The summer heat was oppressive. The air felt thick, suffocating, as though it was holding the world in a vice grip. The temperature inside the lab had skyrocketed, and you were already feeling the effects of it. Your head was spinning, your vision blurred, and your body was overheating in a way you couldn’t quite control.

Miranda had noticed it first—of course she had. She always noticed when something was wrong. And when she saw you struggling, the usual calm, cool façade she wore slipped just a little. There was a crack in her veneer, just enough for her to feel a shift in herself. Her usual icy composure gave way to something darker. Something more possessive.

She crossed the room toward you in a few long strides, her heels clicking on the tile floor.

"Look at you." Her voice was sharp, eyes narrowed with concern, but there was a possessive edge beneath it, as if your suffering belonged to her and only her. "You’re burning up."

You could barely focus enough to speak. Your body felt like it was on fire, the heat pushing you past your limits. You stumbled, and she was there in an instant, one strong hand catching your arm. The heat radiated off your skin, but Miranda’s touch was cool and controlled, and it only made you feel more fragile in comparison.

She placed a hand on your forehead, feeling the feverish heat of your skin. Her brows furrowed in a rare moment of concern. Miranda was never one to show weakness, but she wasn’t about to let you suffer under her watch. Not when you were hers.

"You’re not getting away from me that easily." She muttered under her breath, almost as if she were talking to herself, before lifting you with surprising ease and guiding you to a chair.

Your body felt weak, and the world swam in and out of focus as she sat you down. You were burning up—heatstroke. The sun had taken its toll, and now you were her responsibility.