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"Defensive pattern theta, sector four!" Trent's voice comes through my earpiece, sharp with urgency.

I pivot instantly, reading his intention through years of partnership. The holographic Splinter rushes at me from the left, a simulation based on actual combat data. I drop into a defensive stance, ready to execute the countermove.

Then it happens.

My vision wavers, colors bleeding into one another, depth perception suddenly unreliable. The simulated Splinter splits into multiple ghostly images, all moving at different speeds. I can't tell which is real.

I hesitate—a fatal error in actual combat—and the simulation registers a direct hit. Red light floods the training chamber, signalingmission failure.

"Simulation terminated," announces the automated system. "Performance evaluation: Below standard. Recommend remedial enhancement therapy."

The holographic environment dissolves, leaving Trent and me standing in the bare training chamber. We've maintained our regular Sentinel training sessions despite our undercover assignment, claiming they're necessary for mission readiness. In reality, they're one of our few opportunities to speak freely without Lower Arcology's constant surveillance.

"What happened?" Trent asks quietly, approaching as the monitoring systems reset between programs.

"Visual distortion," I explain, still catching my breath. "Everything split apart, like multiple overlapping images."

"Third malfunction this week." His voice is neutral for the benefit of any observers, but his eyes convey genuine concern. "First enhanced hearing, then tactile hypersensitivity, now visual disruption."

Since our encounter with Eden three days ago, my symptoms have been accelerating. Each enhancement seems to be destabilizing in turn, but not failing.

No.Transforming.

"It's different this time," I murmur. "When my vision changed, I could see through the holographic projection. For a second, I saw the emitters behind it."

Trent's expression doesn't change, but I notice the slight tension in his jaw. "That shouldn't be possible with current Sentinel enhancements."

"I know." The implication hangs between us.

Whatever's happening to me isn't a malfunction—it's an evolution.

"We should continue with the scheduled program," Trent says loudly enough for the monitoring systems to record. Then, barely audible: "Something else happened. During your blackout."

Before I can ask what he means, the chamber door slidesopen, and Training Supervisor Mercer enters. His presence here is unexpected as supervisors rarely observe routine maintenance sessions personally.

"Sentinel Thorne," he addresses me without preamble. "Medical has flagged your performance metrics for immediate evaluation."

My stomach tightens. "Standard fluctuation during deep cover operations, sir. Disrupted enhancement schedule."

Mercer's eyes reveal nothing. "Perhaps. Report to Medical Bay 7 upon completion of your current assignment. Director Voss wants a full workup."

Fuck.Voss herself? That elevates this from concerning to potentially catastrophic.

"Acknowledged, sir."

Mercer turns to Trent. "Sentinel Vanguard, continue with the scheduled training program. Thorne's performance issues require individual assessment."

He's separating us. Breaking our carefully synchronized routine.

"With respect, sir," Trent says smoothly, "as Sentinel Thorne's designated partner, protocol indicates my presence during performance evaluations to provide baseline comparison data."

Mercer's expression hardens slightly. "Protocol has been superseded in this instance. Director's orders."

No room for argument there. Trent meets my eyes briefly, a silent warning passing between us.

Be careful.

"Resume training in five minutes," Mercer instructs, then exits the chamber.