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We cross the stream and enter the contamination zone proper. The landscape transforms with horrifying suddenness—soil tinged with unnatural colors, vegetation twisted intobizarre shapes, the air itself seeming to shimmer with invisible toxins.

The effect hits me almost immediately. My lungs burn with each breath, skin prickling uncomfortably. Beside me, Vex shows minimal reaction, his modifications already processing the environmental hazards. Trent's face remains stoic, though I notice the tightness around his eyes.

"You okay?" I ask him as we pick our way through the corrupted terrain.

"Enhancement filter functioning at expected parameters," he answers, pure Sentinel response.

Translation: it hurts but he's sucking it up.

We maintain a punishing pace, aware that each minute in this environment tests our bodies' limits. An hour in, the discomfort intensifies. My vision blurs periodically, strange colors bleeding at the edges. My skin feels too tight, as if something underneath is trying to reshape itself.

"Adaptation beginning," Vex observes, noting my symptoms. "Your genetics are responding to the environment."

"Feels fantastic," I gasp, fighting through a wave of nausea.

"Keep moving," Trent encourages. "The more ground we cover before full symptoms hit, the better."

Another hour passes in grim determination. The contamination worsens as we approach what Vex identifies as the zone's center—a crater left by some long-ago industrial catastrophe. Here, the air itself seems to warp around us, carrying particles that glitter strangely in the sunlight.

The pain hits like a hammer blow. I stumble, a cry escaping before I can stop it. My lungs feel like they're dissolving and reforming with each breath. My skin burns as if scraped raw.

"Zara!" Trent is at my side instantly, supporting me.

"Keep going," I manage between gritted teeth. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine," he argues. "We need to?—"

"She's adapting," Vex cuts in, moving to my other side. "Her modifications are reconfiguring to process the toxins."

"And that's supposed to be comforting?" Trent demands.

"It's supposed to be necessary," Vex retorts. "Her body is doing exactly what it was designed to do."

Another wave of pain crashes through me, worse than the first. I bite back a scream, legs buckling. Both men catch me, lowering me carefully to the ground.

"This is too much," Trent says, voice tight with concern. "We need to get her out of here."

"Moving her now could interrupt the adaptation process," Vex counters. "She needs to get through this phase."

"And if she doesn't?"

"She will," Vex insists. "Her mother's design won't fail her."

Through the haze of pain, I feel something shift inside—cells restructuring, lungs altering their chemistry, skin changing its composition. The process is excruciating but somehow exhilarating too, my body reshaping itself to survive.

"Stay with me, Flutterby," Vex murmurs, holding my shoulders.

"Breathe through it, Zara," Trent instructs, his hand gripping mine. "Focus on my voice."

I cling to them both, anchoring myself against the storm raging through my body. Minutes stretch endlessly as the adaptation continues. Then, gradually, the pain begins to recede. My vision clears, colors returning to normal, better than normal, actually, with new spectrums I couldn't see before.

"It's working," I gasp, drawing a breath that no longer burns. "The air—I can breathe it."

Relief flashes across both men's faces. Vex helps me sit upwhile Trent checks my pulse, his touch lingering longer than necessary.

"Adaptation complete?" he asks Vex.

"Accelerated timeline," Vex confirms, studying me with open admiration. "Her genetics responded faster than any I've seen."