Chapter 3
The night had descended quietly, the moon casting soft light over the sprawling city outside the sleek glass windows of both Miranda and Roselle’s apartments. Each of them lived in luxurious isolation—expansive spaces in different corners of the city, but both marked by an eerie quietness that spoke to their personal needs for solitude. For Miranda, the solitude was a choice she had made long ago. For Roselle, it was more of a necessity, a space for her to focus. But tonight, their solitary worlds felt smaller, more intertwined.
-Miranda's Apartment-
Miranda had retreated into her apartment after a long day at the lab, yet despite her fatigue, her mind refused to settle. She found herself restless, her thoughts constantly drifting to the work they had been doing together. The breakthroughs they had achieved were significant, but something was gnawing at her—the same thing that had been weighing on her mind ever since Roselle had arrived.
Her phone buzzed on the table beside her, pulling her from her thoughts. It was an unexpected call, the name on the screen making her stomach tighten in an unfamiliar way. Roselle.
Miranda hesitated only for a second before answering.
"Miranda," Roselle’s voice came through the receiver, warm yet professional, the same tone she used when discussing the research they were working on. "I know it’s late, but I’ve been going over some of the data, and I think we might need to adjust our approach for the next phase of the Cadou experiment. I’m not sure if we’re accounting for all the variables."
Miranda leaned back in her chair, her fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the table. It wasn’t unusual for Roselle to be this absorbed in the work, but the late-night call felt… different. More personal, somehow.
“Explain,” Miranda said coolly, pushing aside the slight flutter in her chest.
"Well," Roselle continued, her tone smooth and controlled, "the mutation rate is progressing faster than we predicted, and I think there might be external factors—factors that we haven’t fully analyzed yet. If we don’t adjust, we could end up with a set of uncontrollable variables."
Miranda exhaled slowly, considering the possibilities. "You’re correct. I’ll begin recalibrating the process. Send me your notes, and I’ll review them immediately."
There was a brief pause before Roselle spoke again, her voice taking on a more thoughtful, almost tentative tone. "Miranda, while I have you on the phone… There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you."
Miranda’s brow furrowed slightly. "What is it?"
"I—" Roselle hesitated. "I don’t really know much about you, beyond the research. We work together so closely, but I feel like there’s so much I don’t understand about you." She continued before Miranda could respond. "I’m not asking for anything personal, not exactly, but—"
Miranda leaned forward, suddenly on edge, as if the request itself had caught her by surprise. "What are you suggesting?"
There was a small laugh on the other end of the line. "I just… I think we both have more to offer each other than just science, Miranda. I know you’ve got your own life, your own world, but I want to understand you better. I think it might help our work too—if we understand how we think, how we approach problems."
Miranda’s breath caught in her throat. This was unexpected.
She wasn’t sure how to respond. She had lived her entire life closed off, hidden behind the walls of her professional persona. The idea of letting someone in—really letting them in—felt like a betrayal to the work. A distraction.
Yet there was a part of her, something small and quiet, that was almost relieved by Roselle’s openness. It had been a long time since anyone had shown any real interest in her beyond her intellect, beyond her endless pursuit of power.
"What do you want to know?" Miranda asked, her voice softer than she intended.
"Well…" Roselle’s voice seemed to grow gentler, as if she was carefully choosing her words. "I want to know more about you—what drives you. You’ve accomplished so much, but I think there’s a part of you that’s not just about the science. What else matters to you, Miranda?"
Miranda’s heart skipped a beat. Her mind immediately flashed to her daughter—Eva. She felt that familiar pang in her chest, that cold ache she had buried so deeply inside her.
Eva. Her precious child, the one she would do anything to bring back.
But she couldn’t say that, not now. Not to Roselle. Not when she had so carefully hidden the truth from everyone.
"I am driven by my work," Miranda replied evenly, her tone guarded. "It is my purpose."
Roselle didn’t immediately respond. Miranda could almost hear the wheels turning in her mind, processing the words she had just spoken. When she finally spoke again, her voice was softer, filled with understanding.
"I get that," Roselle said gently. "But I also think there’s more to you. You’re not just a scientist, Miranda. You’re a person. And I want to understand you—all of you."
Miranda’s pulse quickened. Roselle’s words felt too personal, too intimate for someone who had only recently entered her life. And yet… they didn’t feel uncomfortable.
