Mira has no idea how much time has passed. It might be minutes. It might be hours. All she knows is that she cannot call him back. Not after what happened.

  She curls deeper into the blanket, swallowed by its weight, and stares at the towering wall, waiting for some dark magic to fix her problem by morning. The ceiling light burns above her like a small, artificial sun, and its harsh brightness presses against her eyes until every blink feels painful.

  Then a nauseating, suffocating smell reaches her.

  It seeps into the air, heavy and oily, clinging to the back of her throat with a pungent, rancid intensity. It carries the sour rot of damp pipes and the choking, putrid stench of waste left in the dark. This is the same foul, repulsive odor that made her gag and faint as a child near a drainage ditch. Her stomach twists as her skin prickles with a cold, creeping dread.

  Her fairy senses, sharpened and raw, recoil from the proximity of something primal and grotesque. Every nerve screams as the blanket suddenly feels as thin and useless as paper. Slowly, she peers over its edge.

  It is there.

  A monstrous shape looms near the bedframe, its segmented body shimmering with a greasy, nauseating gloss. This armored titan reflects the light in dull, muddy brown plates and stands twice her size. Its splayed, jointed legs twitch with a skittering energy while long, whip-like antennae sway to trace invisible paths toward her.

  From her height, it is a living, breathing wall of jagged chitin and shifting shadow.

  Its dark, rounded eyes catch the light, appearing vast and predatory as they fix on her. The creature seems to map her position and her rising fear with a cold, alien intelligence. Each sudden shift of its heavy body sends jarring vibrations through the mattress that travel straight into her bones.

  Her heart pounds as the thick, fetid smell floods her senses until her vision swims in a haze of disgust. She presses her back into the blanket while magic sparks erratically along her skin. The world feels hostile, enormous, and terrifyingly wrong. Every instinct tells her to flee, yet there is no escape from this looming, oily nightmare.

  A cockroach monster!

  Her breath catches in her throat. For one horrifying second, she can’t move. Her brain completely short-circuits.

  "AHHHHHH!!!"

  Mira screams with every scrap of strength her tiny lungs can produce.

  But it achieves nothing useful.

  If anything, it makes the situation aggressively worse.

  The ceiling light responds as if personally offended. It flickers once. Twice. Then, with impeccable timing and absolutely no sympathy, it gives up entirely and snaps off.

  Darkness crashes down.

  Mira is now alone in the dark.

  Well—almost.

  Because the room is not completely dark.

  The only remaining light source is her.

  Heat rushes through her skin, and light spills out in uneven bursts, bright enough to betray her position with enthusiasm. Her nerves overload under stress, dumping bioelectric charge straight into the air like a system running wild. The tiny sharp snap sound comes with it—restless crackles popping all around her, racing along her arms, lifting her hair, turning the space around her into a miniature thunderstorm with terrible timing.

  Mira looks down at herself, stunned.

  No. No. NO.

  This isn’t happening.

  The cockroach reacts immediately. Its body pivots with slow curiosity, antennae angling toward the light and the noise, as if the universe has just introduced a brand-new attraction labeled interactive.

  Mira swallows.

  A thought forms, thin and reckless.

  Electricity.

  Her body produces electricity.

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  That sounds like something heroes do. Courage gathers in her chest with the confidence of someone operating entirely on vibes. She edges out from the blanket, plants her feet, squeezes her eyes shut, and points both hands straight at the enemy, committing to the pose with absolute faith.

  Nothing happens.

  The air keeps snapping.

  She keeps glowing.

  The cockroach keeps standing there, calm and extremely present.

  Mira opens one eye, then lowers her arms.

  “…Okay,” she says. “That was ambitious.”

  Her body continues to glow and buzz like a poorly chosen nightlight, proudly advertising her location, while she stands there realizing that determination alone fails to qualify as a superpower.

  Nope. She is DONE.

  She needs Adrian.

  Her eyes dart to her phone, now a massive impenetrable slab lying on the bed like an insurmountable cliffside. With no other choice, she runs toward it, clambering onto the screen with every ounce of determination in her tiny body.

  The lock screen glows beneath her feet.

  She stomps on it.

  Nothing.

  She swipes her arms frantically.

  The screen ignores her.

  Her tiny fingers aren’t registering.

  "OH, COME ON!!!" she wails.

  The cockroach twitches again.

