Chapter 8: Hunger in Quiet Pces

  The library lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting long shadows on the floor as Mira waited outside the door.

  She stared at the grain of the wood, tracing the edges with her eyes. Her hands were clenched inside her sleeves, fingers cold and twitchy, stomach tight. There was no message this time. No warning. Just a time. A pce. As if Lena already knew she’d come.

  And she had.

  Her feet carried her here before her mind gave permission.

  She knocked, gently.

  A pause. Then Lena’s voice, quiet through the door.

  “Come in.”

  Mira pushed it open.

  The room was the same as always—dim, stale with the scent of old books and dust. But Lena’s presence made it feel smaller. She was seated at the table, hands folded over a closed notebook, gaze already on Mira like she’d been waiting with quiet amusement.

  Mira stepped in and shut the door behind her. It clicked softly. Too loud.

  She swallowed.

  Lena didn’t speak right away. She studied Mira instead—eyes calm, unreadable, like she was watching weather patterns form behind Mira’s skin.

  “You’re on time,” Lena said finally. “That’s good.”

  Mira nodded quickly, too quickly.

  “You remember the rules?”

  Mira hesitated. “Be prepared.”

  Lena’s smile was faint, almost absent. “That was st week.”

  She stood up.

  Mira’s heart jumped. She didn’t move.

  Lena walked over, slow and quiet, until she stood just in front of her. Mira tilted her chin up, eyes wide.

  “This time,” Lena murmured, “you don’t get anything unless you earn it.”

  Mira didn’t know what to say to that, or even how to feel. Her stomach twisted, and her whole body felt hot under her hoodie. She waited for Lena to expin.

  She didn’t.

  Instead, Lena turned slightly, brushing a chair with her fingertips.

  “Sit.”

  Mira obeyed.

  The chair creaked softly. Her thighs stuck to the seat where her jeans met warm skin. She felt exposed, suddenly too aware of her posture, of how she must look to Lena—shoulders tense, knees together, hands fidgeting uselessly in her p.

  Lena walked behind her. Not pacing. Just standing, just present. Mira didn’t turn to look.

  “You’re going to sit there,” Lena said. “And you’re not going to speak. You’re not going to move unless I tell you to. You’ll stay still and quiet and good.”

  Mira nodded, but that earned her nothing.

  Lena circled back to the front of the table, leaning against it.

  “You don’t need to agree,” she said softly. “You need to obey.”

  Mira’s chest ached. Her face burned.

  She clenched her hands under the table and kept her mouth shut.

  The silence stretched.

  Lena didn’t move. She didn’t instruct. She just watched her. For what felt like minutes. Mira shifted without thinking, just a small twitch of her leg, and Lena’s gaze sharpened.

  “Still.”

  The word hit like a jolt to the spine. Mira froze.

  Lena tilted her head slightly.

  “Your body reacts faster than your brain, doesn’t it?” she said, thoughtful. “That’s the part I’m training.”

  Mira's breath caught in her throat.

  Lena sat down across from her. Not close. Not touching. Just there. Her legs crossed, her posture loose, like this was effortless for her. Like she hadn’t turned Mira’s whole world sideways and now expected her to sit through it in silence.

  Mira tried not to look at her hands. At the way Lena's thumb brushed absently along the spine of her notebook. At the ring on her finger, glinting faintly in the dull light. Her stomach tightened with every movement.

  She didn’t know what she was waiting for. Praise? A touch? A command?

  But nothing came.

  Ten minutes passed.

  Then twenty.

  Lena didn’t speak. She turned pages, marked something down. At one point, she looked up, eyes resting on Mira’s face, then back down without comment.

  Mira felt like she was going insane.

  The tension grew under her skin until she thought she’d burst. Her thighs ached from clenching. Her eyes burned from not blinking enough. Her mind ran in circles.

  Why wasn’t Lena doing anything?

  Was she being punished?

  Was this part of it?

  She nearly flinched when Lena finally stood again. Her chair slid quietly across the floor.

  Lena walked around the table, stopping beside her. Mira’s body went rigid.

  She could feel Lena’s presence like static—close, warm, not touching. The anticipation burned sharper than contact ever could.

  A soft exhale.

  Then Lena’s fingers brushed the side of her neck.

  Just once. A ghost of a touch.

  Mira’s body jolted. Her breath punched out of her. Her hands gripped the edges of the seat, knuckles white.

  Lena didn’t comment.

  Her fingers drifted down, barely grazing Mira’s colrbone. Then they were gone.

  Mira stayed still. She wasn’t supposed to move. She wasn’t supposed to speak. Her whole body screamed for more.

  Lena leaned in, lips near her ear.

  “Still,” she whispered.

  Mira whimpered before she could stop it.

  Lena smiled—Mira didn’t see it, but she felt it, warm and satisfied against her cheek.

  “You’re learning,” Lena murmured. “But you’re not ready yet.”

  She stepped away.

  The room felt cold.

  Mira blinked, struggling to steady her breathing. Her body was tense, hot, aching, and empty.

  Lena walked back to the table, picked up her notebook, and without looking at Mira, said, “That’s all for tonight.”

  Mira didn’t move.

  She didn’t trust herself to stand.

  She didn’t trust herself at all.

  But Lena gnced over, just once.

  “Go,” she said gently. “Before I change my mind.”