Synchronized Swimming
98. Ch12 S14-16
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INDEX | Chapter 12 | Scene 1 | Scenes 2 & 3 | Scenes 4 & 5 | Scenes 6 & 7 | Scene 8 | Scenes 9 & 10 | Scenes 11 - 13 | Scenes 14 - 16 | Next Scene → Coming soon.
Previously: Misty and Logan jump into training, but with communication still an issue, Misty’s doubts cause her to misunderstand his goals, and when he gets caught up in the joy of unleashing his power, she panics and knocks him out.
“Logan! You’re okay?” she cries, squeezing the breath out of me, then pulls away. “Sorry,” she mumbles, grimacing while I rub my jaw. It’s already starting to swell.
“Sorry? What’d you do that for anyway?” I ask, pushing myself up.
“You changed,” she says, frowning, looking down as if she’s ashamed. I tilt her head up so she has to look at me.
“I’m Manorian. That happens.” I nod, straight-faced, even though I want to laugh out loud at how serious she looks.
“I’m not stupid,” she pushes my hand away. “This wasn’t like last time. You had this devilish grin. I felt you losing control.”
“I wasn’t,” I assure her. She looks down again, closing up like she always does when she doesn’t want to be challenged.
“I control my energy, not the other way around,” I say, catching her gaze. “I was having fun. It’s—been a while.” I shrug, hoping she’ll drop it, but of course, Misty never does.
“That’s fun to you? You looked like you were ready to destroy everything in your path.”
“I looked like I was having a good time,” I correct, trying to soften the edges of my voice. “And you knocked me halfway to next week for it. By the way, I think I’m gonna need ice.” I smirk, but her frown deepens.
“You weren’t the only one who felt it, we were still connected,” she murmurs. “The energy wasn’t just... playful. It was wild. Unstable.”
I open my mouth to argue, but something about her expression stops me. There’s no anger there, no frustration, just worry.
“You really believe that?” I ask quietly.
She nods, hugging her knees to her chest. “I know what I felt, Logan. It wasn’t you.”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Misty, you’re not wrong about how it felt. But that’s part of the transformation. It’s meant to be intense. Trust me, I know the limits.”
She shakes her head. “What if I hadn’t stopped you? Would you have pulled yourself back, or would you have just kept going? Like I did… After—my parents.”
The question hits harder than I expect. That’s what she thought. “You’ve never reached a full release? Never?” She shakes her head, one corner of her mouth tilting up. “I would’ve stopped,” I say firmly, but her silence tells me she’s not convinced.
We sit in uneasy quiet for a moment.
“How close did you get?” I ask, looking at her singed dress, and brightly glowing skin and the air shimmering around her. Her presence is as formidable as any I’ve ever felt. It’s at least as strong as it was the day she exploded the Manor.
“I don’t know.” She mumbles. “Not very.” My eyes widen, and she looks ashamed again.
“Can you power down again?” I ask, dreading the answer.
“I could. It wouldn’t be fun,” she admits, with a finality that twists my gut even more.
“Then don’t. How long can you hold it like this?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” She says, frowning but a little more hopeful.
She glances at me as I stand, grabbing a handful of snow to ice my jaw. I try to look unfazed, calm and resolute, as if that near-disaster was part of the plan all along.
“So, we’re just getting started, huh?” I mutter, feeling her energy settle into a steady pulse. “But first a wardrobe change.”
“You have something energy resistant?” She asks, looking at herself as if she hadn’t noticed the barely clad state of her body.
“You catch on quick,” I say with a smirk as I lead us back to the cabin.
* * *
“Now that you’ve powered up, we need to stretch this out. Push your limits, see how far you can go without slipping.”
“And then what?” She asks, stretching to test the fit, of the black bodysuit, her green fire saturating the fibers.
It looks amazing on her, accentuating every defined muscle. She really has an amazing physique—slender, without being bony, narrow waist and curvy hips, mid sized breasts… I pull my eyes away before she can notice how I’m looking at her.
“Then we bring you back down,” I say simply, reminding myself how young she is, still completely innocent.
She opens her mouth to protest but stops.
I lead her through a series of drills, pushing harder and harder as the hours pass. She keeps up well and we loose track of time. My focus narrows to each movement, each burst of energy. By the time the sun dips below the horizon, I have a solid feel for how she isn’t just trained physically—even though it was a long time ago, she’s been tested to the limit.
* * *
Misty’s progress is remarkable. She’s managed to keep up her power level for three days without any trouble—even while sleeping. Tom and I struggled with that for weeks before getting it right, but Misty’s doing it like it’s second nature.
