffee. As she waited, her phone buzzed: Clarke had sent a thumbs-up emoji in response to her update about her leg. 

The skin was still sore, but no longer red, so she was wearing her brace again—this time with extra padding she’d MacGyvered together to keep the pressure off. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it worked.

Another notification lit up: Murphy had sent her a silly meme about chess. She huffed a quiet breath of amusement while she typed.

Raven: Sore loser 😌

The cup had just finished pouring when she heard someone call her name.

“Raven?”

She turned, blinking, and spotted Harper waving from across the waiting area near the windows. Monty sat beside her, tablet balanced on his lap, two steaming cups of something in front of them.

“Hey,” Raven said, surprised. “What are you guys doing here?”

Harper stood and crossed over, her smile warm and easy.

 “Treatment check-in. We had a consult with the fertility specialist—just bloodwork today. Nothing too dramatic.”

Raven’s eyebrows lifted. “So you guys really decided to go for it?”

Harper’s eyes softened, a flicker of quiet excitement in them. “Yeah. We started the treatment a couple of weeks ago—took us forever to make the call, but… so far, the team here has been incredible.”

“Yeah,” Monty added with a small grin. “Thanks for recommending Dr. Tsing. We owe you for that.”

Raven shook her head. “I just sent you her name. You don’t owe me anything.”

“We do,” Harper disagreed gently, nudging Monty’s arm. “You kind of saved our future kids’ chances at existing.”

Raven gave an awkward shrug but smiled. “Whatever.”

“Come sit with us,” Harper offered, nodding toward the empty seat beside them.

Raven hesitated, her fingers tightening around the flimsy vending machine coffee cup. She was already running late for work—her session had run longer than usual.

But something about Harper’s open expression made her pause. She exhaled and crossed the room, lowering herself into the chair.

The window let in soft morning light, the murmur of the clinic filling the space around them.

“So,” Raven asked, glancing between them, “how’s it going?”

“Honestly?” Harper’s face lit up. “Better than we thought. The staff here are amazing—realistic, but really kind.”

“And,” Monty added, “they suggested we join a support group. Weekly sessions, sharing, some education. Not exactly our scene, but… it’s been good. Actually good. We’re waiting for today’s group to start in ten minutes. Full service kind of day.”

“Which means Monty’s probably gonna cry again,” Harper teased, her eyes glinting.

“I am perfectly comfortable with expressing my emotions,” he deadpanned, earning a laugh from both women.

Raven blinked, caught off guard by how light they seemed. How normal they looked, despite everything.

Then Harper tilted her head, her voice gentle. “What about you? Physical therapy? How’s your leg, by the way?”

The lie was right there. She could just nod, shift the subject, move on. But then she caught the way they were looking at her— they’d just trusted her with their truth.

No more running.

Her fingers clenched around the paper cup. She swallowed. “Actually… no. I’m… I’m here for therapy. Psychotherapy. I’ve… been coming for a while now.”

She kept her eyes down as she said it. Easier that way.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Harper’s hand closed gently over hers.

“Hey,” she murmured softly, her voice warm with sincerity. “That’s amazing. I’m really proud of you.”

Monty nodded, his smile kind. “I get it. Talking about it—it changes things. Even when it’s hard.”

Raven blinked fast, looking away toward the window as her throat tightened unexpectedly. Her lips twitched into something between a smile and disbelief.

“Yeah, well. Work in progress.”

Harper gave her hand a soft squeeze before letting go. “Aren’t we all.”

They didn’t ask for details. They didn’t push. They just sat with her as the morning light spilled through the windows, sipping bad coffee and waiting for their names to be called.

No more running.

__________

Monday had barely begun, and Raven already felt like she was carrying enough emotional baggage to last the entire week. Honestly, she was one spilled coffee away from calling it quits entirely.

But the universe—because of course—wasn’t done with her yet.

The second she stepped into the office, powered up her computer, and tugged her ponytail tighter, her inbox pinged. She groaned under her breath.

One new message.

Subject: MANDATORY Attendance – Eligius Gala

Her stomach dropped. Resigned, she clicked it open.

From: Diyoza, Charmaine

To: Reyes, Raven

Subject: MANDATORY Attendance – Eligius Gala

Raven,

As you are no doubt aware, the Eligius Annual Gala is scheduled for this Friday evening. Your attendance is required.

As part of the evening’s program, the project you developed alongside Mr. Shaw—the advanced power conduit model—will be presented during the Innovation Spotlight. This is a significant achievement for the department, and your presence is not only expected but necessary.

Additionally, Mr. Shaw will be receiving formal recognition for his contributions to the project. You should be there to show support.

Formal attire is required. Details regarding venue and schedule are attached.

Thank you in advance for your cooperation.

—Charmaine Diyoza

 Head of Operations

 Eligius Corporation

Raven stared at the screen, jaw tight.

 It wasn’t an invitation. It was an order.

So much for her brilliant plan to skip the damn Gala this year. Now, not only would she have to find a dress that didn’t scream “last-minute clearance rack” and orthopedic shoes that didn’t make her look ninety, but she’d also have to stand there while everyone toasted Shaw for a project she still felt she’d failed.

Perfect.

She sighed, opening the attachment with the event details, already debating whether she should book an extra session with Luna before she ended up hurling a glass of champagne at someone’s head.

Her phone buzzed. Murphy.

She unlocked it to find his reply to the text she’d sent earlier.

Murphy : I don’t really do losing, so I didn’t have enough time to practice the emotional regulation part of it. How was the shrink appointment btw?

Raven smiled despite herself. He'd remembered. She had only mentioned it yesterday, a passing thought shared while they were washing breakfast dishes.

Raven : A lovely walk through the hellscape of my memory lane. Still better than being forced to go to the Eligius Gala this Friday, though.

Then, suddenly, a thought struck her.

Why not?

Her thumbs moved before she could second-guess herself.

Raven: Any chance you own a suit?

A pause.

Murphy: 🤨

Raven: Five-star hotel. Open bar. Room included. All expenses paid.

There was another pause.

Murphy: 🤔 Five stars, huh? All paid? All I have to do is survive a few hours of boring conversations and pretentious corporate types? Reyes, you really do know the fastest way to my heart.

Her lips twitched. She swallowed a breath, then typed:

Raven: I’m gonna need someone to hold my purse while I ugly-cry, just so you know. Shaw’s getting an award for the project I couldn’t fix.

For a beat, there was no reply. Then his message popped up:

Murphy : I’ll send you a pic of my outfit so we can make sure it matches.

She arched an eyebrow, texting back:

Raven : So… that’s a yes?

A few minutes later, her phone buzzed again.

This time it wasn’t words—it was an image. A quick, ridiculous doodle: a cartoon cockroach in an outrageously glittery ballgown and tiara standing next to a smug-looking cartoon raven in a tuxedo, tipping an imaginary top hat.

Underneath, in his messy scrawl, he’d written:

Ball night, baby. We’re gonna be the hottest in the room.

Raven shook her head, grinning as her fingers flew across the screen.

Her Monday had just gotten slightly better.

__________

“Well, look who’s pretending to have her life together.”

Raven adjusted the halter strap of her dress for the third time, fingers fidgeting against the smooth silk as if she could somehow fix what was underneath it—the tight coil of nerves wound deep beneath her ribs.

The dress clung in all the right places: soft, blush-pink silk that shifted toward a dusty rose under the light, with sleek lines and a minimal cut. The halter neckline dipped just enough, the back left bare to the middle of her spine in a way that felt both elegant and quietly bold. The pleated skirt fell in weightless folds along her hips and legs, the fabric moving like water with each breath. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t trying too hard.

It looked… composed. 

Her hair was pulled into a low braided bun—an effort that had taken three YouTube tutorials, two near meltdowns, and half a pack of bobby pins. The makeup was understated but flawless: soft bronze on her eyes, a whisper of highlight on her cheekbones, lips tinted the faintest pink. 

Her eyes flicked down, her breath catching slightly as they landed on her leg. The brace was hidden beneath the soft layers of silk, and the pale gold sandals—orthopedic, but barely noticeable—completed the illusion.

She could move. She could stand.

That was enough.

For a moment, she just stood there, hands resting lightly on the edge of the dresser, staring at her reflection. The small pearl-drop earrings she wore—the same from Clarke’s wedding—caught the light with every breath.

“It’s just one night,” she murmured under her breath. “It’s not a war.”

And this time, you’re not going alone.

The doorbell rang. Her heart jumped, her pulse racing faster than she liked.

Her plus-one had arrived, fashionably on time.

“Okay,” she squared her shoulders, palms pressing once for balance. “Let’s try not to fall apart in flats, Reyes.”

She grabbed her clutch and moved, each step controlled. Her mind spun through the usual script—something about him being late, or how absurdly overdressed she was for someone who would honestly rather be grabbing a burger at a run-down 7-Eleven.

She unlocked the door, exhaling as she swung it open, the quip already forming on her lips.

But nothing came out.

Because Murphy stood there, wearing a dark suit that fit too well for someone who claimed not to care about things like suits. The jacket hugged his frame, his black shirt unbuttoned just enough to break the rules, and his hair had that perfect kind of mess to it, like he'd run his hands through it without thinking.

He looked… unfairly good.

She blinked, momentarily thrown off her game.

He grinned the second he saw her. That slow, lazy grin that somehow always found its way past her defenses. “Well… damn.”

Raven found her voice, arching a brow. 

Get a grip, Reyes, 

“You cleaned up,” she said, brushing invisible lint from her dress. “Thank god. Though you still look like you borrowed that suit from someone who pays taxes.”

His grin widened, his gaze sliding down the length of her body and back up. When his eyes met hers again, it made the back of her neck heat.“You’re gonna ruin rich people for me, Reyes.”

She rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched in a way she couldn’t stop. “Shut up.”

But he didn’t. Of course not. “I’m serious. Here I was thinking I’d work the room, find myself a sugar daddy, retire early… but with you looking like that? No chance. Nobody’s gonna look at me twice.”

A short laugh escaped her, the anxiety from earlier starting to dissolve. “Poor you. Must be hard living in my shadow.”

He leaned casually against the doorframe, hands sliding into his pockets. “It’s brutal, really. But I’m willing to suffer through.”

She gave him a playful smile, grabbing her keys from the table by the door.

“Come on, cockroach,” she teased lightly. “Let’s get you to the ball.”

Murphy straightened, offering his arm with exaggerated politeness. “Lead the way, raven.”

The drive to the hotel was comfortable, filled with soft music and the occasional teasing glance. But as the Arkadian Grand came into view, Raven felt her throat tighten.

The place was ridiculous. Gleaming marble floors, sweeping staircases, golden accents polished to the point of absurdity.

The ceilings stretched so high they could have housed clouds. The air itself smelled expensive— crisp, subtle, probably piped in through some ridiculous ventilation system designed to make people feel important.

Her sandals clicked softly on the polished floor as they stepped inside. She tugged absently at the hem of her dress, suddenly hyper-aware of how it hugged her curves, how the outline of her brace caught the light every time she shifted.

Murphy, of course, looked completely at ease. Relaxed. Effortless. He whistled low under his breath. “Damn. So this is how the other half lives.”

An immaculately dressed host greeted them with a practiced smile, clutching a clipboard. “Welcome. You’re with the Eligius Corporation event, correct?”

“Unfortunately,” Raven muttered, barely loud enough to be heard. “ Raven Reyes.”

Without missing a beat, the host handed her a sleek black keycard. “We’ve checked you into a suite on the twelfth floor for the night. If you need anything—concierge, room service—don’t hesitate.”

She barely had time to murmur a quick “Thank you” when Murphy’s brows shot up as he took the keycard from her fingers.

“A suite? How much money does Eligius make?” he asked, incredulous.

“Not enough to give me a raise, apparently,” she shot back dryly, eyeing him sideways.

He smirked, slipping the card into his pocket. “Well, at least we know the minibar’s coming home with us.”

That dragged a small huff of amusement from her, loosening the knot in her stomach as they crossed the sprawling lobby.

And then—

“Reyes!”

Her entire body tensed before she even turned.

Wick.

Great.

He stood near the bar, half his shirt untucked, no jacket, a drink already in hand. Beside him, one of the younger interns—bright-eyed, awkward—shifted uncomfortably, clearly regretting her life choices.

Raven pasted on the thinnest of smiles. “Wick.”

“Well, shit,” Wick drawled, sauntering over with that same cocky tilt to his grin. His eyes flicked between them, narrowing slightly when they landed on Murphy before sliding back to Raven. “Didn’t think you’d actually show this year. What happened? No last-minute escape plan? No ‘tragic plumbing emergency’?”

“Not so lucky,” Raven said coolly, her voice smooth as glass.

Murphy stood just behind her, expression unreadable, posture deceptively relaxed—but there was a tension to him, the kind that said he was sizing Wick up without even trying. 

Wick squinted, snapping his fingers. “Wait. You— You’re that guy from the game night, right? Jack?”

“John,” Murphy corrected him.

Wick’s grin widened, recognition sliding into place. “Right. Right. You are the one who spent the whole time glaring at me like I’d kicked your dog or something.” He let out a short laugh, then tipped his glass in a mock salute. “Makes sense now. You were trying to get into Reyes’ pants. We’ve all been there, man. Good luck with that.”

The words landed sharp—dipped in fake humor but cutting all the same. Raven’s jaw tensed before she could stop it, heat flashing across her cheeks. 

Anger. Disgust.

God. And to think there was a time she’d actually imagined losing her virginity to him. The memory made her stomach churn.

Her mouth was already open, breath caught halfway to snapping something back, when she felt it—Murphy’s hand brushing the small of her back. A silent hold.

Then his voice—quiet, dangerous in its calm.

“Wow, and here I thought I was supposed to be the asshole in the room. Guess I forgot to practice my misogynistic one-liners this morning.”

Smooth. Controlled.

“Word of advice?” he went on, almost conversational. “You might wanna be careful how you talk about her. Some people don’t take kindly to that kind of disrespect.”

And without missing a beat, his arm slid casually around Raven’s waist, pulling her in just enough that the message was clear. The movement was easy, but when she glanced up at him, she caught the glint in his eyes.

