Page 33 of Hidden Echoes

"Yeah." My voice is quiet but firm. "It's your choice. From now on, you get to decide what you want, okay?"

Mia looks at me like I’ve just spoken in another language.

Then, she licks her lips. "Why would you let me do that?"

My chest tightens. The way she says it—like she doesn’t believe she deserves a choice—makes something coil hot and sharp inside me. I lean forward, meeting her gaze head-on.

"Because it’s your body, Mia. Your life." My voice is rougher than I meant, but she needs to hear this. "No one gets a say in that but you."

She blinks rapidly, her throat bobbing as if she’s swallowing something heavy.

"Promise me you’ll remember that from now on?"

The silence that follows isn’t empty. It’s thick. Loaded.

Then, Mia smiles. It’s small, but real. A soft blush colors her cheeks.

She nods. "I promise."

Something in my chest eases.

"Good." I close the notebook. "I can’t sleep. My tattoo supplies are here. Do you have anything in mind yet?"

Mia shifts on the couch, tucking one leg beneath her while the other stretches out, revealing the tattoo she wants to erase. The axe. TheJ. The handcuffs. Each one a scar, inked into her skin. A brand of what they did to her.

She runs her fingers over it slowly, tracing the lines, almost like she’s trulyseeingit for the first time.

"I want Medusa."

My hand stills over the ink bottles. I glance at her.

Mia meets my gaze, her eyes bright with that restless energy of hers. But this time, there’s something steadier beneath it.

Something resolved.

I swallow. "Are you sure?"

She shrugs, effortless. "Medusa was turned into a monster because of what was done to her. But she became something strong, right? No longer a victim."

My grip tightens around the needle.

Yes.

Exactly that.

I nod, pushing down the lump in my throat. I start preparing the ink, choosing the right shades, adjusting the needles. It’s routine. Muscle memory. But this time, every motion feels heavier, more deliberate.

Silence settles over us, filled only by the soft hum of the equipment and the quiet rhythm of Mia’s breathing.

I turn to her.

"I need to touch you to position the stencil."

She blinks. "Hm.”

I wait.

Mia tilts her head, frowning. "What?"

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