It doesn’t make sense. She claims she’s never done it this way before, and yet she’s taking to it like she’s been at it for years. In fact, it’s not the powering up that’s the issue—it’s getting her back down that’s proving difficult.
Even more surprising, she’s letting go of that rigid control complex she’s been clinging to since I met her. There’s a looseness in her movements now, a flow that wasn’t there before. It should be a good thing.
But it also worries me. She’s not questioning orders or hesitating. Not since that first day. And yet, I can feel her frustration building beneath the surface like a dam waiting to break.
Today has to be different.
I sit cross legged on the bare ground, the snow long since cleared by the business of the last few days. Logan is still all bundled up in a new bright red parka. The bulkiness of it doesn’t seem to bother him.
My energy resistant bodysuit fits like a second skin, so flexible I might as well be naked, my dancing fire doesn’t seem to affect it and for once, there’s no pain at all. I don’t even have to move. On one hand this feels incredible. But when I look inward I can see how much energy it’s burning up—and how fast it’s building to compensate. The regen is going to be hard, if not impossible to manage. I hope Logan knows what he’s doing.
“Relax,” he says, and I realize how stiff my back is.
The glow of my energy shimmers faintly, betraying the tension I can’t quite shake. Across from me, Logan’s calm, steady presence feels like a challenge, his ease a mirror to my discomfort.
“I am.” I snap, the words too sharp even to my own ears.
He doesn’t flinch, only raises an eyebrow, then his eyes flick open. “Right. That’s why you look like you’re trying to bend steel with your jaw.”
I glare at him, stir and resettle a little more loosely. The effort only makes my head pound. My energy flickers, a reminder of how tightly I’m holding it in check. He doesn’t understand. How could he? Letting go isn’t an option for me—not ever.
“Look,” he says, his tone softening in that infuriating way I swear he must have learned from Luke. “You’ve got the power part down. You’re holding it steady, and that’s impressive. But if you can’t let it flow naturally, it’s going to burn you out.”
“I’m not burning out,” I say flatly, and it’s true, though even I can hear the strain in my voice. My energy is regenerating almost as fast as it’s being burned. I’m afraid of what comes next.
“Not yet,” he replies. “But you’re running on instinct, Misty. And instincts aren’t enough. If you want control, you need balance. You need to center yourself.”
“That’s not the problem.” I laugh bitterly. His silence feels like an accusation.
“You don’t get it.” I frown, wondering why I’m even here, letting him take the wheel while he has no idea of the stakes.
“Misty.” His voice is calm, too calm. “I know what this is about.”
“Do you?” I snap, my energy flaring, the light casting jagged shadows across the room. “I’ve been locked up, my whole life. Because I’m dangerous. But I don’t even know what I can do, not really. Have you even noticed how fast my energy is building up again? Even at this level of release? And now you’re telling me to let go? To just... feel? Do you have any idea what that could mean?”
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down. “You’re not dangerous because of your power,” he says. “You’re dangerous because you won’t let yourself feel it.”
“No, I’m sick.” I retort, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “This is something I’ve dealt with since I was a little kid. Teag and James tried—we found a way to manage it, but this—” I gesture the flames licking my arms, “You have no idea what you’re doing, and it’s dangerous—for both of us.”
“Then make me understand.” Logan says, leaning forward. His voice steady, even as his eyes search mine. “Stop blocking me out. Let’s sync up again. You said it helped even out the regen before. You don’t have to do it alone.”
Alone. The word settles over me like a weight, heavier than I expected. I feel myself retreating as we sit in silence for what feels like forever, the hum of my energy the only sound besides the distant birdsong.
“Can we at least talk about it?” He sighs, breaking the silence.
“About what?” I ask, my voice quieter now, almost cautious.
“The sync.”
I glance at him sharply, searching his face for where he’s going with this. His expression is steady, open, and annoyingly calm.
“What would you like to know?” I say finally, my tone edged, despite my best effort to keep it neutral.
“Well, we’ve never really talked about it except for mechanics. Let’s start with how much you know.”
My stomach twists. I look away, focusing on the faint flickers of my green fire, their rhythm steady even as mine isn’t. “Not that much.”
“How did you learn about it?”
“Chrys,” is all I manage to get out, biting down as the memories rise, unbidden. Happy moments, on bad days. Her laughter, always teasing. The way she could disarm even the worst of my moods with one ridiculous comment.