Cold. 

A warning Wick wasn’t smart enough to read.

“Relax,” he muttered, rolling his eyes, lifting both hands in mock innocence. “Jesus. Just messing around.”

Murphy’s grin didn’t budge. “Not with her, you’re not.”

The words hung in the air, enough to make Wick falter for half a second. Raven let out a dry breath, somewhere between a laugh and an exasperated sigh.

“Okay, boys,” she cut in, arching an eyebrow as she glanced between them. “Can we not make this into some National Geographic dominance display? We have places to be.”

Wick gave a half-hearted chuckle, already backing off with a lazy shrug. “Whatever. Good seeing you, Reyes.”

“Yeah,” she replied flatly, flashing a tight, unimpressed smile. “Lovely as always.”

With that, he drifted off toward the main hall, the poor intern trailing after him, and the tension in the air dissipated almost immediately.

Murphy shot her a sidelong glance, the smirk still playing at the corners of his mouth. “Was that too much?”

Raven huffed out a breath, shaking her head as her lips twitched upward.

“Nah,” she murmured, poking him lightly in the chest with one finger, “that was… annoyingly hot, actually. But for the record, if you ever actually get into a fistfight over me? I’m leaving you to bleed on your own.”

“Fair enough. Though, I gotta say—your coworkers? Delightful bunch.”

She rolled her eyes, scoffing. “Wick’s not a coworker. He’s more like… an office fungus. No matter what you do, he keeps showing up. Highly resistant to all treatments.”

Murphy barked out a laugh, then gave her a mock look of horror. “And to think you were actually considering letting that guy be the one to introduce you to sex and pleasure…”

Raven shot him a glare that didn’t quite reach her eyes, the corners of her mouth twitching. “Well, you did refuse and told me I was crazy, if I remember right.”

His grin only deepened. “Still think you are.”

She let out a quiet huff, equal parts exasperated and amused, then shook her head. They started walking toward the ballroom, the low murmur of voices spilling softly through the heavy double doors just ahead.

Murphy nudged her gently with his shoulder. “Let’s go crash your fancy dinner before I pick an actual fight and get us both thrown out.”

“I wouldn’t mind, honestly,” she muttered under her breath, smoothing the skirt of her dress with restless fingers. 

He extended his arm towards her. “After you, Reyes.”

The fabric of his suit was soft beneath her fingers.“Okay, showtime.”

And together, they stepped through the doors.

The ballroom was another level of opulence. Crystal chandeliers dripping light onto silk-covered tables, an actual string quartet playing something that sounded suspiciously like a classical remix of a pop song.

Each table was perfectly set, small floral centerpieces and printed name cards. Raven scanned until she found theirs—Table Eleven.

“Here we go,” she pointed, steering them toward it.

Already seated were Ryker and his wife, Delilah—who looked stunning and vaguely bored. Shaw was there too, dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit, looking every inch the charming golden boy. Beside him sat his mother, whom Raven recognized from Unity Day—elegant, warm-eyed, the kind of woman who made you want to sit up straighter.

And, of course, the boss herself: Diyoza, sharp in an ice-white dress, paired with her long-suffering fiancé, Paxton McCreary, who looked like someone had just made him eat broccoli in public. Rumor had it he was ex-military turned rogue. Now he lived largely on Diyoza’s clout and paycheck. Raven honestly had no idea how their daughter, Hope, had turned out such a good kid.

“Raven,” Diyoza greeted with a nod. “Glad you made it.”

Raven offered a tight smile and pulled out a chair.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she replied smoothly, then lowered her voice to Murphy as they sat, “Because apparently that’s mandatory presence.”

He nudged her knee under the table. She gestured toward him with what she hoped was a casual nod. “Everyone, this is John Murphy. A friend.”

Murphy gave a small wave, his usual irreverent smirk in place. “Hey.”

The first to respond was Shaw, seated directly across from them, his tie knotted a little too perfectly.

“Miles Shaw,” he introduced, reaching across the table to shake Murphy’s hand. “New guy with the desk next to Raven’s. She’s been a lifesaver since I got here.”

He smiled, then tilted his head toward the woman beside him. “This is my mom, Martha—the only woman classy enough to agree to be my date tonight.”

Raven took a sip of water—too quickly—and nearly choked.

Fantastic. Now she was standing across from the guy whose invitation she’d declined, while sitting with Murphy. The universe was laughing.

“Nice to meet you,” Murphy said politely, shaking Martha’s hand.

“Ryker Desai,” came the introduction from Shaw’s left. “And this is my beautiful wife, Delilah.”

Murphy nodded to both of them with a casual ease. Diyoza and McCreary, predictably, didn’t bother to introduce themselves.

Ryker’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Murphy, then he snapped his fingers, pointing. “Wait. I remember you. You’re the lasagna guy.”

Murphy’s grin spread slow. “I’ve been called worse.”

Shaw raised a brow, puzzled. “Uh… what?”

“It was before you got here,” Ryker explained. “He showed up at the office one morning and left a portion of lasagna for Raven.”

Her prize of shame—the lasagna. After that disastrous date with Cage Wallace. A lifetime ago.

“It looked amazing,” Ryker went on. “I remember Raven demolishing half the tray for lunch without offering so much as a bite.”

“I didn’t know you ate carbs, Ryker,” Raven shot back dryly.

Delilah snorted. “Oh God, your gym bro reputation really is known at work.”

“We’re family,” Ryker quipped with a grin. “No secrets.”

They all laughed. Maybe, Raven thought, she’d survive the night after all.

Then came a voice that cut through the warmth. “Are you a chef, John?”

Diyoza was folding her napkin with the kind of precision that felt vaguely threatening. Her eyes pinned Murphy like she was dissecting him.

He didn’t blink.

“Only for this one,” he said with a small tilt of his head toward Raven. “I work at The Dropship. It’s a bar.”

“Charming,” McCreary murmured, swirling his wine like it was poison he was preparing to pour. “I know that place. It’s… characteristic. So you’re in hospitality.”

Raven stiffened beside Murphy. Or maybe not surviving after all.

She knew that tone—polite on the surface, but layered with a subtle condescension underneath. The kind meant to shrink someone without them even realizing it.

Murphy didn’t look bothered. “Technically, yeah,” he replied. “I’m also in the business of stopping drunk execs from embarrassing themselves on karaoke night. Great transferable skills.”

Delilah giggled behind her hand. Ryker smirked into his glass. But Diyoza’s lips pressed into the thin line of a polite predator.

“I see,” she said coolly. “Well. I suppose everyone has a path.”

Murphy shifted beside her, and Raven now could feel the tension coil through his muscles. He was about to snap something back, but she got there first.

Her voice was calm, almost breezy, but the blade underneath was unmistakable.

“Murphy manages a busy establishment where he deals with people at their absolute worst,” she said, her eyes fixed on Diyoza as she sipped her drink. “That takes more patience, shrewdness, and strategic thinking than most executives I’ve met. You need to be an expert at de-escalation, crisis management, and reading people. Skills that, frankly, are critically undervalued in places like this.”

The words hit the table like a stone in water, the ripples silent but unmistakable.

The waiter appeared just in time with the first course—the clink of plates and polite thank-yous filling the sudden, awkward quiet.

Then, mercifully, Ryker cleared his throat and shifted the topic.“So, has anyone heard the rumors about Eligius expanding into Central Asia? I heard the board’s been sniffing around for months.”

The others leaned into the safer waters of business gossip, the tension dissolving around them.

Murphy, still grinning sideways, leaned in just enough that only Raven could hear him. His breath brushed her ear. “What was that? Because I’m definitely turned on right now.”

She huffed softly, her lips twitching despite the anger still simmering under her skin.

“I fucking hate people who think they’re better than everyone else,” she muttered back, not looking at him. “And about your problem—” her voice dropped a notch, bold, “—we’ll do something about it later.”

He clicked his tongue, murmuring, “Promises, promises.”

Before she could reply, Shaw turned toward her, his expression warm in that glossy, polite way of his.

“You look really great tonight, Raven,” he said, genuine admiration in his voice.

She blinked. “Oh. Thanks.”

Martha Shaw beamed, patting her son’s arm fondly.

“I always tell Miles he ought to spend time with people like you,” she said, her tone friendly but just edged with suggestion. “Smart, beautiful, hardworking… It’s a rare combination these days. He works too much, you know. Always has.”

“Oh, Mom,” Shaw whined under his breath, clearly embarrassed but smiling despite himself.

But Martha wasn’t done. She chuckled and leaned in conspiratorially toward Raven.

“Did he ever tell you about the time he got so stressed before his college entrance exams that he locked himself in the bathroom for three hours? My husband and I thought we’d have to call the fire department.”

Raven let out a polite laugh—the kind she’d perfected over the years.

“Us engineers are all overachievers,” she offered with a small smile.

“Okay, Mom, enough with the public humiliation in front of my department.”

“I’m not embarrassing you, I’m showing you off. My brilliant son. You’re the star of the show tonight, and I’m so proud of you.”

The genuine warmth in her voice was both heartwarming and—unexpectedly—a punch to the gut.

Raven’s gaze shifted, taking in the easy laughter between Shaw and his mother, the natural affection flowing between them. 

Martha touched her son’s arm as she spoke, her face lit with the kind of pride Raven had only ever seen in movies. No bruises hidden beneath polite conversation. Just… love.

Family.

Out of the corner of her eye, Raven caught Murphy’s face. The usual smirk was gone. His mouth set in a tight line, eyes darker in a way she recognized instantly.

He was watching too.

It wasn’t Shaw’s fault. Or his mother’s.But still—that image. That perfect snapshot of what people meant when they said normal.

A clean life. A future made of straight lines and soft landings.

And she and Murphy? They weren’t built for that.

They never had been.

Raven forced her expression neutral, still smiling at something Martha had just said, but under the table, her fingers found Murphy’s thigh. She pressed lightly—just enough to say I’m here.

He didn’t hesitate. He slid his hand over hers, fingers threading through hers without a word.

The conversation flowed gently after that. Plates of food came and went—delicate courses that looked too pretty to eat.

Delilah leaned in toward Martha, her expression equal parts amused and desperate. “I’m seriously out of tricks. My boys refuse to touch anything green. I’ve tried everything.”

Martha let out a warm chuckle. “Oh, I remember those days. My Dani was allergic to anything green until… well, she still has trouble. Some battles you never fully win.”

Murphy, surprisingly, cut in with a smirk. “The key is disguising it. Carrot muffins, zucchini hidden in lasagna—hide the evidence before they catch on.”

Delilah laughed, shaking her head. “Tried. Failed. They’re too smart. I blame their father.”

Murphy didn’t give up. “Blend the veggies and mix them with stronger flavors. Spinach in meatballs. Pureed zucchini in pasta sauce. They’ll never taste it if the seasoning’s right.”

“Next time I’ll take notes,” Delilah said with a laugh, raising her glass. “Or better yet, you two need to come to us for dinner one of these days. John, you can show me your tricks in person.”

Raven, who had been quietly working on her filet mignon, raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smile. “Careful, he’ll actually show up. And steal your wine while he’s at it.”

Murphy flashed a shameless grin. “Guilty.”

“I’ll give you two bottles of Chardonnay myself if you help me get my kids to eat something other than beige food.”

Their end of the table dissolved into soft laughter. Raven’s eyes lingered on Murphy, her expression softening despite herself. “Look at you,” she murmured, voice just loud enough for him to catch, “What are you now? A secret mom-blogger?”

Murphy shot her a sideways wink. “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”

“Apparently,” she murmured, her lips quirking.

And it struck her—how absurdly charming it was to see him like this. Relaxed. Casual. Playful even in a suit. He wasn’t putting on a show. He wasn’t playing any part. He was just… himself.

And since when did she want to kiss him so badly?

The moment was interrupted as the lights shifted, drawing everyone’s attention to the stage where Diyoza stepped gracefully to the podium.

The murmur of voices faded as she began to speak, her voice smooth and confident.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us tonight to celebrate not only the future of Eligius but the people who make that future possible. And tonight, I have the privilege of honoring one of our brightest new talents. He’s been with us only a short time, but his dedication, leadership, and brilliance made this year’s successful launch a reality. So please join me in welcoming to the stage the man behind the numbers, Mr. Miles Shaw.”

The room erupted in polite applause, heads turning toward their table as Shaw rose, a flicker of embarrassed humility crossing his face. Ryker clapped him on the back as he adjusted his jacket and made his way toward the spotlight.

“That's my boy,” Martha called, clapping enthusiastically.

Raven clapped too, the movement automatic, polite. She raised her glass and offered a quiet smile. Her stomach tightened out of sheer reflex… but strangely, the sting she’d been bracing for never came.

Weird.

She’d been waiting for the usual shame, the guilt, the heavy weight of failure—but it washed over her like a distant wave that had already passed. She exhaled slowly.

Then, just above the sound of applause, Murphy leaned in, his breath warm against her ear, his arm draped casually along the back of her chair.

“Damn, he played the Nice Mom card. Now I can’t even insult him—not with her right there.”

The quiet laugh that escaped her was genuine this time, warmth threading through her chest. She shifted slightly, glancing at him, her eyes bright.

 “I’m okay,” she murmured softly. “Really.”

Murphy’s gaze held hers for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small, approving smile. He gave a single nod, his fingers brushing hers beneath the table.

And she meant it. She was okay.

On stage, Shaw cleared his throat at the podium, clearly unused to the spotlight but managing a small smile as he adjusted the microphone.

“Uh, thank you,” he began, his voice modest but clear. “Honestly, I’m not really great with speeches, so I’ll keep this short. I just want to say I’m incredibly grateful to be part of this team and this company. This project wasn’t just mine—it was the work of an entire crew of dedicated, brilliant people who made it happen. I’m proud to stand here representing them tonight. And…” He hesitated, then smiled a little wider. “Thanks to my mother, who’s here, who still somehow believes I’m a genius, even when I forget where I put my own phone.”

Laughter rippled softly through the audience. Martha dabbed at her eyes.

“Thank you, all of you,” Shaw concluded, nodding to Diyoza as the applause swelled again. He stepped back from the podium, his face still faintly flushed but smiling.