"Why do you care?" Miranda asked, her voice quieter now, almost searching.
There was a long pause on the other end. For a moment, Miranda thought Roselle might say something to backtrack, to pull away from the question. But instead, Roselle’s response came, steady and sincere.
"Because I respect you, Miranda. You’ve shown me something I haven’t found in many others—the kind of drive that doesn’t give up. That’s rare. And I guess… I want to know who you are beneath all of that."
Miranda swallowed hard. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. She wasn’t used to this. She wasn’t used to anyone caring, let alone voicing it so openly.
Still, despite the unease crawling up her spine, Miranda couldn’t bring herself to dismiss Roselle’s words. It had been a long time since anyone had expressed that kind of curiosity toward her, and it unsettled her in a way she couldn’t ignore.
Before she could formulate an appropriate response, Roselle spoke again, this time with a change in tone—lighter, almost teasing.
"Tell me something, Miranda. What was your childhood like? I don’t know anything about your past."
Miranda stiffened at the question. She hadn’t been asked about her past in so long. The memories of her childhood were buried deep, locked away, inaccessible. It was safer that way.
"I don’t—" she began, but stopped herself. She hadn’t realized how much she had been avoiding these conversations until now. She had prided herself on her control, on keeping everything in its proper place.
But now, the walls she had spent so long building seemed to tremble under the weight of Roselle’s simple curiosity.
"Maybe one day," Miranda said, her voice steady, though her pulse raced, "I’ll share more."
Roselle’s laughter came through the phone, soft and understanding. "That’s fair. We can take things slow."
Miranda closed her eyes for a moment, her thoughts a whirlwind. She couldn’t give Roselle everything, not yet. But the truth was, she didn’t feel the same resistance she once did. Perhaps it was time, just maybe, to allow someone—just one person—inside.
"Goodnight, Miranda," Roselle said, her voice warm, like a promise.
"Goodnight," Miranda replied quietly.
As the line clicked off, Miranda sat in the dark, the weight of the conversation lingering. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to be seen, truly seen, until Roselle had asked the simplest of questions. She wasn’t ready to share everything—not yet. But something in her felt… lighter.
Perhaps, just perhaps, Roselle would be the one to help her find the pieces of herself that she had long buried.
The next day, Miranda woke up earlier than usual. She had barely slept, her mind swirling with thoughts of the previous night’s conversation. For years, she had maintained a strict routine, keeping her work at the center of her existence. She had allowed little room for distractions, especially those of a personal nature. Yet, something about Roselle’s presence, her persistence, was beginning to unravel those tightly wound threads of control.
As she prepared for the day ahead, Miranda found herself thinking of the words Roselle had said. I want to understand you. It was a strange notion, even unsettling, but not entirely unwelcome. It had been years since someone had cared to know her beyond her work, and despite her better judgment, she felt the pull of curiosity about this woman. About what Roselle saw in her, beyond the cold exterior and scientific drive.
-The Connections-
Miranda arrived at the lab wasting no time settling into her routine. The work was demanding—hours of data analysis, fine-tuning experiments, reviewing the progress of her research. But as the morning wore on, there was something different in the air. Miranda could feel the weight of Roselle’s unspoken thoughts lingering, and it made her restless. She hadn’t expected their brief exchange the night before to carry so much weight into the day.
Around mid-morning, she found herself standing by her desk, staring at the screen in front of her, but not really seeing the data. It was as if the room had grown smaller, the walls closing in as the pressure of work, of responsibility, began to suffocate her.
A soft knock on the door snapped Miranda out of her thoughts.
"Miranda?" Roselle’s voice was gentle, yet firm, as if she knew exactly when to step in. "I was thinking... you’ve been working nonstop since we arrived. Maybe it’s time for a break."
Miranda glanced at the clock. She had been at it for hours without stopping, as was her habit, but something in Roselle’s tone made her hesitate.
A break? She hadn’t taken a true break in years. Not in the sense that Roselle was suggesting. "I don’t have time," Miranda replied, her voice cool, but with a tinge of something else—something close to... guilt?
Roselle stepped into the room fully, her presence soothing in its quiet way. "Come on, Miranda. You’ve done enough for now. A little time away will clear your head. Trust me, you’ll feel better afterward."
