Page 19

It’s dangerous.

"Fine," I manage to say. "Body heat conservation at its finest."

The thermal field strengthens as our combined body heat builds, creating a cocoon of warmth that contrasts with the frigid air beyond the platform. Outside our little bubble, the maintenance quarters have dropped to temperatures that would be uncomfortable for extended periods. Inside, we're almost too warm now.

Or maybe that's just my reaction to having Trent's body pressed against mine.

We lie in tense silence, both of us trying to pretend this is just another mission parameter to manage. But it's not. Not after what we experienced in synchronization, not with the questions hanging between us about my condition, andcertainly not with the way his body is responding to our proximity, a response I can feel all too clearly against the small of my back.

He’s hard as fucking steel.

To his credit, Trent tries to shift away when he realizes, but the narrow platform leaves him nowhere to go.

"Sorry," he mutters, tension evident in every muscle. "Involuntary physical response."

"At least something around here is working properly."

He goes very still behind me. "Thorne?—"

"Forget it," I say quickly. "Bad joke. Let's just try to sleep."

Another long silence fills the darkness, broken only by our breathing gradually synchronizing—inhale, exhale, finding rhythm together even now.

"I've been researching genetic adaptation patterns," Trent says suddenly, his voice quiet in the dim room. "Comparing historical data with current Unity protocols."

I'm grateful for the change of subject, even if his arm remains a warm weight across my waist. "Find anything interesting?"

"Unity's official position is that all genetic modifications are inherently destabilizing and dangerous," he continues. "But the classified research tells a different story. Some modifications actually enhance stability under changing conditions."

"Isn't that the whole point? Why the Splinters modified themselves in the first place?"

"Yes, but according to Unity doctrine, those adaptations come at the cost of humanity, changing what makes us fundamentally human." His voice drops lower. "The evidence doesn't support that conclusion."

I process this information, connecting it to my own situation. "You think my 'irregularities' might be adaptive rather than degenerative."

"I think," he says carefully, "that Unity's definition of human purity might be more political than scientific."

It's as close to heresy as I've ever heard from rule-following, protocol-obsessed Trent Vanguard. Something fundamental has shifted in him—or maybe it was always there, hidden beneath layers of perfect Sentinel obedience.

"What does that mean for me?" I ask, my voice small in the darkness. "If what's happening isn't just an enhancement malfunction?"

His arm tightens fractionally around my waist, a gesture of reassurance that feels more intimate than it should. "I don't know yet. But we'll figure it out."

We.

Not you.

We.

"I had another dream last night," I confess, the darkness making it easier to share. "About a research facility. There was a woman with dark hair like mine, and she was saying something about adaptive genetics being the future of humanity. It felt so real."

Trent is silent for a long moment. "Have you had similar dreams before?"

"Fragments. Nothing this clear." I hesitate. "During the dream, I knew her name was Elara. When I woke up, I couldn't remember it until just now."

His breathing changes slightly. "That's not in any of your official records."

"I know. A dream right?" But the implications hang between us. Either my subconscious is creating elaborate fictions, or I'm remembering something that should be impossible, something from before my recorded history.