Diyoza returned, raising her champagne flute. “Thank you, Miles. And now, to continue the celebrations…” Her smile widened slightly. “The floor is open. I invite you all to join us for dancing. Don’t be shy.”

The music swelled softly through the speakers, the smooth notes of the string quartet fading out and giving way to something livelier—something meant to get people on their feet. The lights shifted too, dimming just enough to cast a warm glow over the polished dance floor.

Couples began drifting toward the center: Ryker and Delilah were the first, already laughing as they found a rhythm. Wick dragged the poor intern along, clearly thinking far too highly of himself.

Raven sat back in her chair, watching them. Her fingers drummed idly on the table, her good foot tapping in time with the beat.

Their table was almost empty now—Martha had excused herself to the bathroom, Shaw was being paraded from group to group by Diyoza, and McCreary had vanished after the first course, not that anyone missed him.

A hand appeared in front of her. She blinked, lifting her eyes.

Murphy.

“Let’s dance,” he said simply.

Raven blinked. “You’re joking.”

"Do I look like I’m joking?"

"I'm not exactly in my shake-your-booty attire," she countered, giving him a flat look. "It's still a hazard to walk in this without toppling over."

“Good thing you’ll have me to catch you, huh?” His smirk deepened. “Come on, Reyes. You can’t leave me out there alone with these corporate zombies. Besides, I wanna show off.”

Against her better judgment, her lips twitched. “Show off what exactly? Your questionable rhythm?”

“Exactly,” he said without missing a beat. “I’m very committed to mediocrity.”

Raven huffed, shaking her head, but she slid her hand into his anyway. His fingers closed around hers and he helped her up with practiced ease.

They made their way to the dance floor, weaving past the tables. The music was upbeat but smooth, something swing-inflected yet modern. Not exactly her scene, but somehow… it didn’t matter.

She hovered awkwardly, feeling eyes—real or imagined—on her, the familiar tightness pulling at her spine.

But Murphy? Murphy was an idiot.

The second they stepped into the crowd, he started moving like a complete fool—over-exaggerated hip sways, wild spins, some move that looked like half of a moonwalk and half of a drunk stumble. All done with the same cocky grin, all utterly unbothered.

Raven barked out a laugh before she could stop herself. “Oh my god, stop.”

“Never,” Murphy grinned, spinning her gently, careful with her balance but making her twirl just enough to draw a few smiles from the other couples. “We’re already here. Might as well ruin it properly.”

She couldn’t help it. Bit by bit, her muscles eased, her smile stretched, and she started moving with him. Clumsy at first, uneven—but the weight of her leg faded in the haze of his ridiculousness.

They weren’t the best dancers in the room, but they were the ones having the most fun.

A few of her colleagues from other departments passed by—an IT tech she barely knew, one of the lab managers—and Raven managed polite nods, but she didn’t let go of Murphy. 

Then, as the upbeat track faded, the atmosphere shifted.

A slow piano melody that seemed to float through the air. The kind of music that belonged to whispered confessions and eternal promises.

Around them, couples drew closer. Hands found waists. Heads rested on shoulders. The rhythm of the night slowed to a heartbeat.

Murphy caught her eye, his earlier grin softening. His voice dropped low, just for her. “Only if you want to.”

For a second, Raven’s breath caught. Her pulse stumbled.

It was ridiculous how terrifying the idea of something so simple—so human—as a slow dance could feel. But this wasn’t about the dance. It was about everything beneath it. All the pieces of herself she didn’t usually let anyone near.

But he’d been there for all of it already.

So she nodded. And before she could change her mind, Murphy stepped closer, hands settling with practiced ease: one resting at the small of her back, the other catching her fingers.

Raven hesitated for only a breath, then let her free hand come to rest on his shoulder. They began to move and for once, neither of them spoke.

We've been out on the floor for ten minutes or so

And I looked in your eyes, and they spoke

They said, boy you can't dance

But you've walked through my head

And you stopped to make friends with my hopes

She let herself lean in slightly, breathing him in—faint cologne and smoke, the familiar scent of him. The way he fit against her body, the way he guided them with the barest pressure of his hand—none of it felt distant or uncomfortable.

And her mind—traitorous as always—wandered.

It pulled images, memories. The night on his rooftop, the cocky smirk when she’d kissed him for the first time. The slow unraveling since then: his teasing at Sinclair’s birthday, the cracks in his voice when he talked about his past, the haunted look in his eyes when he’d told her about his mother. The stars. The weight of his arms when she’d broken down in front of him. The secrets. The laughter. Every line of sarcasm. Every touch that didn’t ask for anything except for her to breathe.

How did they get here?

She could barely remember a time when she’d looked at Murphy and seen just the annoying smartass. Or worse. Somewhere along the way, without her permission, he’d become the only person who had seen her at her worst.

And the days I feel weak and the others can't see

You say, I'll love you carefully

So will you love me carefully?

Her throat tightened. Her fingertips brushed the side of his neck, the edge of his jaw, and when their eyes met—blue and brown, familiar and new all at once—something in her chest cracked open.

She wasn’t afraid of him. She wasn’t afraid of herself.

Her heart thudded, certain. “Murphy…” she whispered, voice barely there.

His hand at her back stilled slightly, his head tilting, his gaze searching hers. “Yeah?” he murmured, the softness in his voice making her stomach twist.

She hesitated. The last shards of her old armor clung tight, but they were falling away. Piece by piece. She exhaled, brushing her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

An hour left now and I'm holding your hips

You said, I've not been held like this

I've called many things love, and so many things grief

But they've all just been versions of uncertainty

“I want to,” she said softly, the words tasting strange and thrilling on her tongue. “Tonight. I’m ready to let go.”

For a second, pure surprise flickered through his eyes. But it vanished as quickly as it came. His mouth tilted into the gentlest smile she’d ever seen on him.

“Yeah?” he asked softly, his forehead resting lightly against hers. “You sure?”

She nodded before her brain could trip her up. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Her fingers tightened slightly on his neck, and the arm at her waist drew her in, holding her closer.

She let her head fall against his shoulder, eyes closing briefly. The music swelled around them, but it barely registered. There was only him. 

If you see past my frown and you choose not to leave

Will there be some condition to who I should be

To be loved by you

I want to be loved by you

No, she wasn’t afraid anymore.

__________

The soft click of the bathroom door sounded unnervingly loud in the stillness of the hotel suite.

Raven exhaled sharply, bracing her hands on the marble sink as she stared at her reflection. Her heart hammered, breath catching in her throat.

She splashed cool water on her wrists, pressed damp fingers to the back of her neck, willing herself to steady.

You’re really doing this.

For a moment, she closed her eyes. Then, with a slow exhale, she squared her shoulders, patted her hands dry, and stepped back barefeet into the suite.

Murphy was already there—his jacket discarded over an armchair, sleeves rolled to his forearms. He stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, one hand wrapped around a glass of scotch from the minibar, his eyes fixed on the city lights sprawling far below.

The glow from outside painted soft gold across his face, sharpening the edges of his profile.

For a second, he didn’t notice her. Or maybe he did, and was giving her space.

When he turned, the smirk he wore like second skin was gone. He looked at her the way some people look at the sea at night: drawn in, cautious, half-ready to drown.

“Still sure?”

She didn’t answer with words. Just the tilt of her lips and the smallest nod, like anything louder would shatter it.

The corner of his mouth twitched. He set down the glass without looking away and crossed the room to her, hands finding her waist. The silk of her dress whispered under his fingers. He paused, as if waiting for her to pull away.

She didn’t.

He tilted his head, brushed his lips to hers. And just like that, the distance between them dissolved.

The kiss was patient, coaxing, until her knees felt weak, until the heat sparked in her belly, until she was clinging to the lapels of his shirt, needing more.

And he gave her more.

They undressed each other in slow, clumsy pieces—hands brushing, breathless laughter slipping out when her fingers fumbled the buttons of his shirt.

She pressed her lips to his throat, sucking gently where she knew he liked it, her tongue tracing the line of his collarbone. The way he groaned made heat spark through her core.

His hands slid behind her neck, fingers finding the zipper of her dress. He paused again, giving her a chance to stop it if she wanted. 

Another small nod.

The zipper slid down her back, the dress slipping from her shoulders, pooling at her feet.

She stood in nothing but white lace underwear, her skin prickling with the cool air, her breasts full, nipples tight. The long, pale scar from her accident cut a line across her thigh.

Her breath caught—some old reflex, that voice that still told her to hide—but then his eyes met hers. Blue, dark, and drowning in want.

“Fuck,” he murmured, hoarse, his hands sliding reverently along her waist, thumbs brushing her ribs. “You’re… you’re unreal.”

She felt exposed. She felt beautiful.

He didn't give her a chance to spiral. His mouth found her neck, then the delicate curve of her shoulder. With a smooth, practiced motion, he unclasped the back of her strapless bra. It fell away, landing with a soft rustle beside her dress.

His mouth moved lower, finding her. The first flick of his tongue over her nipple made her gasp, her fingers tangling in his hair. He moaned softly, like just the sound of her breath turned him inside out.

She arched toward him, needing more, and he gave it—taking his time, kissing the swell of her breasts, suckling gently until her breath came in sharp, desperate pulls.

His hands mapped her body, sliding down over her hips, gripping her ass, lifting her effortlessly.

Her arms looped around his neck. Their bare chests pressed together, the friction against her hardened nipples making her whimper against his mouth.

By the time he lowered her onto the bed, her heart was slamming in her ribs, her skin hot, her thighs trembling.

She ran her hand down the front of his slacks, feeling him hard and hot beneath the fabric. She palmed him softly, marveling at the way he twitched under her fingers.

She’d never get tired of knowing she could do that to him.

He kissed her deeper, his tongue stroking hers, while his hand mirrored hers, sliding slowly between her legs.

This time she didn’t stop him.

His fingers brushed over the lace, down the slick heat of her core, then back up, circling her clit in light, patient strokes.

Her back arched. The friction was electric, building fast, pulling breathy sounds from her throat she couldn’t control.

But when he pressed lower—when his finger slid toward her entrance—her body tensed. A sharp, involuntary reaction.

Murphy stopped instantly.

He rested his forehead lightly against hers, breathing hard. His voice dropped to the softest whisper: “Hey. Look at me.”

Her eyes fluttered open.

“We don’t do anything you don’t want. Not tonight. Not ever.”

She swallowed hard, her eyes burning suddenly. “I want to, it’s just…” She faltered, shaking her head. “It used to hurt.”

Something in his expression shifted. He understood. She didn’t have to say Finn’s name.

He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Then we won’t. We don’t need it.”

But then his lips curved into a smirk she knew too well. “Plenty of other things I can do to you, Reyes.”

A sharp breath escaped her, half-laugh, half-moan.

“Yeah?” she managed, her voice husky.

“Yeah,” he rasped.

Murphy kissed his way down her body, every brush of his lips sending little sparks across her skin. When he reached her brace, still strapped to her bad leg, he touched it gently with his fingertips, like it was any other part of her.

“You, my friend, can take the night off. I’ve got her.”

The words, playful and light, made something in Raven’s chest pull tight. She half-laughed through parted lips, her heart fluttering as she watched him kneeling at her feet, fumbling with the buckles of her brace like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Uh—Reyes?” he asked with a crooked grin. “You mind giving me a hand before I break the damn thing?”

A soft bubble of affection rose up in her throat. 

She sat up, her fingers working the clasps while he kept his eyes on her. She set the brace aside on the floor and gave him a dry little smile. “There.”

“First the knees, then the ankle. Got it. Next time I’ll do it right.”

Then, smirking, “Thank you for your assistance, Engineer. From now on I think I can handle it solo.”

Before she could answer, his mouth was on hers again. He guided her back down, lips brushing her jaw, her throat, before his hands found her panties and tugged them down, moving her leg with care.

She was bare to him now. Completely.

And still, he looked at her like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

When his lips found the pale scar on her thigh, he didn’t avoid it. He kissed it. 

She swallowed thickly. “Murphy…”

“Shh,” he murmured, his breath warm over her skin. “I got you.”

And then he was lower.

The first hot press of his mouth between her thighs made her hips jolt, a sharp gasp tearing from her lips.

But he didn’t pull back. He just steadied her with a gentle hand on her stomach, the other anchoring her bad leg on his shoulder, as he worked her with slow, devastating patience.

His tongue moved in circles, teasing, tasting, until she was shaking, her breath coming in short, gasping bursts. Her hands tangled in his hair, her thighs trembled. 

It wasn't like anything she had ever experienced before.

“Murphy—” 

He groaned softly against her, the vibration making her whole body twitch. 

The heat built faster than she could process—hot and consuming, her body arching for more, chasing it, chasing him.

“Don’t stop,” she panted, her voice breaking, her nails digging into his scalp, her other hand clutching her breast, desperate for something to hold on to.

And he didn’t. He kept going, kept worshipping her, until the pressure snapped, until the pleasure broke through her like wildfire.

Her cry was sharp and unguarded as she shattered. The orgasm tore through her so hard she barely registered the sounds leaving her mouth.

When the waves finally ebbed, she collapsed back, her skin slick with heat, her heart pounding so loud she could barely hear.

Murphy kissed his way back up, brushing her hair from her damp face.

“Jesus,” she whispered.

His grin was crooked, smug but soft. “Told you. Plenty of other things I can do to you.”

She snorted, her eyes fluttering half-closed.

Ladies and Gentlemen, John Murphy had just given her the most intense orgasm of her life.

He lay beside her, still half-dressed, one hand caressing lazy circles over her stomach. His eyes were heavy-lidded, the same flush painting his cheekbones that she knew was mirrored on hers.

But she wasn’t done.

Her breath still came in shallow bursts, but her mind was sharp with boldness. 

Slowly, Raven pushed herself up, her lips grazing the sharp line of his jaw.

“Your turn,” she murmured.

“Reyes…” His voice was rough. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” she interrupted softly, her mouth brushing against the burnt scars on his arm, her touch feather-light—just as gentle as his had been with her. “But I want to.”

Murphy stilled, letting her take the lead. When her hands found the waistband of his slacks, he groaned softly, breath catching as she palmed him through the fabric.