Logan’s silence stretches, but it’s heavy, deliberate. He knows there’s more.
“Let me in.” The words are soft, a plea. “I can feel how much you’re holding back. I’m not asking to force it, Misty. But if we’re going to figure this out, I need to know. Tell me about her?”
His question lingers in the air. I can feel him watching me, waiting, always patient.
It was so long ago. After my parents were killed, I had nothing left. Teag made sure of that. He didn’t want me to die—it would’ve been too kind. No, he wanted me alive to suffer. They patched me up just so he could break me again, and again.
“What happened?” Logan’s voice breaks through, quiet but persistent.
I bite down hard, trying to keep the memories at bay. Chrys. James. Penance. It all rises in a tide I can’t control.
“When they killed my parents… After they gave up trying to break me, they left me in solitary. Weeks of nothing—no light, no sound. Just silence. At first I thought it was what I needed but since I couldn’t train, the regen went out of control and… boom.” I grimace, remembering the aftermath James showed me—the destruction, the other kids in my section that didn’t make it.
“I did a lot of damage. James woke me up within days. Teag got me training again, moved me to a new cell with a neighbor…” I falter, glancing at Logan. His brow furrows, but he doesn’t interrupt. “She was… loud.” I smile, despite myself. “Always talking. Even when she wasn’t talking to me, I could hear her. At first, it drove me crazy. But eventually… She had this energy, this way of making the darkness seem less… consuming. By then James had worked his magic and I couldn’t respond. But she didn’t seem to care. She kept talking. She understood, even when all I did was listen. Eventually, she suggested the connection.”
“The sense sync?” Logan prompts when I fall silent again. I nod, searching for the words to continue.
“She was strong—psychically, I mean. A natural talent, trained in how to use it by the best so she could lead one day. She made the sync so we could communicate, taught me how to hide it from James. She made me feel… alive, again.”
“Sounds like she really helped you.” His expression softens. He understands.
"Luke told you? How she died?” He nods, and I sigh with relief, grateful that I wouldn't have to relive that one again.
“At least I thought she died.” I mumble, thinking about the mess we are in because of me.
“The party.” Logan says, echoing my thoughts.
“Teleran medical tech is more advanced than anything you have here, and Chrys was special, they’d have fought for her. I thought it was over when that thread between us snapped, but they could have brought her back somehow. We weren’t far from the complex.”
“What would that mean? If she were still alive, that is. It’s been eight years. Would she still be the same?”
“I’m not sure.” I say, more to myself than to him. I’ve been thinking about it since Cathy said home follows me. Chrys and I had a plan when we ran away, a mission, to free our people from the tyrannous regime that is in power there. All the pieces were already in place. It only needed her to set them in motion.
I know what it means, but I’m not ready to say it aloud. And I’m not sure how he will react to it if I do.
I have to go back.
“I’m not sure.” Misty says softly then falls silent again, her gaze drifting off. I recognize the look—halfway between resolve and retreat, but I don’t push her. Not now. She’s said more today than—ever. I don’t want to risk breaking the fragile trust she’s offered me.
“Well, all that aside.” I say, keeping my tone light as I push to my feet, my boots squelching softly in the half frozen mud. “There’s something I’ve wanted to try for a while now. Let’s get moving a bit.”
She glances up at me, her expression almost playful, happy for the change of subject, then rises with her usual grace, the flaming bodysuit glistening in the pale winter light.
From an inner pocket, I pull out a couple of blindfolds and offer her one. “I want you to teach me your Forms.”
“With this?” She eyes the blindfold warily.
“Yup.” I smile, pushing the idea through the sync as forcefully as I can, hoping it reaches her. She’s been a lot more open today, just maybe it’ll work.
“Oh,” she pauses, catching my meaning after a moment, her quicksilver eyes narrowing as she studies the blindfold like its some kind of trap. Then with a faint shrug, she takes it, her fingers brushing mine briefly before she pulls back. I sense a hint of fear, frustration, then resignation. The heat of her hand lingers on mine for a moment more.
“You really think it’ll work?” She asks holding the blindfold up to the light as if she’s checking it for flaws.
“We have a legend—The Deity. She was the only known Manorian empath. She had a disciple. It’s said that they fought together like one was an extension of the other. In the heat of battle their movements synchronized so perfectly that it looked like a choreographed dance.”
“That’s just a legend,” Misty aches an eyebrow, her gaze flicking back to me, skeptical but intrigued.
I grin, tying the blindfold around my forehead, ready to pull it down when needed. “We’ve already got the sync. What better way to practice using it?”
