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The final buzzer sounded.

The session ended.

Kaal released him, and Xander rolled onto his back, staring at the sky.

Above him, the simulated blue shimmered, and clouds drifted east.

He exhaled, slow, ragged.

Thinking of the one member of the pack missing in action.

Bone.

The man was Boaz’s fraternal twin, but where Boaz laughed, Bone brooded.

They shared blood, not spirit.

Bone was aSigma, a silent, self-isolated shadow that walked beside the pack but never within it.

He had good reason. He’d suffered a great horror protecting them in the explosion that had transformed them.

He never spoke of what or who he encountered in the bowels of Earth as he fought off monsters, giving the strong guard time to escape.

Yet the evidence of his suffering was clear in the old scars etched deeper into his skin.

Menacing didn’t begin to describe him; he was a walking fracture line of wrath barely held in check.

Even Xander, who bore the alpha mantle of their spectral wolf pack, acknowledged Bone’s raw, terrifying potential.

He was stronger. Wilder.

If Bone ever challenged him, the fight would split hulls and rupture decks.

But he never had. Not once.

Perhaps because he didn’t crave the crown, he only desired distance.

Bone made his home in the shafts below engineering, among the ship’s guts, where steam hissed and metal creaked like breathing lungs.

He’d converted a forgotten maintenance crawlspace into a den of metal solitude: crude bedding layered with thermal mesh, salvaged power stones for heat, and old vinyl audio consoles stacked high beside coils of dismantled pipework.

As Chief Plumber, he maintained the worst ofSombra’ssystems, pumps, pressure lines, sewage valves, and anything that leaked or festered.

He preferred life below and rarely came to the upper levels.

Still, Xander ensured he always had a place at the table for Bone, even if he never came.

Santi collapsed next to Xander, breaking his reverie, sweat-covered and laughing. ‘Better than therapy,cabrón.’

Mak lay on his back, fingers tented over his ribs. ‘I’d still rather not skip leg day than go through this shit.’

Zev dug through a cold pack, cracking open a pack of water bulbs. ‘Capitán, you gonna tell us what’s given your fists that extra slam today?’

Xander said nothing; instead, he just wiped the blood off his lip with his hand and rubbed his sweaty face with a rough synth-cotton towel, biting back a groan at his aching spine.

He fell back on the mat, where his focus soon locked on the men sitting or lying down around him.

With a sigh, he privately appreciated their brotherhood, grateful for its safety and security, especially on days like these when his soul churned.