The feeling isn't helped by the agitated cries leaving the four year old. I-seo has never been a particularly fussy child, she almost never gets upset and rarely ever cries — not like this anyway. Not when she's overstimulated, not when she's sad, and certainly not any other time she has tripped over her own feet. Which probably means this is more than just a scraped knee or some bruising flesh.

To make matters worse, Zoey is tired. Far too tired to be kneeling in front of her daughter trying to figure out if something is sprained or broken without falling apart herself. She admits she's always been a bit of a cry baby when she doesn't get a full night's sleep, something about not being able to regulate her emotions properly while running on empty — and this week she's been running on fumes, amassing a grand total of twelve hours of in four days — which isn't exactly helpful when trying to remain calm while her kid is sobbing uncontrollably in the middle of the street, and she's trying not to think about how she's going to have to go grocery shopping again, and—

A low, gentle voice cuts across her spiraling thoughts with quite possibly the worst question, in Zoey's humble — and not at all distressed — opinion. "Is she okay?"

"I don't know." Zoey chokes back a sob. Because she doesn't and she's definitely in a losing battle against her sanity, and now there's some stranger with a soothing voice witnessing this whole ordeal, and honestly she doesn't know if—

"Hi, little one," the woman next to her says, crouching beside the two of them. She wiggles her fingers in front of I-seo before placing her hand, palm up, within the four year old's reach. "My name is Mira, can you tell me your name?"

I-seo's cries don't subside, they only get louder and more raucous, and honestly Zoey can't fault her. She's in shock, she's in pain, and now there's the added stimulus of someone asking her a question that her brain is too overwhelmed to answer.

"That's okay, I wouldn't be able to answer either if I was in pain," Mira says gently before looking at Zoey and gesturing at the crying four year old in front of them.

"I-seo," she manages to rasp out.

"I-seo," she says with a warm smile, moving her focus back to Zoey's daughter. "That's a beautiful name. I'm a pediatrician, do you know what that is I-seo?"

For some reason that's the question that does it. I-seo's attention snaps to the woman in front of her, suddenly mesmerized by the way her long pink hair sways in the breeze. She shakes her head, breathing still a little frenzied as her bottom lip quivers in an effort to keep her tears at bay.

"I'm a doctor for kids," Mira explains, pulling out a stethoscope from the bag by her feet. She wraps it around I-seo's neck carefully, taking the bell and placing it in one of I-seo's small hands. "Is it okay if I take a look at your legs so you can tell me what hurts? You took a really hard fall."

"Excuse m—" Mira tries to ask only to get shushed again.

Zoey doesn't draw it out like one does when there's a sleeping baby or a cat doing something cute that has a risk of being disrupted by loud sounds. It's short and loud and pointed.

The only noise that fills the penthouse — aside from Mira's disbelieving huff — is a mixture of cellos, a timpani, and synthesizers. Music so odd that it's almost off-putting, caught somewhere between cheerful dread and post-apocalyptic comedy. It honestly doesn't do much to mollify Mira's annoyance.

She takes a couple of steps closer until she can see the woman that is telling her to 'shut up' rather unkindly, because surely there's something going on if Zoey is listening to whatever that is while having the gall to tell Mira to stay quiet.

Bundled under a truly unnecessary number of blankets, Mira can see exactly four things: Zoey's face, Zoey's bangs, Zoey's hands, Zoey's Switch — everything else is covered up by some sort of colourful fabric. Her eyes are frantically moving back and forth, brows furrowed in concentration, and her tongue is peeking out from between her lips — a strangely endearing habit. What's worse — or better, and infinitely endearing in Mira's opinion — is that Zoey doesn't even know she does that when she's concentrating, often blushing furiously and denying any accusations when it's pointed out to her.

Every so often she murmurs out a 'fuck' or 'yesss' under her breath and by this point Mira is honestly deeply captivated by the display in front of her. She can't even be annoyed, let alone mad, when Zoey looks like she's having both the best time of her life and going through at least seventeen stages of grief at once.

The music shifts suddenly. Mira can feel her own heart begin to pump a little faster in panic at the sounds of urgency, and the music stops.

Zoey drops the console on her lap — or at least where Mira thinks her lap is under the mountain of blankets — with more frustration she thinks she's ever seen from her.

"And this is why we don't hoard our fucking specials!" Zoey yells directly at the Switch, hands coming up to her face as she lets out the world's loudest, most annoyed "uuuuugh" in history. Probably.

She sits there with her head tilted back and the palms of her hands over her eyes for a beat or two before taking one deep breath and moving her head back down. Her expression flips like a light switch — bright smile taking over her face, cheeks dusted pink, and eyes crinkling at the edges.

"Hi, Mira!" she says like Mira had just walked in through the door and hadn't been shushed twice within the last five to ten minutes.