She smirks as the idea settles between us, examining the blindfold one last time before slipping it over her eyes, tying it with practiced precision, like she does everything else.
“If it doesn’t work, you’ll still get a good laugh,” I counter, catching the corners of her mouth lift as I block out my own vision. “But I’ve got a feeling about this.”
With the connection open on both ends, synchronizing is easier than ever. Like taking a breath, I become aware of her senses, the sharpness of them, the heat of her energized body, the way she moves. It’s not like the first time at all. In stead of being overwhelming, it’s like an extension, an extra set of senses I can use or ignore. Even the difference in our energy levels isn’t an issue, like I thought it might be.
I feel her take her stance—feet shoulder width apart, knees slightly bent with her hands held palms forward at her hips.
“This is first position.” I hear her voice without feeling her lips move. Her focus radiates through our connection as she waits for me to follow.
I do my best to match her, though the blindfold leaves me stumbling for footing. Through the sync, I can sense her balance—a grounded, deliberate weight distribution—but it’s like trying to mimic the flow of water with my hands.
“No,” she says, sharp but not unkind. She wiggles our left feet, mine’s too far forward. “Feel this.”
A subtle adjustment pulses through the sync—her weight shifting, her stance correcting itself. I focus, letting her energy guide me, and adjust my footing until it aligns with the sensation.
“Better,” she murmurs, the faintest trace of approval in her voice.
As we move through the sequence, the connection deepens, each adjustment a thread tying us closer together. The blindfold forces me to rely entirely on her energy, and I feel her focus—her precision—like a current pulling me forward. It’s not as deep as I expected, her emotions are barely leaking through, but it’s more than we’ve had in years.
Before I know it my body starts to heat up, my muscles loosening, my energy rising. The physicality of it is intense. It’s exhilarating and disorienting all at once, and I can’t help but grin even as sweat beads on my brow.
“This is insane,” I say, breathless, as we move through the set.
I feel her amusement, as the idea forms in my mind, “It’s just the basics.”
“Have you done this before?” I ask, finding it hard to believe.
“Chrys and I used to practice, without the blindfolds.” She admits.
Just then my phone chimes, buzzing sharply in my pocket. The sync jolts, and Misty’s focus snaps, the connection fraying as reality crashes back in.
“What now?” she mutters, pulling off the blindfold as I fumble for the puck.
My stomach drops when I see Luke’s name flash on the screen, his message terse and urgent: “PG detected multiple energy spikes in your area. Minister Liebenberg has issued orders to locate Misty. Morgan is stalling, but you need to lie low. Keep it in the bowl. Do not draw attention!”
The words blaze on the screen, bright and clear, taunting me, tearing up the fragile hope we’ve been clinging to as Misty sinks onto the nearest rock, in a near panic. They’re still looking for her.
Next Time: The urgent message from Luke sends Misty and Logan’s training in a new direction as urgency for Misty to power down increases. Misty shares her worries about Chrys and Telera with Logan.
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Author’s Notes:
Hi everyone.
Happy New Year!!! Woohoo! 2025 here we go!
This is the year for me, people. This year it’s all going to happen. My publishing and podcast dreams come true. I’m sure of it.
Three weeks to go on the pregnancy, I’m cutting it close. We have only a few left now. I wanted to be done by the time new baby arrives but she might just catch me.
So, here I give you a nice loooong episode for a change. It’s been a while since I went this far over my self-imposed limit. But I couldn’t split this up. I’ve been promising sense syncing and a troubling message from Luke for weeks. Here are both.
So…
No more.
Until next week. Happy speculating.
- Jenny*
Thanks for reading!
Remember, I love comments, and I love to hear about anything this piece made you feel. I’m always super happy to chat about anything BE related.
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Until next time.
P.S.
The Sci-Friday tags. I think most of the guys and gals are ignoring them so I’m not including everyone—only
since he sends us the digest anyway.😉 Thanks for that.- J*
Now THAT was a cliffhanger!
Oh Yes! You are really getting to the heart of this tale and I am so hyped as the pieces fall into place... I am a little surprised with the piece of the message that suggested Morgan is actively engaged in keeping Misty out of the Government Ministry's hands in collaboration with Luke. Can it be that Morgan is staging an insurrection from within the PG, using Luke and hoping to use Misty? Can hardly wait to find out!!! The race is on... Wishing mom and babe a safe and happy arrival ❤️❤️❤️ even if I must wait for awhile!!!