She paused, her brow furrowing slightly. “I can’t… be on my knees,” she admitted, voice still trying for steady, but there was a glimpse of the old shame underneath. 

He just nodded without hesitation. “Okay.”

He stood, still breathless, and reached for her hands, guiding her gently as he helped her shift down the mattress until she was sitting near the edge, right in front of him.

No judgment. Just him. Just them.

Her heart thudded as she looked up at him, then down as she worked the buttons of his slacks, pushing them down along with his black boxer briefs.

His cock sprang free—hard, hot, thick—and her breath hitched sharply. She wrapped her fingers around him first, stroking him softly, her thumb brushing the tip as she watched his face. His head tipped back, a low groan breaking free.

“Like this?” she murmured, glancing up through her lashes.

“Yeah,” he rasped, one hand sliding into her hair, her bun already half undone. “Just like that.”

Her lips curved in a small, confident smile. She’d learned him well these past weeks—what made him groan, what made his breath catch.

She leaned in, her tongue flicking over the head, tasting salt and warmth, and his whole body tensed.

“Raven,” he exhaled, his hips giving the smallest involuntary jerk.

That only fueled her more.

She took him into her mouth, slow, adjusting to the stretch, her hand working the base while her tongue teased along the underside. His fingers tightened in her hair, his jaw clenched.

She began to build a rhythm, gliding over him, pulling back to swirl her tongue before sinking in again. Each ragged breath he let out pushed her higher, the way his voice kept breaking when he moaned her name making her shiver with satisfaction.

She had learned him well indeed.

“Fuck, Raven—” His voice cracked on the sound, his hips rolling despite himself.

She hummed softly around him, sending another deep groan from his throat, her free hand bracing on his thigh.

Her pace quickened, her confidence growing, the power of it humming through her veins as she watched him fall apart under her hands, her mouth.

“You’re gonna kill me.” 

“Good,” she whispered when she pulled back briefly, her breath hot against him, her lips brushing the sensitive tip before she swallowed him down again—determined now. All in.

She felt it—his body locking, the sharp tension rippling through him. His breath caught, and with a rough, strangled sound, he came.

She swallowed instinctively, surprised by the intensity, pulling back with a soft, breathless cough and a wicked little grin breaking through her dazed expression.

“Shit,” Murphy groaned, dragging a hand over his face, staggering slightly before collapsing back beside her on the bed.“Jesus Christ.”

Raven laughed, her eyes shining with adrenaline. She flopped back beside him, her hair a mess, her lips swollen.

They lay there for a moment, breathless, until Murphy’s soft, lazy voice broke the silence:

“Marry me.”

Raven let out a sharp laugh, shoving his shoulder. “Shut up.”

“No, seriously,” he murmured, still half-wrecked. “I think you just rewired my entire brain.”

She snorted. “Did you a favor, then.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, then pushed himself up groggily. “Gimme a sec,” he threw over his shoulder, running a hand through his hair as he wandered toward the bathroom.

Raven just sighed, her body loose and sated for the first time in forever. She heard him call from the bathroom, voice full of mischief:

“Reyes, I don’t wanna alarm you, but there’s a goddamn jacuzzi in here.”

She blinked, propping herself up on her elbows. “What?”

“Big enough for two,” he called. “And I think it would be a tragedy if we didn’t take full advantage of Eligius’s hospitality.”

There was the sound of running water. A beat later, Murphy reappeared, shirtless, rumpled and wearing the biggest shit-eating grin.

Without warning, he swept her into his arms, catching her with that effortless strength that still managed to surprise her.

Raven let out a startled yelp, her arms flying instinctively around his neck. “Murphy—!”

“Shh,” he whispered, grinning at her with that infuriating glint in his eyes. “Consider this round two. Bath edition.”

She huffed a breath of laughter, shaking her head but not pulling away. He carried her easily through the soft light of the hotel suite, the sound of bubbling water already filling the air.

When they reached the bathroom, Murphy set her down with care, his hands lingering at her waist as she stepped into the warm, inviting water. She exhaled slowly as the heat surrounded her, her muscles relaxing instantly.

He quickly undressed and slid in behind her, settling so her back pressed flush against his chest, his arms draping around her middle.

The tub was deep and luxurious, jets humming softly beneath the surface. Raven let herself sink into him and into the water, closing her eyes as she rested her head on his shoulder.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched—soft, peaceful—something she’d begun, almost without realizing, to associate with him.

“Okay,” Murphy murmured eventually, his breath warm against the shell of her ear. “I’m officially spoiled for life. Regular baths are dead to me now.”

She smiled lazily, her fingers skimming through the water. “Yeah? Gonna demand hot tubs in your apartment now?”

“Damn right,” he said, nuzzling her damp hair. “Or I’m moving in here. I think I was meant for luxury.”

She let out a soft laugh, but it faded when his hands began to drift down her stomach.

She shivered, the combination of heat and his touch making her pulse quicken again.

“Still okay?” 

Raven nodded, her breath catching. “Yeah.”

His hand slid lower, fingers parting her slick folds beneath the water, finding her clit with unerring ease. The first slow stroke made her gasp, her body instinctively arching into him.

“Relax,” he murmured against her temple, his voice dark silk. “Let me.”

She tried—tried to melt into it, into him—and when his thumb circled just right, her breath left her in a broken moan. Her thighs twitched, her heart pounded. 

The water lapped softly around them, her slick skin pressed to his, every nerve ending alive.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, his mouth grazing her neck. “So fucking beautiful.”

Her fingers clutched his forearm under the water as the pressure built.

It didn’t take long. Her body still hummed from earlier, and this soft, unhurried attention was something she had never known. Never been given.

She came with a whispered cry, her body shuddering against his, her head dropping back to his shoulder as aftershocks rippled through her.

Murphy pressed a kiss to her damp shoulder, holding her gently as she caught her breath.

“Shit,” she murmured, still dazed, a faint laugh slipping out.

“Mm,” he hummed. “That’s twice I’ve made you speechless tonight. I’m setting personal records.”

She swatted his arm weakly but didn’t move away. They relaxed together, helping each other wash while talking about every silly thing that came to mind.

Eventually, when the water had cooled, they climbed out, Murphy helping her carefully but without making her feel fragile.

She sat on the edge of the jacuzzi while he grabbed two towels, drying her off first with gentle strokes before pulling his shirt from the bedroom floor and handing it to her. The fabric swallowed her frame completely.

She buttoned it up as he tugged on his boxers, still half-wet, still grinning. Then, without warning, he scooped her up again.

“Seriously? This is getting excessive,” she deadpanned, though her lips twitched with amusement.

“I’m embracing my inner gentleman,” he teased, carrying her effortlessly toward the bed. “You could get used to me carrying you everywhere. Admit it.”

“I might,” she agreed, a small smile pulling at her lips. “I could definitely get used to this.”

He set her down gently on the bed, kissing her softly. She immediately slipped under the covers with a yawn.

Murphy stood there, rooted to the spot. She raised a brow, looking at him. “Well?”

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Uh—should I take the couch? Or—”

She didn’t let him finish. She tugged on his wrist, pulling him down beside her. “Don’t be an idiot. Stay.”

He blinked—genuinely surprised, but visibly pleased—and didn’t argue.

A minute later, he grabbed a couple of overpriced snacks from the minibar and lay down beside her. She swiped one from his hand, grinning when he mock-scowled in protest.

They turned on the TV, some late-night movie neither of them really cared about playing in the background.

Murphy opened his arms, a silent invitation, and Raven nestled into his side. His chin settled lightly on the top of her head, one hand stroking her arm beneath the blankets, as the world outside faded away. 

Safety.

She didn’t know how long it would last. But for tonight, it was hers.

“You know,” he mumbled sleepily, “for all the trouble of wearing a tie, this is a pretty decent payoff. Maybe I’ll put on a suit more often.”

“Technically, you didn’t wear a tie,” she corrected him, nuzzling closer.

He just hummed, pressing his lips to her forehead.

The rhythm of his breathing lulled her. And somewhere between the hum of the TV and the beat of his heart beneath her ear, Raven drifted off.

For the first time in years, she didn’t dream of anything at all.

Chapter Text

Clarke: GUESS WHAT 😏 Bell and I finally finished the lake house renovations!!

Bellamy: Technically, the overpriced contractors finished it. I just provided the credit card.

Clarke: 🙄 ANYWAY. We’re planning a long weekend up there starting this Friday. You guys in? Think: no work, no ER emergencies, no real life. Just lake swims, bonfires, and embarrassing stories.

Octavia: Hell YES. I’ve been dreaming about lying in the sun doing absolutely nothing.

Harper: Same. Arkadia in summer is basically a microwave. Count us in 💃🏻

Jackson: I’ll switch shifts with Casey. I could definitely use a break. It’s been... a year.

Miller: I’ll have to bribe my boss, who is also my father. But I’m optimistic.

Lincoln: Want me to bring the van?

Octavia: Oh, you’re getting the full road trip experience. No escape now.

Clarke: Bell and I will drive up early to make sure everything’s in order. We’ll take our car.

Octavia: More room for snacks in the van 😌

Murphy : If anyone plays early 2000s pop punk again, I’m hijacking us straight into the lake.

Bellamy: So that’s a yes?

Murphy: Bar’s closed for the weekend. Might as well leech off your disgustingly charmed life.

Clarke: Raven?

Raven: Dunno. I’ve got a project to finish.

Clarke : If I and Jackson can stop saving lives for four days, you can too.

Harper: Come on Rae, it’ll be fun.

Raven: Fine. But don’t complain when I show up with my laptop.

Clarke: YAY 🥹 It’s actually happening. Sending you the coordinates now — see you Friday!

______

“Welcome to Bellarke’s summer mansion,” Bellamy announced, throwing open the front door with a theatrical sweep of his arm. “Please enjoy your stay—and don’t forget to leave us a glowing five-star review.”

Raven smirked as they all stepped inside one by one.

Okay, maybe ‘mansion’ wasn’t an exaggeration.

Glass, stone, and light stretched around them—vaulted ceilings, linen curtains billowing softly in the lake breeze, and polished hardwood floors that gleamed under their shoes.

The living room looked like it had been ripped straight from a glossy home design magazine. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the lake beyond, where sunlight glittered off the water like a postcard come to life.

“Damn,” Murphy muttered, dropping his duffel by the door, brows lifting. “You guys running a side hustle we don’t know about? Drugs? Money laundering? Pyramid scheme?”

Clarke, taking the box of homemade cookies Harper brought with a smile of thanks, grinned. “Real estate. Bellamy’s weird obsession with fixer-uppers finally paid off.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes but couldn’t quite hide the pleased smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He led them through the house, pointing out the sprawling open kitchen, the wraparound deck, and the private path winding down to a strip of beach.

It all felt… surreal. Like the kind of place Raven could barely picture herself in without leaving greasy fingerprints on every surface.

“So,” Clarke said, glancing over her shoulder with a grin as they stepped back inside from the tour, “how was the drive up?”

“Miraculously smooth,” Octavia replied, flopping onto the nearest couch with a dramatic sigh. “Though I’m pretty sure Murphy threatened to throw himself out of the van at least three times.”

Murphy dropped onto the armrest beside her, deadpan. “That’s generous. It was five. I warned you—the playlist was a war crime.”

“Harper made it,” Monty added with a shrug. “You try telling her no.”

“I dared to include Avril Lavigne.”

“She included five Avril Lavigne songs,” Murphy groaned. “In a row.”

“And you’re still alive,” Bellamy said dryly. “That’s impressive.”

Jackson headed for the kitchen, setting down a tote of groceries. “Lincoln was a saint. Very patient. Might’ve actually made the whole ‘group road trip’ thing enjoyable.”

Octavia yawned, stretching out like a cat. “Yeah, but now I’m definitely ready to collapse on the beach.”

Clarke clapped once to get everyone’s attention. “Let’s get you all settled first.”

They had just started reaching for their bags when Bellamy stepped in, lifting a hand.

“There’s just one small hiccup,” he said, a little sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Bedrooms. We’ve only got five.”

Right on cue, Madi appeared at the top of the staircase, clutching a sleeping bag and grinning like Christmas had come early. “It’s fine! I’m camping in Mom and Dad’s room. We planned it—I get to sleep in the tent!”

“She insisted,” Clarke clarified with a smile. “So that still leaves five bedrooms... including Madi’s.”

Raven did the math instantly. Four couples. One spare room. And then—

Her eyes slid to the side. Murphy was already smirking, hands buried in his pockets.

“Guess that makes us the leftovers.”

“Well, Murphy,” she declared with a mock-sweet smile, giving him a firm clap on the back, “guess that fancy couch has your name on it.”

He sighed, lifting his arms in mock surrender. “Hope you sprung for the deluxe model, Blake. Memory foam. Back support. My spine’s a delicate ecosystem.”

Bellamy smirked. “It’s… a couch. Haven’t tested it.”

Raven folded her arms, narrowing her eyes. “Wait, that’s it? No scheming? No guilt-tripping anyone into a trade? I was expecting a full Hunger Games for the last bed. Who even are you?”

“I’m evolving. Plus, there’s no way in hell I’m sleeping in a glitter-infested princess bed guarded by porcelain demons. I draw the line at haunted dolls.”

“Hey! My room’s awesome,” Madi shouted from the stairs, making everyone laugh.

“I’m with him,” Octavia agreed, pointing her finger. “Not risking my soul under Satan’s Beanie Baby collection.”

Murphy turned to her, grinning. “Wanna trade, baby Blake? I could keep your big guy warm at night.”

“Come on, O,” Lincoln chuckled, already guiding her toward the stairs. “Let’s claim our room before he talks us into anything.”

“Alright, it’s settled,” Clarke chirped, clapping her hands. “Grab your rooms, unpack, and meet down at the beach in twenty. Murphy, you can stash your stuff in the laundry room.”

Murphy slung his bag dramatically over one shoulder. “Starting my memoir: My Life as Couch Trash.”

Jackson and Miller clapped him on the back, laughing as the group dispersed up the stairs.

Raven lingered at the back, waiting until the others had gone ahead. The brace on her leg still caught awkwardly on stairs sometimes, and she hated the thought of anyone watching her slow down.

