Page 52

"Sleeper modifications."

Always nice to be the talk of the town.

The cool morning air hits my face as I step outside, carrying scents that would have been filtered out of Unity's sterile atmosphere, soil and vegetation and something metallic that might be my own altered biology registering in ways my brain still can't quite process.

I follow the worn path that winds through the settlement, deliberately taking the route that avoids the medical facility. No chance encounters today. Not when my head feels like it might split open, not when my anger still simmers just beneath the surface.

He knew, that fucker.

All this time, Trent knew what I was.

The thought sends another pulse of fury through me, hot and sharp. Every moment of our partnership, every mission, every neural sync, all while he watched for signs of my "condition." Was anything real? Or was I just an assignment he was monitoring, waiting for the right moment to deliver me back to the people who created me?

"You're up early."

I whirl toward the unfamiliar voice, my body automatically dropping into a defensive stance. Three years of Sentinel training doesn't disappear overnight.

The man watching me from the shadow of a nearby structure raises his eyebrows, looking more amused than threatened. "Nice reflexes. Unity training?"

I straighten slowly, assessing him. He's tall, as tall as Trent but with a leaner build, all whipcord muscle and predatory grace. His dark hair falls just past his shoulders, tied back in a way that accentuates sharp cheekbones and a jaw that could cut glass. But it's his eyes that hold my attention—amber like Eden's, with that same reflective quality that catches the early morning light.

"Who's asking?" I keep my voice neutral, though something about his presence sets off warning bells. Not danger, exactly, but something equally unsettling.

"Vex." He steps closer, moving with a fluid confidence I've only seen in the most elite Sentinels. "Head of security for Haven's Edge." His eyes scan me with unnerving intensity. "And you're Zara Thorne. Unity's most efficient Sentinel turned prodigal daughter."

The way he says "Sentinel" carries the same tone most people reserve for "cockroach."

"Former Sentinel," I correct, though the distinction feels hollow. Three days ago, I was hunting Splinters. Now I'm becoming one.

Sort of.

"Is there such a thing?" He circles me slowly, and I turn to keep him in view. "Unity's conditioning runs deep. Especially for their attack dogs."

My hackles rise. "You always this charming with newcomers?"

That earns me a flash of teeth, though it’s not quite a smile. "Only the ones who might still be dangerous."

Before I can respond, another spike of pain shots through my skull, this one bad enough to make me stagger. I catch myself against a nearby wall, vision swimming. Shit.

Vex is at my side instantly, all trace of antagonism vanishing. "How long have the transformation episodes been happening?"

"Since we arrived," I manage through gritted teeth. "Getting worse."

He nods as if this confirms something. "Your body's adapting faster now that you're exposed to others with active modifications. Enhanced perception isn't pleasant when your brain doesn't know how to process the input yet."

"Feels like dying," I admit, straightening as the pain recedes again.

"Not dying. Evolving." He studies me closely "Your mother's work was revolutionary. The ability to package modifications in a dormant state, programmed to activate years later... most of us had our changes forced on us all at once. Crude by comparison."

The casual mention of my mother—a woman I barely remember—sends another flare of anger through me. "Lucky me."

His expression shifts subtly. "You should be at the medical facility. Dr. Reid has experience with transition phases."

"I'm fine."

"You're not." He gestures to my hands. "You're changing faster than your body can stabilize."

I look down and freeze. My fingernails have elongated slightly, hardening into something resembling claws. As I watch, they recede back to normal, leaving behind a dull ache.