Chapter Text
Ever Xiang—today is her day.
Well, hers and her sister’s. Rose Xiang.
Together, they're finally stepping into the world as official Hunters. After everything they’ve been through, everything they’ve survived, today should feel like a victory. It should mean something. And maybe it does—maybe it would—if she weren’t currently pacing through a hospital hallway instead of standing with her squad.
Not exactly the grand start she had in mind.
A quiet sigh slips past her lips as she pushes forward, boots tapping out a steady rhythm on the tile floor. The mission was supposed to be simple: investigate a flagged warehouse. No real threats, just intel-gathering. At least, that’s what the higher-ups claimed. And from what she saw, her team—Rose, Tara, and Lara—still had it under control when she left.
And yet.
Her fingers curl into the hem of her jacket. Even knowing that, even trusting them, she hates being away. It’s not just her sister she left behind—it’s her people. The ones who should be at her side for their first real operation.
But no. Instead, she’s here.
Because of her damn heart.
Technically, both she and Rose have it—Protocore Syndrome. A heart condition caused by the very thing that makes them choose to be Hunters. Living with an Aether Core fused into your chest isn’t exactly natural. Some days, it behaves. Other days, it reminds you that your body was never meant to contain that kind of power.
It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it lands her right here—under the Bureau’s thumb, dragged off-mission for mandatory checks. Protocol. Tiresome, inconvenient protocol. She feels fine now.
Not that saying so will get her out of this any faster.
She exhales sharply, shaking off the edge of frustration as she finally reaches the assigned office. After an irritating amount of forms and biometric scans, she rolls her shoulders and knocks on the door. Then, without waiting for a response, she pushes it open.
And freezes.
What she didn’t expect was a slap of familiarity so strong it nearly knocks her off balance.
The office is pristine—too pristine. White walls, a wall-to-wall shelf of medical journals, and a desk arranged with surgical precision. But it’s not the sterile setup that hits her.
It’s him.
Standing beside the desk, leafing through a patient file, is a man with sharp features and hazel eyes that catch the light like glass—flickering between gold and green. His silver-rimmed glasses sit low on his nose, and his lab coat is crisp, not a wrinkle in sight. He looks up, expression unreadable—until recognition flickers.
Ever hasn’t seen Zayne Li in years.
They still talk, sure—but never in person. Not since they all moved away and begin to get busy with their own things.
Her childhood friend. The boy who once scolded her for climbing too high in trees. Who always looked serious, always kept a distance—except with her. She remembers the way his eyes softened when she teased him. The way he’d sigh like she was dragging him into trouble he didn’t want—but always followed anyway.
And now? Now he’s here.
Her doctor. Assigned by the Bureau.
Of course.
Ever blinks. Then, slowly, a grin tugs at her lips.
“Well. If it isn’t Doctor Li,” she drawls, stepping inside. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you in a place like this.”
Zayne doesn’t flinch. His expression barely shifts, but she catches the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I could say the same.” His eyes flick down, taking in her posture—the way she’s favoring her left side, just a bit.
“You were supposed to be on a mission.”
She shrugs, slipping her hands into her pockets. “Technically still am. Just made a little detour.”
He sighs. Classic Zayne. “Sit.”
She doesn’t move yet. “So you didn’t think to tell me you moved back to the city?”
He glances up again. “I was going to call you today.”
And just like that, it feels like no time has passed.
But Ever knows better. Time has passed. Too much.
She opens her mouth, maybe to poke at him, maybe to say something more—except the words never come.
Because the light shifts.
It’s subtle. Barely noticeable. But for a second, the fluorescent overhead catches his face differently. His hazel eyes lean green. Not just any green.
That green.
A color that slices clean through the years and hits something buried deep. A flash of memory. Not just of Zayne—but of pain. Of fear. Of being small and broken.
Suddenly, she’s not in the office anymore.
She’s back in that cold, sterile room. The scent of antiseptic in her lungs. The bite of metal beneath her skin. A monitor beeping steady and impersonal in the background.
She is small again.
A girl lost in a nightmare made of bright lights and quiet suffering.
A girl who once reached out for the only warmth she could find in a colorless world—a boy with hazel eyes that always, somehow, looked a little bit green.