Before she could take the first step, a warm hand curled gently around her wrist.

Murphy.

He leaned in, his voice low against her ear. “Besides… I’m fully expecting you to take pity on me tonight. Invite me into that nice, big bed of yours once the house goes quiet.”

Her stomach flipped in that irritating way it always did lately whenever he used that voice—that look.

She smirked. “Wouldn’t want you to have nightmares. Those dolls are no joke.”

“That’s why you’ll have to big spoon me real tight,” he whispered, lips brushing her temple before he pulled back.

She rolled her eyes, trying not to smile, and started up the stairs.

Okay. The bedroom was—

“Jesus.”

It looked like a unicorn had exploded. Pastel walls. A canopy bed draped in sheer pink fabric. Dolls on every surface. Stuffed animals lined up in neat rows. Even the lamp had glitter.

Raven dropped her bag with a sigh, rolling her neck.

I survived worse.

She tugged open the zipper and started to unpack. She pulled out her old green bikini—nothing fancy, just the right cut and the right shade to make her skin glow.

She hesitated. Her eyes flicked to the head-to-toe pink mirror on the wall.

The scar was there. It always was.

A jagged, raised line along her hip and thigh—ugly, uneven, forever. The old voice in her head rose fast.

Just keep the shorts on. No one’s gonna say anything. Safer that way. Hide it.

She almost folded. Almost. But then, something unexpected happened. Her mind wandered somewhere else.

To someone else.

Murphy.

The way his hands had skimmed over that scar without a twitch. The way his lips had brushed the damaged skin without flinching. Without pity.

Like it was just… part of her.

Her throat tightened.

Fuck it. They’re your friends.

If she couldn’t stop hiding here, with them, when would she?

Decision made, she stepped into the bathroom. Slipped into the bikini. Denim shorts low on her hips. Pulled her hair into a quick ponytail. Smoothed sunscreen over her arms, her legs.

“Raven? You ready?” Clarke’s voice echoed from the hall.

“Almost!” she called, finishing the last swipe of lotion.

“We’re heading down. Keys are on the table—lock up when you’re done!”

“Got it!”

She heard the sound of footsteps, of laughter, the door closing behind them. Raven took one last look in the mirror. Then she grabbed the sunscreen bottle and her previous clothes and stepped back into her room.

She stopped. The bedroom wasn’t empty.

Murphy was sprawled full-length across Madi’s bed, looking entirely too comfortable amid a sea of pastel pillows, stuffed animals, and sparkly decor.

His thumbs moved lazily over his phone, one leg bent, the other stretched, like he owned the place. He’d already changed into black swim trunks and a T-shirt that read in bold letters: Sorry I’m Late. I Didn’t Want to Come.

He glanced up when he heard her, his lips curling into a slow, lazy smirk. The sight of him— relaxed, utterly at odds with the glittery chaos around him—made her shake her head.

“Thought you said dolls and frilly things freaked you out,” she quipped, crossing to the dresser to grab her towel and sunglasses, stuffing them into her beach bag.

Murphy lifted his brows, eyes glinting. “I’m facing my fears. Personal growth, Reyes. You’re my best therapist.”

Her mouth twitched. “God help us.”

She reached for the sunscreen, hesitated, then glanced over her shoulder at him, her fingers curling around the bottle. A slow, sly smile crept onto her lips. “Shirt off.”

His entire expression lit up. He pushed himself up on his elbows, feigning scandal. “In broad daylight? With all our innocent friends right outside? Didn’t know you were hiding a voyeurism kink. Not judging though. Actually—very into it.”

She rolled her eyes, stepping in between his knees, towering over him with an exasperated look. “Get your head out of the gutter, perv. Sunscreen. Unless you actually brought some, which—” she gave him a knowing look—“I’d bet my last dollar you didn’t. And I have too gentle a soul to watch you turn into a lobster.”

With an exaggerated sigh, he tugged the shirt off and tossed it aside, muscles rippling beneath the pale skin. “Good thing I have you to take care of me. Not all of us are lucky enough to have your perfect golden skin.”

His hand caught hers, fingers brushing gently before they linked together, their palms warm against each other. “Though I gotta say, side by side? Our complexions make a damn good match.”

Raven glanced at their hands, a brief moment of surprise catching her off guard

Damn, he was right.

She quickly refocused on her task, unhooking her hand from his and squeezing the sunscreen into her palm.

“Hold still.”

Her fingers made contact with his warm skin. The slow glide of her palms over his shoulders felt like a dance. He kept his hands resting on her hips, the casual touches between them turning less innocent by the second.

Her knuckles brushed against his collarbone as she leaned down slightly, and his fingers slid along the sides of her thighs, resting just beneath the hem of her shorts.

“You’re taking this very seriously.”

“Yeah, well,” she shot back, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips, “I’ve seen you sunburned. It’s not pretty.”

Her hands moved lower, smoothing sunscreen over his arms and chest, her touch lingering. When she leaned in closer to reach his back, he felt her breath against his skin—and his own hitched in response.

“Reyes,” he murmured, his voice thick with warning, though his hands slid slowly up her thighs to her waist, drawing her subtly closer between his legs.

“Don’t start,” she warned, but her tone was light.“You’re gonna get us caught.”

He tilted his head, lips grazing her jawline in a feather-light kiss.

“I live for danger,” he whispered, the words sending a shiver down her spine—less from the cool touch of sunscreen and more from the heat simmering between them.

Her hands froze on his shoulders as his mouth trailed lower, brushing her throat.

“Murphy,” she whispered, her voice catching.

His hands slid around to the small of her back, fingers teasing at the knot of her bikini top. His touch was languid and sure, as if he had all the time in the world.

“You know,” he murmured, nuzzling her chest, “we could just skip the beach altogether. You, me, this bed—”

She let out a half-laugh, half-groan, but before she could answer, his mouth was on hers—soft at first, then harder, hotter, and entirely too addictive.

“It’s a canopy bed in a six-year-old’s room!” she said between kisses, feigning outrage.

“I really have to do something about your morals,” he murmured, eyes glinting. “They can be a real fun-sponge.”

The kiss deepened fast, his hands finding the waistband of her shorts, hers tangling in his hair.

God. She was drunk on him—utterly gone. 

Years of restraint, of holding herself together, of untouched skin and untouched everything—and now she couldn’t go more than two days without wanting his hands, his mouth, all of him.

Apparently, her body had a backlog of orgasms to reclaim, and it wasn’t interested in playing nice.

His palm skimmed up, fingers teasing the edge of her bikini top with a wicked glint in his eyes, daring her to stop him.

The part of her that usually had a sharp comeback, the part that kept him—and everyone—in their places, wanted to shove him back, to remind him who she was.

But the other part—the one that was flushed and restless and burning—won.

She arched into his hand, meeting his gaze with the same cocky challenge he wore so well.

His grin spread, wolfish, as he tugged the fabric aside and his mouth closed over her breast.

Heat shot through her. Fast, liquid, dizzying.

God. They were really doing this. In Madi’s bedroom. With their completely unsuspecting friends outside.

The thought only made her wetter.

He was definitely a bad influence on her morals. Or maybe… she really did have a voyeur kink after all.

Lord have Mercy on her soul.

Her palm slid down, pressing against the front of his swim trunks, feeling him harden under her touch.

Satisfaction curled in her chest. She wanted him wrecked. Wanted him gasping and half-feral the way she was already unraveling for him.

His hand slipped beneath the waistband of her shorts, fingers brushing gently against herl. She gasped, sharp and instinctive, her body tensing.

When his fingers parted her, touching her more deliberately, her hips jerked back in reflex. 

He froze immediately.

“Hey,” he murmured against her skin, his other hand on her neck, thumb stroking along her jaw. “Tell me. Is it still a red light?”

Her heart pounded against her ribs.

This wasn’t Finn. This wasn’t the past.

Murphy had already shown—more than once—that he could be careful with her. That he could stop. He knew how to take care of her.

And so she shook her head—small, but certain.

“No,” she exhaled. “I want to… I want to try.”

He nodded, his eyes impossibly soft, as if she'd just placed something hallowed in his hands.

His mouth returned to her neck, the kisses tender now, reverent. Then, slowly, he eased a finger inside her—patient, unhurried, giving her time to adjust.

He didn’t rush. He moved as if every second was for her.

Her hands gripped his shoulders, and as pleasure began to rise, it gently drowned the panic.

And when she moaned—when her hips rolled toward him on their own—he smiled against her skin and pressed deeper, his tongue flicking over her nipple with heat.

“More,” she gasped, voice raw.

He gave her exactly that.

His fingers stroked in just the right way—like he knew her body better than she did—and when he curled them just so, her breath hitched in a sharp, desperate sound.

The world narrowed to hands, mouths, sensation.

Until—

“Dad! I can’t find the floaty pump!”

Madi’s voice—closer than it should’ve been. Footsteps creaked on the floor below.

“Check the closet by the stairs,” Bellamy called back.

Raven and Murphy jolted apart like they’d been electrocuted. She yanked her bikini top back into place, breath hitching, while he let out a sharp, choked laugh, shaking his head as if trying to clear it. His face was flushed, a mix of arousal and exasperation.

“Shit,” she breathed, heart hammering like a drum.

“Found it!” Madi called again.

“Good kid! Now let’s go—water’s waiting!”

They stayed frozen for a beat.

Then Murphy cleared his throat, looked down at his hand—still slick with her. 

With zero shame, he grabbed the edge of a towel Raven had tossed over the foot of the bed and wiped his fingers clean.

She stared. “Seriously?”

He smirked, tossed the towel back like it was nothing. “What? You think I’m using my shirt for that? It’d show.”

Raven shook her head, somewhere between mortified and completely turned on all over again.

“Beach,” she said, snatching the sunscreen bottle with unsteady fingers. “Now. Before I lose whatever’s left of my dignity.”

“Yeah, let’s go pretend we’re innocent,” he muttered, but followed her anyway—grinning the whole time, eyes lingering on the sway of her hips.

By the time they made it down to the shore, most of the others were already scattered across the water—laughing, shouting, splashing under the golden haze of late afternoon sun.

Octavia, Lincoln, and Miller were mid-swim race, arms cutting through the water while Monty, perched on the edge of the dock, shouted half-serious commentary.

Further out, Clarke was floating lazily on her back while Bellamy wrestled with the inflatable raft, trying to push it into deeper water without tipping himself over in the process.

Raven slowed to a stop where the sand met the shallows, planting her towel and bag beside Harper, who was lounging in a wide-brimmed hat and oversized sunglasses, nose buried in a paperback. Jackson sat cross-legged nearby, toweling water from his hair.

“Finally,” Harper teased, peeking over the top of her book. “I was starting to think you two got lost.”

“Can’t exactly sprint with a bionic leg,” Raven replied with a crooked smile, dropping her stuff. She adjusted her sunglasses and stretched, the breeze soft on her skin.

Before anyone could say more, Madi—dripping, a little ball of sunshine and trouble—let out a delighted squeal and made a beeline straight for Murphy.

“Uncle Murphy!” she shouted, her curls bouncing as she ran. “Come on! Let’s do the big splash!”

Murphy barely had time to blink before she grabbed his hand with both of hers and started tugging. He raised his brows at Raven, who shrugged with a smirk.

“Looks like you’re in, tough guy.”

He sighed, dramatically put-upon, but the glint in his eyes gave him away. “How is it that you people only love me when you need entertainment or near-death stunts?”

Madi just laughed and tugged harder.

“Alright, alright,” he relented, yanking his T-shirt over his head and tossing it onto the sand. He offered Raven a quick wink before hoisting Madi easily into his arms. “You asked for it, Gremlin.”

Madi shrieked with laughter, clutching at his neck as he waded toward the dock. Without hesitation, he stepped up onto the wood planks, her weight light against him, and counted down.

“Three—two—one—!”

And then they were airborne—Murphy launching them both off the edge in a powerful, slightly clumsy leap, before they hit the water with a massive splash that sent waves lapping at the shore.

The little girl came up giggling, arms flailing, while Murphy surfaced a second later, shaking water from his hair, laughing along with her.

“Bigger next time!” she crowed, splashing him mercilessly.

“Murphy, would you mind not drowning my daughter?” Bellamy called out, walking over with the inflatable raft in tow.

He steadied it as Madi climbed aboard, still breathless and giggling as she recounted her splashy adventure.

From where she sat at the water’s edge, Raven shook her head, unable to bite back the grin tugging at her lips.

God help her—John Murphy was ridiculously good with kids.

“Graceful,” Jackson commented beside her.

She reached down and unbuckled her brace, sliding it carefully off and setting it on the towel. The warmth of the sun felt good on her skin. Her hand hovered near the waistband of her shorts for a second.

Here we go.

She exhaled, then slid the shorts down, folding them neatly beside her brace. Bikini only. Done.

Harper shot her a relaxed smile, unfazed. “Honestly? I’m so jealous right now. You look like a goddess.”

“She’s got the brains and the body,” Jackson added with an approving nod. “You joining them?”

Raven turned to him, caught off guard by how simple the question sounded. The answer, though, was anything but simple.

She used to love water, even if no one had ever taught her how. She’d learned to swim on her own when she was eight—at a busted old community pool with cracked tiles and too much chlorine.

It wasn't like her mother was going to help. She’d done it alone, breath after breath, stubborn as hell, coughing up water but refusing to give up.

After the accident, water had come to mean something else: hydrotherapy.

Dragging a broken body through lukewarm pools under buzzing fluorescent lights, counting each movement like penance.

A reminder, every time, of what she’d lost.

The idea of going back in—

“Debating,” Raven replied with a half-shrug. “It’s a whole process with the leg. Wet sand, balance, exit strategy... I’m good right here for now.”

She leaned back on her elbows, soaking in the sun, chatting aimlessly with Jackson while Harper read beside them.

Her gaze drifted toward the water where the others laughed and shouted—Bellamy tossing Madi over his shoulder, Lincoln and Monty trying to flip Octavia and Miller off the raft.

And Murphy—of course—right in the middle of it all.

Hair soaked, skin gleaming, that too-confident, crooked grin stretched across his face.