  Panic surges through her veins as she jumps, kicks the screen, even body-slams the emergency call button.

  Then—one last desperate attempt. She bites the screen.

  It works.

  The phone finally detects movement, and the emergency call icon pops up. She scrambles to tap Adrian’s number—the one they set for urgent situations.

  (Though, to be fair, they never anticipated a shrinking-and-cockroach-emergency before.)

  ?

  Meanwhile, in his room, Adrian is deeply focused on the findings Nate had just delivered when his phone blares.

  Emergency call from Mira.

  His heart nearly stops. He abandons his work instantly, and sprints.

  "Mira?! Are you okay?!" His voice is tight with strain.

  His eyes widen with pure dread. He freezes on the threshold, staring into a room swallowed by darkness.

  A small glow leaks from the bed, trapped beneath a pile of blankets, pulsing in uneven flashes that turn his stomach cold. Then the sound reaches him—a thin, broken whimper, raw and panicked. The blanket shifts slightly, a visible tremor of fear. And beneath it, smaller than his own thumb, shaking fiercely… is tiny Mira.

  She peeks out, eyes huge, filled with terror, fixed first on the normal-sized cockroach on the pillow… then on him.

  "Adrian… p-please," she whispers, the sound nearly lost. "Save me…"

  "Alright, alright," he mutters, the tension easing from his shoulders. He rolls up his sleeves, his gaze returning to her small form. "Let’s deal with your 'giant monster.'"

  He grabs the closest book, carefully brushes the roach off the bed, and swiftly throws it out the window.

  Mira remains frozen under the blanket, still in shock.

  Adrian drops to one knee beside the bed. He extends a large hand, his thumb and forefinger open. Then, with great caution, he gently scoops up the trembling tiny girl.

  He lifts her slowly, bringing her level with his eyes. "You good now?"

  Mira, still shaken, nods weakly, her tiny hands gripping his thumb like a desperate anchor.

  The silence that settles is heavy, charged with the shared experience and the sudden, close proximity.

  "Pfft—"

  Mira’s tiny brow furrows. "Adrian. Don’t."

  “I’m sorry, Mira. I thought I should wait until you calmed down. Maybe fell asleep. I planned to turn you back to normal then.” He manages, trying—and failing—to suppress his grin. “I didn’t expect you would… end up under attack by a cockroach.”

  Mira buries her face into her tiny hands. "Please. Can we just drop it?"

  "I’m trying," he says, shaking his head, his eyes softening. “Now, let's focus on the actual problem." He gestures around with his free hand. "Are you going to be able to sleep now?"

  Mira stiffens in his palm. "No."

  Adrian leans back on the cushion. "And do you want me to leave?"

  She stiffens further. "Also no."

  "So…?"

  "I don't know, okay?" she whispered. “It's just... you’re here, and it's the middle of the night, and I can't think straight with you this close. But I know I won't sleep if you leave, either." She looked away, her face flushing a deep heat.

  "Calm down," he says softly. "Look, staying here isn’t exactly comfortable for me, either."

  "You think?!"

  "I will stay on the couch, where I can hear anything, and you will sleep on your bed."

  Mira blinks, considering the option. The couch is clearly too short for him to even straighten his legs, yet she can barely catch her breath with him staying so close. The thought of unconsciously crawling against his chest again while she sleeps makes her face burn with sudden heat. She has no choice but to accept his offer, her voice wavering as she tries to hide how flustered she feels.

  "…Uhm. Fine. But, just the opposite, you should stay on the bed and leave me at the couch. I'm tiny so anywhere is fine to me."

  And just like that, the night becomes strangely… manageable.

  ?

  Fifteen minutes later, Mira curls up in her scarf, still wide awake, while Adrian sprawls out on the bed, arms crossed behind his head. Mira knows she needs to sleep, but with him just a few feet away, she can't get her mind to shut off.

  Silence.

  Then—

  "Mira."

  "What?" she grumbles.

  "Stop staring at the ceiling and go to sleep."

  "I’m NOT staring at the ceiling," she lies.

  Adrian lets out a low laugh. He tells her to stop fixating on the ceiling, yet he finds himself doing the exact same thing, his eyes tracing the shadows in the dark. He has no idea how to fall asleep in this awkward situation.

  Their love story is surely a long, exhausting way to go.

  ?