The only reply she can muster back is a confused "Hi?"

"Uh," Zoey begins, blush deepening as Mira starts walking towards her, "sorry for telling you to shut up. We were at the end of wave three and honestly, if my teammates had actually used their specials the way they're supposed to, or at least the way they should know to use them at this level, then we would've been in the clear. But noooo, 'keiranscave' decided to hoard their Killer Wail instead of clearing the Steel Eel that took out two of us, while 'situationj0001' wasted both of their Reefsliders during Glowflies — when we weren't even in trouble — and then, then, 'mommy—' nope wait not finishing that username out loud, how the hell did that even fucking get through the username verification? Anyway, they—"

Mira cuts her off with a kiss — sweet and straddling the fine line between chaste and passionate. Because she can't help herself, not when Zoey talks passionately about things no matter how big or small they are. And fuck does she love it when Zoey gets worked up about good things, bad things, and everything in between. The way her eyes light up, the way her brows become the punctuation to her feelings and words, the way she forgets to breathe sometimes and that pauses exist for a reason. She can't get enough of it.

"I brought boba," she says after they're both a little breathless and breaking for air, Mira still leaning over Zoey and her army of blankets on the couch.

Zoey laughs, digging her arms from under the blankets to cup Mira's face between her hands. "I knew I kept you around for a reason," she teases. But then her eyes turn soft and her smile shifts into something laced with pure adoration that makes Mira's heart beat a little faster — a little happier. "Thank you."

"Anything for you," Mira replies.

"Mira, please," she yells again, forcing her legs to keep working through the exhaustion as she chases her down the main road.

Mira doesn't stop. In fact, she only pushes herself to go faster. Fast enough that Zoey doesn't think she'll be able to catch up before the edge of town. Fast enough that Zoey thinks her body will collapse before she even makes it past that fucking welcome sign that mocks every single one of them on a daily basis.

An anguished 'fuck' falls from her lips as she feels the area on the right side of her body begin to tense, just below her ribs.

She knows she shouldn't be pushing herself like this, knows better than to aggravate scar tissue that isn't fully healed but she can't let Mira go through this alone. Not again.

Desperation claws at her lungs as she takes a corner away from the pavement and down the gravel road they all know too well. It's where it always begins, and for some it's also the end. Mira can't fall into the latter, she won't let that happen. Can't let that happen.

Zoey stops abruptly as she turns the corner by the river, hunching over her knees to catch her breath as she keeps an eye on the woman in front of her.

Mira is standing still, hands clutched into fists at her side, facing away from Zoey. She's five steps away from The Line — maybe three with how long Mira's legs are — and a sense of protectiveness flares through Zoey at the sight.

"Mira, please don't do this," she pleads between gasping breaths. "It won't work."

Because it won't. She knows this, better than most. Zoey has been here before, legs rooted in the same spot Mira stands in now, body trembling and heart pounding at the possibility of freedom. Of release.

But it won't matter — it never does. All this place does is take. Take lives and souls and bodies and hearts and hope and anything and everything it can with it's greedy tendrils. It feeds itself on desperation, slowly sucking the sanity out of every person that is unlucky enough to end up here like it's a five course meal presented on a silver platter.

Mira isn't the exception. Even if she doesn't see that now, even if everything in her screams at her to try, to do something instead of nothing. Zoey has seen the other side — the all-encompassing darkness and anguish that comes with stepping over The Line.

"I have to do something, Zoey!" Mira yells at the road ahead of her. "I can't keep sitting around waiting for this nightmare to end."

Zoey's heart crawls up her throat at Mira's broken words, because she knows, is intimately familiar with the misery crawling beneath Mira's skin. "It's only going to make it worse."

Mira just scoffs in return, taking a step away from Zoey and towards that invisible barrier that keeps them all enclosed like zoo animals in this forsaken town.

"I just have to try," she mutters, defeated.

So she does.

Mira steps over The Line with a sharp intake of breath, only to be pushed back a second later.

Zoey just stands there and watches. Watches as Mira steps over the same patches of dirt over and over again. Watches as Mira's composure begins to unravel little by little until she's screaming and crying and fighting with the air that surrounds them. Watches as her body shakes and her body curls in on itself as Mira gets pushed back over, and over, and over, and over again.

After twenty minutes and countless attempts, Zoey closes the distance between them, catching Mira as she's pushed back one more time. She can feel the way Mira's body is shaking as she wraps her arms around her frame, breath hitched and unstable as sobs punch out of her lungs.

"I know, baby, I know," Zoey soothes, bringing both their bodies down to the ground where she adjusts her hold on Mira.

Another loud, broken sob crashes out of Mira as she buries her face into the crook of Zoey's neck. "I can't do this anymore, please don't make me, please—"