He threw his head back, laughing as Madi splashed him mercilessly, and for a second Raven caught herself smiling before she even realized it.

He looked... uncomplicated. Happy in a way she liked.

Then his eyes found hers.

“Hey, Reyes!” he called, wiping water from his face. “You coming or what?”

Raven arched an eyebrow, her voice filled with the usual sarcasm. “Yeah, let me just run my 10K first. You try wading through wet sand with one leg and a half and see how fun it is.”

Harper snorted. Jackson huffed a quiet laugh. But Murphy’s grin faltered—just slightly.

For a beat, he just looked at her. Then—without warning—he was moving.

He trudged through the water, steps fast despite the resistance, until he was right in front of her, droplets sliding down his chest, that glint of mischief back in his eyes.

“Good thing I’ve got two arms, then.”

“Murphy—” she started, sensing what was coming.

Too late. He bent low, arms sweeping under her knees and behind her back in one quick motion, and lifted her straight off the ground.

“Murphy!” she yelped, arms flying to clutch his shoulders. “The hell are you doing? Put me down!”

“Nope,” he grinned, determined. “Not letting you sit this one out, Reyes. Not happening.”

“Murphy, seriously—” she sputtered, heart hammering now for entirely too many reasons. “I don’t think this is a good idea. I haven’t swum in forever…”

But then his voice was in her ear, threaded with that infuriating warmth that made her forget how to argue.

“Relax, I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.”

And damn him—she believed it.

Her fingers tightened instinctively against his damp shoulders, clinging more than she meant to. But she didn’t tell him to stop.

The others were splashing and shouting—Miller calling, “Show-off!” and Octavia laughing, “Try not to drown her, Murph!”—but the sound of their teasing faded into a muffled haze.

Murphy waded deeper, the lake rising to her calves, then her thighs, and finally her waist.

The cold water bit at her skin, making her gasp softly, but he gave her a moment, his grip on her never faltering, letting her adjust to the chill before moving on. 

When the depth was sufficient, he slowly let her slide from his arms into the lake, his hands resting on her forearms until she was balanced.

She didn’t sink.

Her breath hitched as the coolness wrapped around her, alive and encompassing. Her body remembered—how to float, how to breathe, how to trust. Not just the lake.

Him.

“You okay?” Murphy asked, still close, his breath stirring the strands at her temple.

She nodded, swallowing. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

“Auntie Raven!” Madi’s voice rang out as she swam toward them like a missile in a neon swimsuit. “You made it!”

The joy on the girl’s face was pure, radiant. Raven couldn’t help it—she laughed, bright and full, lifting her hands to splash back as Madi dove under.

“Watch how I do underwater somersaults!” she shouted before vanishing in a swirl of bubbles.

Raven squinted dramatically when Madi popped up again.

“Clearly a ten,” she proclaimed.

“Mmm… 6.5 at most. I’ve seen better form,” Murphy said with a wicked grin, lazily swimming around them.

His fingers brushed lightly against Raven’s waist beneath the surface like it was nothing. 

“That’s not true!” Madi pouted, pointing an accusing finger. “I’m good!”

“Oh, sure, little mermaid.”

“It’s time for a duel,” Madi declared. “Auntie Raven will be the judge!”

“Oh no,” Raven said immediately, backing away with exaggerated caution. “I don’t want to be a witness to this morally questionable bloodbath.”

“No Switzerland card, sorry,” Murphy added smugly. “You’re in.”

Before she could object again, they were already dunking themselves under the surface with matching countdowns and zero mercy.

Clarke swam over, watching her daughter with bemusement. “My daughter is clearly an attention-seeker.”

Raven smirked. “Comes with being the child of the King and the Princess.”

“And what’s Murphy’s excuse, then?”

“Probably that his prefrontal cortex stopped developing at age five.”

Clarke sighed, but she was smiling. “God help whoever ends up married to him.”

Raven coughed. Blame the water.

Madi and Murphy exploded from the water in a splash of limbs and victory declarations.

Madi sputtered. “MOM, RAVEN, WHO WON?”

“Sweetheart,” Clarke said diplomatically, “Murphy’s older. He’s got more lung capacity.”

“BUT WHO WON?”

“Yeah, Clarke, who won?” Murphy asked, shaking water from his hair. “Let this be your daughter’s first great life lesson—teaching her how to lose.”

“Murphy,” Clarke warned.

Bellamy swam over with exaggerated suffering. “Okay, that’s enough. Murphy, you come with me before my wife and my daughter feed you to the fishes. Ball game. You’re our sixth man.”

He took him by the shoulders and started dragging him away. Madi stuck her tongue out at him.

“Yeah, Bell, save the poor fishes from food poisoning,” Raven called after them.

Murphy shot her a smug look and flipped her off before Bellamy hauled him toward the others.

Laughter followed them across the water. Raven stayed behind with Clarke and Madi, the lake stretching around them in peaceful ripples now that the chaos had temporarily relocated.

The kid swam lazy loops around her, showing off tricks and occasionally splashing her on purpose, just to see her react.

Raven played along, pretending to be a grumpy sea monster who would only be appeased by ice cream or compliments.

“She’s so... carefree,” she noted softly. “Like the world didn’t get to her yet.”

Clarke followed her gaze. “We’ve tried to protect that.”

"You're doing a good job with her. She has so much fire, but it's not cutting. That's not something you see every day.”

Clarke turned her head slightly, studying Raven’s face.

“And you?” she asked, not prying, just... asking. “How are you doing?”

Raven blinked, caught off guard by the question.

“I think…” she hesitated, her eyes drifting back toward the others. Murphy had just faceplanted into the water trying to save a ball. She found herself smiling. “I think I’m not waiting for the next bad thing, for once. That’s new.”

Clarke smiled. “Feels weird, right?”

“Yeah, but not in a bad way.”

Definitely not in a bad way.

______

The fire crackled softly, sending amber sparks drifting into the velvet dark of the sky.

They sat scattered in a lazy circle on the beach—barefoot, sun-warmed, and still full from the chaotic barbecue Bellamy and Lincoln had insisted on handling, all puffed-up bravado and “we’ve got this” energy… until the grill refused to cooperate.

Raven, half-smirking and entirely unsurprised, had stepped in and fixed it in under three minutes while the “grillmasters” hovered behind her, sheepish.

The day had unfolded in that same kind of messy perfection: sandcastles demanded by the tiny tyrant known as Madi, who'd wielded her bucket like a scepter and turned every adult into a loyal subject.

What started as child’s play quickly devolved into yet another round of competitive one-upmanship—whose tower could withstand the tide, who had the better moat defense system. 

Somehow, even the card games that followed carried the same absurdly high stakes, full of groaning and laughter and Miller accusing everyone of cheating.

Now, as night settled over them, the air smelled of charred wood, pine, and the faint salt of the lake.

Above them stretched the endless night: a sea of stars glittering sharp and silver, mirrored in the ink-black water.

A breeze stirred the hair at the nape of Raven’s neck, lifting the soft edges of the towel beneath her.

It felt peaceful. A bubble carved out of the world’s noise.

Madi was curled up in Bellamy’s lap, stubbornly blinking against sleep, her curls plastered to her forehead.

Clarke had draped a blanket around her shoulders, tucking it close with the tenderness only a mother could have.

It was her who broke the comfortable hush, letting out a long, satisfied sigh as she tipped her head back to look at the stars. “God,” she said, her voice dreamy, “I could get used to this.”

Bellamy raised an eyebrow at her “You say that every time we’re outdoors.”

She just smiled. “No, but really—doesn’t this remind you of that first year of college? The camping trip after midterms?”

Harper laughed. “You mean the one where we forgot the tent poles and ended up sleeping under a tarp held up by optimism and duct tape?”

“Exactly,” Clarke said. “And someone—was it you, Monty?—brought an entire bag of gummy worms but no actual food.”

Monty looked up with mock innocence. “I stand by my decision. They were sour. And nutritious. Vitamin C.”

Miller made a face from where he sat next to Jackson, arms slung loosely over his knees. “And if I recall correctly, I was subjected to a 3 a.m. rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody at full volume.”

“Correction,” his fiancé said with a grin. “You joined in. You were the one doing all the guitar solos with a stick.”

Miller arched a brow. “Because if I had to suffer, I was dragging the rest of you down with me.”

Octavia snorted. “Honestly? I think that was one of the best weekends ever. Just friends, nature and Monty—again—falling into the lake fully clothed.”

Raven smiled faintly at the memory. She remembered that weekend—even if, with her leg, it hadn’t been easy. “He said he was going for a midnight swim and tripped on a root.”

“You were so high,” Harper added fondly, nudging her husband with her shoulder. “You tried to quote Shakespeare to impress me and ended up proposing to the moon.”

Laughter rippled through the group. Only Murphy stayed quiet. He hadn’t been there back then. He’d been fighting his own battles, far away from Arkadia. College hadn’t been in the cards for him.

Raven noticed.

And then, Octavia, ever the chaos-bringer, glanced around the fire with a spark in her eyes. “Alright—game time.”

Bellamy groaned. “No—”

“Shut up, brother,” she scowled. Then she sat up straighter, eyes bright in the firelight. “Five years from now—where are we? Go.”

Lincoln groaned softly from where his head rested on her lap. “Aren’t we too old for icebreakers?”

“Humor me. Me and Lincoln? We’ll have just come back from climbing Everest.”

“—And opened our gym,” Lincoln added, lifting his beer.

“Obviously.” Octavia clinked bottles with him.

Bellamy shifted, slinging an arm around Clarke’s shoulders, his fingers absentmindedly brushing Madi’s curls. “What about us, Princess?”

Clarke’s eyes crinkled with warmth. “Honestly? Right here wouldn’t be so bad. Madi will be a nightmare preteen, I’ll hopefully be chief of neurosurgery if I survive residency—”

“I vote we add a dog,"Bellamy murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “To balance things out.”

“Deal,” Clarke laughed.

The easy rhythm of their voices settled over the group like a soft blanket.

“Guess I’m aiming for chief of cardiology then,” Jackson chimed in, fingers laced with Miller’s. “Living together in the countryside somewhere.”

“And our Japan trip,” Miller added softly. “We’re finally taking it. Even if we have to drag you away from the hospital.”

“Noted,” Jackson smiled.

Harper’s hand drifted to her belly, her voice quieter when she spoke. “Five years from now… I’m hoping to make my kid smile. That’s the goal.”

Monty’s fingers curled more tightly around hers. The others went quiet.

“We’re having some trouble, but we’ve started a new treatment,” she explained, her voice wobbling just slightly. “We’re hopeful.”

For a moment, the firelight seemed to soften. Clarke and Bellamy exchanged a quiet glance, and Raven offered them a small, supportive smile.

“We’re all rooting for you,” Jackson spoke softly. “You’ll be amazing parents.”

“And we’re gonna spoil that kid rotten,” Octavia added with a wink.

Laughter rippled around the circle, warm and genuine. But for Raven, the question lingered, heavier now.

Five years.

Where would she be in five years?

She shifted subtly, pulling her knees closer to her chest. The night air had turned cooler, brushing goosebumps along her arms.

She hadn’t noticed before—too wrapped up in the moment, in the comfort of voices and shared memories.

“Cold, Rae?” Harper asked gently, tilting her head.

“Forgot my sweatshirt,” she admitted lightly.

Clarke was already pushing to her feet, brushing sand from her shorts.

“I’ll grab you something—”

But before she could move, something soft landed squarely on Raven’s head.

A hoodie. Murphy’s hoodie.

He didn’t even glance up, still sprawled in the sand with his arms behind his head, his voice laced with bone-dry humor.

“Don’t say I never give you anything, Reyes.”

“Besides headaches, you mean?” she shot back, tugging it over her head anyway.

It was soft. Warm from the heat of his body. And it smelled—God, it smelled like him.

She swallowed the strange tug in her chest.

“Thanks,” she murmured without looking at him.

The conversation shifted again, and Octavia’s eyes landed back on her.

“What about you, Reyes? Five years?”

Here we go.Your turn.

Images flickered unbidden through her mind. Her house. Empty, silent. The flash of steel at her thigh. The old ache. The cold bed.

Her job. Maybe she could get a promotion. Find something better in a new city. But leaving Arkadia? Did she have the guts to do that—to start over on her own again?

And then… therapy. Luna. The progress she was making. The progress she wanted to make.

Her eyes flicked sideways and caught Murphy’s for half a second.

Five years from now...

She forced a crooked smirk.

“Easy, I’m inventing time travel—so I can come back here and warn myself not to let you people drag me into this sappy crap.”

Laughter rolled through the circle. Monty grinned. “Classic Raven.”

“You’re no fun, Reyes,” Octavia groaned.

But Raven just smirked, tugging Murphy’s hoodie tighter around her shoulders, fingers twisting in the too-long sleeves.

And when she exhaled, the air tasted bittersweet.

Octavia moved on. “And you?” She tipped her chin toward Murphy. “Where’s the one and only John Murphy in five years?”

He didn’t move at first. Just leaned back on his elbows, the soft glow of the fire gilding the sharp lines of his face, catching on the curve of his jaw, the edge of his lashes.

The lake behind him stretched wide and silver. His eyes glinted faintly in the low light.

“Alive,” he said quietly. Just that.

The tone was impossible to read, somewhere between a joke and something far more serious, shadowed by the weight of his past.

Then, at the corner of his mouth, something shifted.

“Maybe… finally learning how to keep something good instead of tearing it down.”

Just—an afterthought. An almost.

There was a beat of stillness before the others stirred.

Bellamy let out a soft huff of laughter and tipped his beer back. “Look at you—mysterious and deep. Since when?”

“Since he went soft,” Miller teased, nudging Jackson. “Haven’t you noticed? I’m calling it—he’s secretly in love.”

“Oh, come on,” Lincoln chimed in, grinning. “Who is she? You’ve been bailing on guy nights for weeks. And we all know you don’t skip for your usual one-night flings.”

Even Harper raised an eyebrow, her smile curious. “We’re all ears, Murphy.”

The banter flowed easily, but Raven’s attention was elsewhere. She kept her expression carefully neutral, arms wrapped a little tighter around her knees.

Murphy. In love?

