The Final Strife

Sylah shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not really sure. Sometimes I’d buy a bag of twenty and finish them in a day.”

Air hissed between his teeth.

“Sylah, you probably can’t cope without joba seeds. Your body has adapted to the stimulant…possibly forever.”

It was what she thought.

“I’m damaged.”

Kwame grasped her wrists, and Sylah lurched to secure the seed between her finger and thumb.

“No,” he said firmly.

“I have to take it, Kwame. It’s the only way I can fight them if they come for her. I need to be able to trust my body.” Sylah’s voice shook.

“Your tolerance will be lower, you could have a heart attack, you could die. There are so many risks.”

“She’s worth it.”

Sylah led the joba seed to her mouth.

“Halve it!” Kwame shouted. “Don’t take it all.”

Sylah nodded then added, “Will you stay with me?”

Kwame smiled. “Of course.”

All this time Sylah had imagined what it would be like to take a joba seed again; never had she imagined her reluctance.

Sylah put the joba seed in her mouth and bit down.