Miranda wasn’t used to being persuaded, but there was an honesty in Roselle’s voice that made her pause. For once, she didn’t feel like arguing. Perhaps, for once, it was time to follow someone else’s suggestion.
"Fine," Miranda said, her voice resigned but not unkind. "I’ll take a break. But only for a short time."
A small, satisfied smile curved Roselle’s lips. "That’s all I ask."
Roselle led the way to the break room, and as they stepped inside, Miranda noticed the difference in the atmosphere. It wasn’t the sterile, clinical air of the lab, but something lighter. The room had a warmth to it, and despite its plain design, there was an undeniable sense of comfort. She felt an odd sense of relief, as if taking this small moment away from the lab could give her some clarity.
Miranda lowered herself into one of the chairs, arms crossed in front of her, but she couldn’t hide the brief flicker of gratitude in her eyes. "What do you suggest we do?" she asked, voice tinged with mild curiosity.
Roselle leaned against the counter, casually picking up a mug of coffee, the steam rising gently from the hot liquid. "I think we should talk," she said, her tone light but with an underlying sincerity. "You’ve been so focused on your work that I don’t think I’ve ever really gotten to know the real Miranda. The person behind the research, the one who drives it all."
Miranda met her gaze, her fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. She had been asked personal questions before, of course, but no one had been this persistent, this... genuine in their curiosity.
"I’m not much of a talker," Miranda said, her voice flat. "You already know what matters to me. The work." She didn’t want to talk about her past, her emotions, the things that made her vulnerable. She didn’t want to make herself an open book to be read.
But Roselle didn’t seem deterred. She took a slow sip of her coffee, her gaze never leaving Miranda’s face. "I get that. But everyone has layers, Miranda. And sometimes it’s good to take a step back and remember that we’re more than just what we do."
Miranda hesitated. Was it really that simple?
She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she allowed herself to observe Roselle—the way her eyes held steady, the way she spoke without pressure, as if she knew exactly when to give someone space. It was disarming, and Miranda found herself wanting to understand what motivated Roselle as well.
"I suppose," Miranda said carefully, "that everyone has their own... burdens."
Roselle’s expression softened, and for the first time, Miranda saw a hint of vulnerability in her eyes. "We all do," she agreed quietly. "But that doesn’t mean we have to carry them alone."
Miranda nodded slowly, her gaze shifting to the window, where the city spread out before them. She could feel the weight of her own thoughts, the constant burden of her past, her experiments, the goal that had consumed her life. It was a lot to carry, and even though she had never admitted it aloud, the idea of sharing that weight... didn’t seem so impossible anymore.
The moment passed, and Roselle broke the silence with a gentle smile. "So," she said, standing up straight, "I’ve been thinking. Since you’re taking a break, why not take a little more time for yourself this weekend?"
Miranda raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, why don’t you let me treat you to dinner? A proper meal, outside of this place." Roselle's eyes were light, sincere. "We could go to that new restaurant by the docks—the one with the view of the water. I hear the food’s exceptional, and it’s a good spot to relax. No experiments, no research. Just... two people enjoying a meal."
Miranda blinked, surprised by the offer. She hadn’t expected Roselle to be so... casual about it, but she could feel the warmth of her words sink in. Dinner? Outside the lab?
She thought about it for a moment. It had been years since she had enjoyed a meal outside of the lab, years since she had truly enjoyed anything. The thought of sitting in a restaurant, of having an unhurried conversation, was... foreign. But strangely appealing.
"I don’t... usually take breaks," Miranda said, her voice hesitant but not rejecting. "But I suppose there’s no harm in it."
Roselle grinned, clearly pleased by her answer. "Great. I’ll make the reservations, and we’ll go Saturday evening. Just the two of us. You deserve it."
Miranda found herself almost smiling in return. She didn’t know what had come over her—what it was about Roselle’s insistence, her calm demeanor—but she couldn’t deny that she was intrigued.
"Very well," Miranda said, her tone softening. "Saturday it is."
Roselle nodded, her smile widening as she gathered her things. "Perfect. I’m looking forward to it."
As she walked out of the break room, Miranda sat for a moment, pondering the strange turn her life had taken. A dinner. A simple thing. But it felt significant, like it marked a shift—one that was impossible to ignore.
Perhaps, for the first time in a long while, Miranda would allow herself to step outside the walls she had built. Just for a moment.