No.

No, he would’ve told her.

That was the rule—they’d agreed. The moment one of them caught real feelings, their deal was off.

He would have said something. Wouldn’t he?

Still, the others were saying he had been different lately…

“Yeah,” Bellamy added, still grinning. “You didn’t even show up for the Arkadia basketball game last Wednesday. That’s practically a red flag.”

Oh.

Ooh.

No, he hadn’t. Because Wednesday night, he’d been with her. One of their sessions.

A session they hadn’t even ended up having, because they’d both been too tired—he’d shown up after work, heavy-eyed, and they’d just collapsed into her bed, asleep before either could say goodnight.

The thought brought a strange, possessive kind of comfort that rose and tangled with the worry about what he might be keeping from her.

Murphy only raised an eyebrow, smirking faintly as he took a swig from his beer.

“Hate to disappoint, but some of us actually have jobs that demand constant loyalty. I’m still the same asshole you all know and tolerate.”

“Fine, we’ll pretend to believe you,” Clarke said, rolling her eyes. But then her tone softened. “Still… it’s nice to see you more balanced lately. And if that just happens to involve a girl, we’d totally support it.”

Raven nodded to herself, quietly.

Yeah. Clarke was right. She would absolutely support that.

Murphy deserved something good in his life.

The conversation drifted after that. The edges of vulnerability dulled back into the comfortable buzz of old friends, with sand between their toes and smoke in their hair.

Clarke was scrolling through her phone, legs stretched out, Madi now fully asleep, curled between her and Bellamy.

“Okay,” she announced with a grin, tapping at the screen. “I’m officially uploading these pictures. Brace yourselves.”

“God,” Miller groaned. “Do I look short?”

“You are short,” Jackson teased, leaning into him.

Clarke laughed and pulled up the group shots from earlier that afternoon—everyone half-soaked, sun-drunk, smiling.

Monty and Harper mid-laugh, Octavia splashing Lincoln, Murphy with Madi on his shoulders, Raven in her green bikini, half-rolling her eyes at the camera, half-smirking.

She tagged them all.

“Done,” she declared. “Uploaded. Tagged. Immortalized.”

Beside her, Raven pulled out her own phone, curiosity flickering. She opened Clarke’s post.

Caption: Making memories of us 🌅📸

She liked it.

Then, she turned her lens skyward and captured the velvet sprawl of midnight above them, the firelight dancing boldly into the encompassing darkness.

She stared at the image for a moment.

Without thinking too much about it, she uploaded it to her story.

It felt right.

She exhaled and tucked the phone back into her lap.

Clarke’s phone chimed again. Then again.

“Oh my God.” She sat up straighter, eyes wide with disbelief. “You guys. You are not going to believe who just followed me on Instagram.”

Bellamy leaned in, eyebrows raised. “What?”

“Finn Collins,” she said, almost breathless. “That Finn Collins.”

A beat of silence followed.

Bellamy blinked. “Wait. Finn Collins—as in, the Finn Collins from high school?”

“No way,” Miller gasped. “That guy’s still alive?”

Raven froze.

The name hit her like a splash of ice water. Cold, disorienting.

Her fingers tensed, gripping sand. She stared into the fire like it might swallow the conversation whole.

Octavia let out a bark of laughter. “Oh my God, the loser you and Reyes dated in high school.”

“We never dated,” Raven corrected her. Her voice sliced through the firelit hush—abrupt, final.

Octavia blinked, momentarily thrown. “Right. Sorry. Just… didn’t he—?”

“They were just friends,” Clarke jumped in, not looking up from her screen. “Raven’s always been smarter than me.”

Her tone turned breezy as she scrolled. “Looks like he settled down. Blonde wife, three kids, geotagged in Paris.”

“Of course he did,” Bellamy muttered. “Still chasing that Wes Anderson aesthetic, I bet.”

Octavia leaned closer to see Clarke’s phone. “Ugh. Still looks exactly the same. That whole surfer-hipster, I-sell-organic-soap-at-markets vibe. Does he have a job, or is he just… raising bees now?”

Raven didn’t speak. Her eyes were fixed on the fire, but her mind was miles away. She wasn’t watching the flames—she was feeling them.

That old, familiar ember of not being chosen. Of being someone’s almost. Of being the before to someone else’s forever.

But something strange happened.

The pain—wasn’t there. Not really. Not like it used to be. It was thinner now. Less of a burn, more of a shadow.

Years ago, it would’ve gutted her. Now it was only a faint echo. The ghost of being seventeen and disposable.

She bit her thumbnail, half-listening as the others kept trash-talking Finn—laughing, scoffing, turning him into a punchline.

And then—her phone buzzed.

Her heart stuttered.

A tiny part of her—some long-abandoned reflex—whispered: It’s him. He followed me too.

As if that would mean anything. As if the boy who broke her could ever validate the woman she’d become.

But it wasn’t Finn.

It was Murphy.

A GIF.

A smug donkey in a beret, holding a baguette and a tiny espresso under the caption:

Bonjour, je suis un connard.

A snort escaped her before she could stop it.

Jeez, he was an idiot.

She thumbed a reply:

Raven: I’m good. Just… a glitch in the Matrix.

Then she looked up. He was already watching her.

The firelight caught in his eyes, transforming their ice-blue into molten gold. 

Raven didn’t say anything else.

She just stayed there—wrapped in his hoodie as the conversation shifted again, meandering through work gossip, stupid memes, and half-serious theories about dream meanings.

They talked about movies that made them cry, Octavia’s terrifying driving, and the one time Miller tried yoga and pulled a muscle trying to impress Jackson.

Eventually, Bellamy stood, brushing sand from his jeans. “Alright, that’s it for me. If I don’t put Madi to bed now, she’s gonna crash right here.”

He nudged the half-asleep girl gently, and she mumbled, “Five more minutes,” without even opening her eyes.

“Nice try,” Clarke said, smiling as she rose beside them, stretching her arms overhead.

One by one, the circle around the fire began to unravel. Monty and Harper stood next, Monty’s hand slipping to the small of her back in a sweet gesture.

“Night, weirdos,” Harper called over her shoulder, already half-asleep.

“Why don’t we sleep under the stars tonight?” Octavia suggested, stretching out on her towel.

“Tempting,” Raven said with a crooked smile, shaking her head. “But I’m heading in. Vibranium leg and beach sand? Not a great combo. I’m not waking up rusted.”

A few chuckles followed her as she turned away, sneakers crunching softly over the sandy path.

The night air was cooler up by the house, threaded with the smell of sunscreen, pine, grilled corn, and lakewater.

Inside, everything was still, the kind of quiet that only comes after a day well-lived.

She padded into the kitchen to rinse her hands, scrubbing away the cling of sand. Then she filled a glass from the tap and drank it in slow, thoughtful sips.

The last swallow had barely slid down her throat when she turned toward the stairs—and nearly jumped out of her skin as a hand caught her wrist and tugged her sideways.

She gasped as her back met the wall, a warm body pressing close, familiar breath brushing her cheek.

“Jesus,” she hissed, pulse spiking as she looked up—only to meet a smirking pair of ice-blue eyes. “What the hell, Murphy?!”

He didn’t look remotely sorry.

“You were gonna sneak off without a goodnight kiss.That’s just rude.”

She shoved at his chest—lightly—but her heart was still racing. “You scared the crap out of me. I could’ve decked you.”

Murphy’s grin widened. “Good. Then I’d know if my real punch lessons actually stuck.”

Before she could fire back, his mouth brushed over hers—just a whisper of contact. A promise in disguise. And she felt herself soften despite every logical protest.

She kissed him back—briefly—then pulled away with a sigh, her fingers resting lightly on his chest.

“We’re supposed to stop doing this,” she said, half a scold, her voice not as firm as it should’ve been.

“Actually,” he murmured, his lips brushing the line of her jaw, “we’re supposed to take care of our unfinished business from earlier.”

“Murphy…”

“Come on,” he said, nuzzling her nose. “Your bed’s big. And warm. And unfairly missing me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “This whole conversation—and this position—is exactly why you’re banned from it.”

He pouted. “You’re cruel.”

“Goodnight, Murph.”

Raven slipped out from under his arm with practiced ease, peeling off his hoodie as she turned for the stairs.

He caught the movement and shook his head.

“Keep it. I’d rather come get it tomorrow. Preferably when I’m allowed to take it off you too.”

She paused at the stairs, glanced over her shoulder—and smirked.

“We’ll see if you’ll earn the privilege’

Then she disappeared upstairs, the hoodie still in her hands, her fingers brushing its sleeve even as she climbed.

And Murphy, still leaning against the wall, watched her go with a grin tugging at his mouth.

______

Raven woke slowly, blinking against the soft light filtering through a curtain of frilly lace.

For a split second, she forgot where she was—until the explosion of pastels around her jogged her memory.

Right. Madi’s room. A perfect set for a horror movie.

And yet… she’d slept well.

Better than she had in a while, actually. The kind of rest that sank deep into her bones.

Maybe it was the silence of the lake, the heaviness of the air, or the warmth from the day before still lingering in her chest.

Whatever it was, it had let her body go still, and her thoughts finally hush.

With a yawn, she rolled onto her side and reached for her phone on the nightstand.

A single message from Murphy lit up the screen, timestamped at 1:36 AM.

Murphy: Behold, the tragic fate of a man denied the bed he deserves.

Attached was a selfie: him sprawled across the narrow couch, limbs awkwardly twisted, a throw pillow barely covering half his face. His expression? Pure melodramatic suffering.

Raven snorted.

“Idiot,” she muttered fondly, smiling as she climbed out of bed.

After a quick stop in the bathroom, she padded barefoot down the hall, her leg still stiff from the night.

The house was quiet—no footsteps, no clatter, no Madi firing off fifty questions per minute. Everyone was still asleep.

But from the kitchen, the faint scent of something sugary drifted toward her.

She peeked around the corner.

Murphy stood at the stove, hair sleep-mussed, flipping pancakes onto a growing stack.

A coffee mug rested by his elbow, and a faint tune was humming through the silence—something he was half-singing under his breath.

Definitely a view she wasn’t used to.

She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, smiling before she could help it.

“Look at you. Domestic as hell.”

Murphy turned, flipping the next pancake with a flourish.

“Reyes. Nice to see you made it out of the lace nightmare alive.”

“Barely,” she replied, walking over. “I think I was watched by at least twelve dolls all night.”

“All alone and with no one to protect you. Tragic… If only you had someone there with you...”

“Yeah,” she shot back. “I could’ve convinced the satanic dolls to take him and spare me. Saved my life.”

She smirked, reaching for a pancake—

—and got her hand smacked away with the spatula.

“Uh-uh,” Murphy said. “You gotta earn the privilege. You’re on flipping duty now. I’m not running a one-man breakfast show.”

Raven rolled her eyes, laughing. “You’ve got very specific morning energy.”

She tied her hair up and took the spatula from him. “Alright, teach me your sacred technique, O Pancake Whisperer.”

“You mock,” Murphy said solemnly, stepping behind her, “but flipping without massacre is an art. It’s all in the angle. Wrist loose. Don’t think. Just flip.”

His hands came up—one at her waist, the other guiding hers—and for a second, she forgot about the pancakes entirely.

She could feel his breath on her cheek, faintly minty from toothpaste. She leaned into him just a little. Savored it.

Then flipped.

Perfect.

“I expect applause,” she said.

Murphy gave a slow clap, smirking.

“You’ve earned the right to add Sous Chef of Slightly Overachieving Breakfasts to your résumé.”

They fell into a rhythm—passing ingredients, stealing bits of fruit, bumping elbows and trading quips.

It felt easy. Like they’d always done this. Like they could keep doing this.

Raven was about to say something when footsteps echoed behind them.

“Whoa,” Clarke’s voice came from the hallway, amused and slightly confused. “Is this… real?”

Bellamy followed her in, eyebrows raised. “Are we hallucinating, or is Raven Reyes voluntarily in the kitchen helping John Murphy play house?”

“Do you think they’re actually making breakfast? Like, edible food?” Clarke added, sniffing dramatically.

Raven didn’t even turn. “We poisoned the others. You’re next.”

“Who are you two,” Octavia said as she appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, “and what have you done with our actual friends?”

Murphy didn’t miss a beat. “They’re in the basement. This is our final form.”

Monty and Harper shuffled in next, still bleary-eyed but grinning.

“Well, I like these impostors better,” Monty said. “They give us food instead of shouting matches.”

“Next thing you know, Murphy’ll be handing out free hugs,” Miller added from behind, yawning.

Murphy flipped a pancake onto a plate without looking. “Keep talking and see who’s lucky enough to get the one that hit the floor.”

Raven passed him the spatula with a smirk. “It’s true. I saw him rinse it off first.”

The kitchen hummed with soft laughter, thick with the aroma of pancakes and brewing coffee. A palpable warmth filled the air—more than just the stove's heat. It was happiness.

Murphy handed her a mug of coffee without a word, their fingers brushing for a heartbeat too long.

She didn’t let go right away.

They gathered around the long wooden table overlooking the lake. Madi was the last to join, plopping down happily between her parents, her curls still messy from sleep.

After breakfast, plans started to form.

“Boys on the boat,” Bellamy declared, grinning. “We’ll fish, drink, possibly fail at both.”

“Pass,” Jackson said, stretching. “I get seasick like nobody’s business. I’ll stay here and enjoy the company of my lovely lady friends.”

“So, girls—and Jackson—on the beach?” Clarke offered. “Or pool?”

“Pool,” Octavia answered immediately, already on her feet. “I need my daiquiri-floating experience.”

“It’s ten a.m.,” Bellamy pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

“Exactly. I’m already behind schedule,” she deadpanned, brushing past him.

Bellamy looked to Lincoln for backup, but he just shrugged with a smirk.

Once the kitchen was clean, the group split up. Bellamy and Lincoln were already deep in a fishing strategy debate, while Monty looked two seconds away from faking a sun allergy to stay inside with his laptop.

An easy morning settled over them, drenching the yard in golden sunlight.

The stay-at-home team gravitated towards the newly uncovered pool. It wasn’t fancy—just a modest rectangle of shimmering water nestled among the trees, with the expansive lake visible beyond—but to Madi, it might as well have been a five-star resort.

