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"Focus on one sound at a time," Vex advises, noticing my expression. "Your brain will learn to filter automatically, but it takes practice."

We collect food from a serving area, which is actual cooked food, not Unity's nutritional supplements. My enhanced senses catalog unfamiliar spices and ingredients as Vex leads me to a table in the corner, positioned with clear sightlines to all entrances. Sentinel habit, despite everything.

The first bite nearly knocks me off my chair. Flavors explode across my taste buds with an intensity that makes Unity's bland nutrition seem like eating cardboard.

"Holy shit," I mumble around the mouthful. "What is this?"

"Just eggs and some local vegetation," Vex says, looking amused. "Enhanced taste receptors make everything more intense. The bad news is, you can taste every chemical in processed food. The good news is, real food becomes a religious experience."

He's not exaggerating. I devour everything on my plate with embarrassing speed, savoring tastes and textures I never knew existed. When I finally look up, I catch Vex watching me with that peculiar intensity of his.

"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious.

"Nothing." He leans back in his chair, the movement fluidand predatory. "Just appreciating someone experiencing the benefits of modification for a change, instead of treating it like a disease."

Before I can respond, a shadow falls across our table. Trent stands there, his own plate in hand, expression neutral except for the slight tightness around his eyes.

"May I join you?" he asks formally.

The question hangs awkwardly. This man was my partner for three years, someone I trusted completely.

Now he feels like a stranger.

A stranger that body is far too aware of.

Vex simply shrugs and gestures to an empty chair. Trent sits, his movements precise and controlled in contrast to Vex's casual sprawl.

"Dr. Reid mentioned you'll be training today," Trent says, carefully cutting his food into regulation-sized bites. Old habits die hard. "To help control the enhancements."

"That's the plan," I confirm, suddenly very interested in the remnants on my plate.

"I've arranged a session in the eastern clearing," Vex says. "Private space to test capabilities without an audience."

"Wise precaution," Trent acknowledges stiffly. "New abilities can be unpredictable."

The conversation dies an awkward death. We eat in silence, the background noise of the dining hall filling the void. I'm hyperaware of both men, of Trent's careful restraint and Vex's coiled energy, like opposing forces creating their own gravitational field.

"I should get going," Vex says finally, rising with that liquid grace that seems as natural to him as breathing. "Eastern clearing in thirty minutes, Zara. Wear something you can move in." His eyes flick to Trent. "Sentinel, always a pleasure."

After Vex leaves, Trent and I sit in silence for several excruciating seconds. He breaks first.

"Zara, I know you're angry?—"

"Not here," I cut him off. Public displays of emotion are so ingrained against Unity protocol that even now, it feels wrong.

He nods once, accepting the boundary. "Will you allow me to observe today's training? As a security precaution."

"I don't need a babysitter, Trent."

"It's not—" He stops, visibly recalibrating. "It's a reasonable precaution when testing new abilities. We used to follow the same protocols for newly enhanced Sentinels."

He's right, damn him. "Fine. But stay out of the way."

"Always," he says quietly, and something in his tone makes me look up.

For a moment, his perfect control slips, revealing the pain underneath. Three years of partnership, of trust built in the field, of synchronized movements and shared dangers—all fractured by his deception. But not erased.

Never completely erased.