The door to Mia's room had been locked from the outside an hour earlier.
Aster hadn't said much. Just a quiet hand on the shoulder, a calm "Stay put until the system settles," and the soft click of the bolt.
Ami didn't mind.
She stood in the middle of the room in nothing but the oversized black hoodie and underwear, bare feet planted on the warm wooden floor. The shaved temples still tingled where the hair had been buzzed. She rolled her shoulders once, slow, like a cat waking up after a long nap.
"Odin," she said, voice playful but precise. "I need something that hits the spine, not the ears. Acid-tech. Gothic. Fast. Make it dirty. Make it *mine*."
A soft chime answered from the hidden speakers.
"Understood, Ami. Generating private playlist: 'Reclaim Protocol – Level 7.' Volume?"
"Enough to feel it in the teeth."
The first kick hit like a heartbeat that had been waiting years to be allowed to beat.
Low, distorted bass. A distorted synth line that sounded like broken church bells dragged through mud. Then the kick drum—relentless, almost cruel—slamming straight into the sternum. No melody at first. Just rhythm. Raw. Animal.
Ami closed her eyes.
The sound poured into her body the way water pours into dry earth. It didn't ask permission. It simply took the empty places and filled them.
She didn't dance.
Not the way Alice would have danced—polished, camera-ready, perfect.
This was different.
Her hips rolled once, instinctive, as if the music had reached inside and tugged a string she didn't know was there. The movement was loose, sloppy, almost ugly. Good. She wanted ugly. She wanted *real*.
The bass dropped lower. Her knees bent. Her head fell forward. Hair swung across her face like a black curtain. She let her arms hang loose at her sides and simply *felt* the kick drum punch through her ribcage again and again.
Sweat already beaded at the small of her back.
The hoodie suddenly felt too heavy. She peeled it off in one fluid motion and let it drop to the floor. Cool air kissed her skin. The sensation was sharp, almost shocking. She laughed once—short, surprised, delighted.
*This body can feel.*
The thought wasn't hers alone. It was Mia's too, somewhere deep in the green room, watching.
Ami rolled her neck. The shaved skin caught the air and sent a shiver down her spine. She dragged her palms slowly up her own stomach, over her ribs, across her collarbones—rediscovering every inch like it belonged to her for the first time. Not for cameras. Not for triggers. Not for anyone else's pleasure.
Hers.
The music snarled. A distorted vocal sample ripped through the room—half scream, half moan—and Ami answered it with her own low, guttural sound. Not words. Just release. The sound vibrated in her throat and kept going, down into her chest, into her belly, into the place where Noire had once been taught to stay quiet.
She moved faster now. Not choreography. Just pure nervous-system language. Hips snapping, shoulders loose, knees bending and straightening like the floor itself was breathing. Every impact of her bare feet sent electricity up her legs. Every drop of the bass rewired something inside her spine.
Pleasure—raw, unfiltered, almost feral—flooded the system.
No guilt attached.
No order to "love it."
Just the body remembering it was allowed to take up space.
Ami spun once, arms wide, and let out a wild, breathless laugh that echoed off the stone walls. Sweat flew from her hair. The music answered louder, like it was laughing with her.
She dropped into a crouch, palms flat on the floor, forehead almost touching the wood, then pushed back up slow, dragging the sensation through every vertebra like she was pulling the entire nervous system out of cold storage and setting it on fire.
For the first time in years the body wasn't performing.
It was *reclaiming*.
And Ami—trickster, chaos gremlin, protector of the light moments—let it happen.
She danced like the room might never open again.
She danced like the body had just remembered it was alive.
And somewhere deep inside, Mia watched in silence, breathing with her, feeling every single brutal, beautiful beat.