She shrieked with joy, her small body cutting through the air as she belly-flopped into the water, sending a wave splashing over the edge.

Bellamy lingered on the deck, arms crossed, the protective father in him unable to move until he saw her resurface, grinning, before he finally headed off with the guys.

Clarke set down a tray of iced lemonade, sunglasses perched on top of her head, and sighed slipping into vacation mode.

“Remind me again why we don’t live here full-time?”

“Because hospitals don’t run themselves, Griffin,” Jackson quipped, flopping into a chair with a long sip.

“Wait, where’s my adult drink?” Octavia complained, stretched out in a tiny black bikini that practically screamed Lincoln only.

Clarke gave her a pointed look.

“Fine,” the other girl huffed, grabbing a lemonade like a scolded child.

Madi popped up from the water for the twelfth time with a triumphant shout, droplets flying from her hair. “Someone time me! I’m doing apnea!”

“I’m on it,” Raven grinned, seated at the edge with one leg in the water, her phone already set to stopwatch mode. She tapped the screen, playing along with Madi’s boundless energy.

“Yay!” Madi cheered, flailing dramatically before diving under again.

“She’s her favorite aunt,” Clarke said lightly, watching Raven with a fond smile. “We’ve all accepted it.”

Octavia clutched her chest in mock betrayal. “Excuse me?! I was robbed.”

“That’s because Raven actually plays with her,” Harper stated matter-of-factly from the shade. “Instead of trying to bribe her into stillness with threats of chores.”

“Can’t compete with a genius,” Jackson declared, adjusting his sunglasses. He then turned to Raven, his voice casual but curious. “You ever think about having one yourself?”

Raven looked up, startled.

It wasn’t a question people asked her. Not seriously, anyway. Not since they were all old enough to stop pretending she might one day do the picket fence thing. 

And yet Jackson had said it so casually, as if it was normal. As if she was normal.

Across the pool, Clarke shot him a sharp look—Really?—and he blinked, registering a beat too late that maybe he’d crossed some invisible line.

But Raven only let out a breath, shaking her head.

“No, it’s fine,” she said, and to her own surprise, it really was. She paused, choosing her words carefully, voice soft but steady.

“I’ve thought about it,” she admitted. “Not often. But…sometimes.”

There was a small silence, the kind laced with curiosity, with weight.

“I don’t think it’s something I could do. I’m too… me. Too much history. Too much baggage. And kids deserve parents who try. Not perfect ones, but the kind who show up. Every day. Without flinching.”

Parents who didn’t freeze whenever a plate broke.

Her fingers absently traced the edge of her brace, and for a second—barely a breath—her mind conjured an image that made her chest ache.

A messy-haired little boy with dark eyes and a crooked grin, stubborn as hell and impossible to reason with. The kind of kid who would break things just to fix them again. The kind of kid who might make her believe in softness after all.

She blinked the thought away before it could settle.

“Anyway,” she finished, eyes lifting with a half-smile, “it’s a nice idea. Just not mine.”

The air shifted just slightly, a quiet kind of support passing between them. Clarke reached over to squeeze her shoulder.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’d be exactly that kind of parent. The kind who shows up. You always do, Raven. For everyone.”

Harper nodded, her expression gentle. “Seriously. You care so hard it scares people sometimes. And any kid would be lucky to have someone like you fighting in their corner.”

Raven snorted lightly, shaking her head, but the words lodged deep.

Octavia grinned. “A mini Reyes would be a full-blown hurricane. I’m not signing up for babysitting duty.”

“You never sign up for babysitting duty, even now, O,” Clarke pointed out.

“What can I say?” Octavia replied with her trademark smirk, flipping her hair back. “I’ll take skydiving and road trips over diaper duty any day.”

They chuckled, shaking their heads.

“I want to adopt,” Jackson said softly. “If the timing’s right, someday. I think I’d really like that.”

“It’s our plan B too,” Harper added gently. “If the treatment doesn’t work out.”

“What kind of treatment is it, if I may ask?” Jackson inquired, his tone warm and respectful.

Harper hesitated for a moment, then smiled. “A new experimental program at the Seawood-King Wellness Institute. Raven told us about it.”

“That’s Roan’s center, right?” Clarke asked, brow raised.

“Yeah,” Raven nodded with a small shrug. “That’s how I knew about it.”

“At least you and Monty are having fun with it,” Octavia said dryly. “Getting laid regularly. Silver lining.”

“I did not need that mental image,” Clarke muttered, automatically shielding Madi’s ears.

“Group trauma,” Jackson deadpanned.

Harper rolled her eyes, pulling out her phone. “Ok, shut up and smile. We need a photo for the group chat—to make the boys regret not staying home with us.”

They gathered around the edge of the pool, warm shoulders brushing, the sun painting their skin gold. Madi leaned against Clarke’s side, her mother's oversized sunglasses sliding down her nose, grinning like the little gremlin they always called her. The shutter clicked.

One photo turned into five. Then ten.

Clarke and Harper posted the best ones immediately. Jackson dropped them in the group chat.

Moments later, a reply came through: Lincoln and Bellamy grinning from the boat, Miller still holding a fishing rod, Murphy pulling a face behind them, and Monty flashing a peace sign.

Typical chaos.

Raven smiled despite herself.

They had lunch on the patio—simple sandwiches, fresh fruit, and Harper’s famous chocolate cookies. Afterward, as Madi yawned into Clarke’s side, the rest of the group decided to take a short walk through the woods behind the house.

“You coming?” Harper asked, glancing back at Raven.

Raven shook her head, carefully stretching her bad leg. “Nah. Uphill hikes aren’t exactly my thing. I’ll hold down the fort.”

“Text if you need anything,” Clarke said as they wandered toward the trail.

“Alright, baby,” she added, lifting Madi into her arms. “Nap time for us—so we’re fresh and rested when your father comes back empty-handed and we have to invent dinner from scratch.”

They disappeared upstairs, and Raven called after them with a small grin, “Enjoy your nap.”

And then—quiet.

Not the kind of silence that pressed down on her chest, but the soft kind. Peaceful. Afternoon sunlight spilled through the windows, warming the kitchen tiles. Raven made herself a cup of tea, opened her laptop, and got a bit of work done—she’d ended up bringing it after all.

She half-scrolled through her phone, sent Sinclair a photo of the lake with a dry caption: Living the rich life.

He replied with a thumbs-up emoji. Full boomer energy.

Another buzz—Murphy.

Murphy: How’s the pool? Missing me yet?

She smirked and snapped a picture of her laptop.

Raven: I’m in excellent company, thanks.

He sent back a loser GIF.

They traded a few more messages—dumb jokes, lazy updates from the fishing trip. Monty had nearly tipped the boat. Bellamy had yelled at Lincoln for stealing the bait.

Somewhere between writing a line of code and reading a text, her eyelids started to drift.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep—she almost never did during the day. But here, everything made it easy to let her guard down.

She woke to shouting.

At first, it didn’t register—just the thud of feet on the deck, voices raised, tense and urgent.

Then her brain caught up.

Bellamy’s voice.

Yelling.

“Help! It’s Murphy—someone help!”

Her tea crashed to the floor, knocked over in her scramble to stand.

And Raven was already moving.

Chapter Text

Raven was already halfway down the path to the beach, her breath coming in ragged bursts. The branches slapped against her arms. The brace on her leg dug into her skin with every uneven step.

But she didn’t care. All she could hear was Bellamy’s voice in her head.

“It’s Murphy.”

The words echoed like a gunshot—sharp, disorienting, final.

Her foot caught on an exposed root, jerking her forward. The uneven terrain gave way beneath her brace, her knee buckled. She hit the ground hard on her good leg, pain exploding up like shattered glass, but she barely registered it.

She didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

Dragging herself up, she half-ran, half-limped through the trees, chest heaving, vision blurring.

Her heart slammed against her ribs, each beat loud enough to drown out everything else. Then—open sky. Wind. The sharp scent of wet metal.

The boat was moored at the dock. People were gathered on the beach—silent, still. And in the center of them, someone lay on the sand.

Someone not moving.

Murphy.

No. No, no, no—

She pushed forward, stumbling down the last slope onto the shore. The sand clung to her palms and knees, but all she saw was him: soaked, limp, unnaturally still.

His dark clothes hung heavy on his body, like seaweed. His skin was gray. Lips tinged with blue.

Clarke was kneeling at his side, her hands positioned over his chest, her face a tight mask of focus and dread. Jackson knelt opposite, two fingers pressed to Murphy’s neck.

“No pulse," he said sharply.

“Starting compressions,” Clarke shot back, already moving. Her hands locked together, pushing rhythmically into his chest. Hard. Fast. The way you were supposed to.

But it looked wrong. 

“What happened?” Raven asked, the words ripped from her.

Bellamy turned to her, face pale and stricken. “He slipped. We were docking. He was laughing—he backed up, lost his footing. Hit his head. He was under before we even saw it.”

Raven’s chest tightened. The edges of the world pulsed black.

Lincoln sat nearby, soaked and shaking, Octavia’s hand clutched in his. “Miller and I dove in,” he said hoarsely. “We got him out fast, but... he wasn’t breathing.”

She looked at Miller— eyes wide with helpless guilt. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

Raven felt sick. Bile rose in her throat.

She clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes locked on Murphy—unblinking, desperate.

She wasn’t breathing either.

Clarke pushed into his chest over and over. Jackson leaned in, giving two quick rescue breaths.

“No water in his mouth,” Jackson muttered. “Clear airway. Breaths going in.”

But Murphy didn’t move.

Didn’t twitch.

Don’t you dare, Murphy. Don’t you fucking dare.

The world around her faded. All she heard was Clarke counting under her breath, the wet, awful sound of compressions, the rising panic in her own chest.

Monty came running down from the house, breathless. “I called emergency services. There was a major crash near the dam—every unit’s responding. No one’s coming. Not for at least thirty minutes. Maybe longer.”

Silence fell like a weight.

Clarke and Jackson locked eyes. Bellamy cursed under his breath.

They had no time. None.

Raven clenched her fists so tightly her nails cut into her palms. The pain anchored her. Kept her here.

“Keep going,” Clarke instructed, already resuming CPR. Jackson gave a tight nod.

And they did. Moving as if outside of time.

Come on, you’re a fucking cockroach. Survive. You always survive.

Then—

A sound.

A ragged cough.

Murphy’s body spasmed, arching off the sand as his lungs fought for breath. He gagged, water pouring from his mouth, choking on the effort.

“He’s breathing,” Jackson said, voice breaking. “He’s breathing.”

Clarke gently turned him onto his side while Jackson steadied his head.

And then—finally—everyone exhaled.

Bellamy turned away, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

Clarke brushed a damp strand of hair from Murphy’s forehead. Her voice was barely a whisper.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

And somehow, it was true.

He was breathing. And Raven remembered how to breathe, too.

Murphy coughed again. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused.

Jackson checked his pulse. “Weak, but steady. Shallow breathing. He needs to get to a hospital—now. Possible concussion, maybe worse.”

Raven heard it.

Worse.

That word split through the adrenaline, but she didn’t freeze.

She moved.

“I’ll drive.” Her jaw locked with the kind of purpose that didn’t leave room for a no. “Get him in the car.”

But Jackson’s gaze slid briefly to her leg. “Rae, you’re bleeding.”

She followed his eyes. A gash, deep and ugly, just above her knee. Blood ran down her shin. She hadn’t even felt it.

“I’m fine.”

“Raven—”

“I said I’m fine,” she snapped. The words cracked like a whip, louder than she meant. “It’s just a scratch.”

It wasn’t. But she didn’t care.

She was still the fastest driver they had. Even on winding back roads. Even with a bum leg and blood soaking through her pants.

Bellamy stepped forward, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“I’ll drive,” he offered gently. “Let’s not risk it.”

She turned toward him, ready to argue, but then another voice cut the air, small and panicked.

“Mommy!”

Madi.

Barefoot, running across the sand like the wind, Harper on her heels.

“I’m sorry,” Harper gasped as she caught up. “She just bolted.”

“It’s okay,” Clarke said immediately, catching Madi in her arms before she could reach Murphy. “Honey, I told you to stay inside with Aunt Harper.”

“Mama, what happened?”

Her eyes were already wide with fear.

Clarke pulled her in close. “Uncle Murphy’s just not feeling good. We’re taking him to the hospital, remember like when your tummy hurt? We need medicine that we don’t have here.”

Her daughter nodded slowly, trying to understand. But then she saw him. Still and pale in the sand, barely conscious.

Her face crumpled. “Uncle Murphy…”

Raven’s throat closed around a sharp, helpless sound as Madi’s sobs filled the air. Too much. It was too much.

“Shhh, baby,” Clarke whispered. “He’s going to be okay. I promise. Mommy and Uncle Jackson are gonna fix him.”

Bellamy crouched beside them. “We’re going to take him now, alright? But we need you to stay here. Be brave, Mads. Think you can do that?”

Madi nodded, barely.

And then—unexpected, unprompted—she turned away from her mother.

And reached for Raven.

Raven blinked, stunned. “Me?”

The child didn’t answer. Just lifted her arms, small fingers stretching in trust and desperation.

Without thinking, Raven leaned down and scooped her up.

Madi clung to her, face buried in her shoulder, tiny hands twisting into the fabric of her shirt.

“Aunt Raven, I want to stay with you.”

Raven froze, caught between a new kind of war raging in her chest—her need to go with him, to not lose sight of Murphy, to assure herself that he was okay—and this small, shaking body now holding onto her like she was safety itself.

Her eyes met Clarke’s across the space. Her friend didn’t say anything, didn’t plead. She just looked at her. Asking without asking.

Raven nodded slowly.

“I’ll stay,” she murmured. Her voice didn’t sound like hers. “Yeah. I’ve got her.”

“Thank you,” Clarke mouthed. She looked like she wanted to cry.

Bellamy kissed his daughter's hair, then he turned to Raven. “We’ll keep you updated. I promise.”

And then they moved. Jackson and Bellamy lifted Murphy with practiced care, and Clarke ran ahead to grab the car keys.