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"Then I'm exactly what we've been trained to hunt," I finish for him, the weight of this realization pressing down on me. "A Splinter infiltrator inside Unity."

Except I have no memory of infiltration, no sense of another life before the one I've lived as a Sentinel. Just fragments of dreams that feel increasingly like memories—a research facility, a woman named Elara, something about adaptive genetics.

"That's not the only possibility," Trent says, more gently than I've ever heard him speak. "The sympathizer network isn't just helping Splinters enter Unity. They're also identifying and assisting citizens with spontaneous genetic adaptations."

I look up at him sharply. "The anomalies Marlow mentioned."

He nods. "What if these modifications aren't external contamination but internal evolution? What if some Unity citizens are naturally developing adaptations despite Unity's genetic stability protocols?"

The implication is staggering. If true, it means Unity's entire premise—that genetic purity can be maintained through controlled environments—is fundamentally flawed. That change and adaptation are inevitable, even inside their perfectly regulated arcologies.

Holy shit.

Eden stirs in her sleep, making a small sound of distress. Without thinking, I reach out to smooth her hair, a gesture of comfort that feels strangely natural despite my Sentinel training.

"We need to report this," I say, the words automatic, drilled into me through years of conditioning. "A Splinter infiltrator, sympathizer network confirmed..."

But even as I say it, I know I don't mean it. The thought of reporting Eden, of watching Unity security take her away for "processing," fills me with a visceral revulsion I can't ignore. To report her means torture and possibly death.

"Is that what you want to do?" Trent asks quietly.

I look down at the sleeping child, at her delicate features and the subtle modifications that make her different, modifications similar to what might be happening inside me .

"No," I admit, the word both terrifying and liberating. "I don't want to report her. I want to help her."

It's the first time I've ever explicitly acknowledged a desire to disobey Unity protocols. The first time I've questioned not just how to execute a mission, but whether the mission itself is right.

Trent watches me closely, and I brace myself for his disapproval, for the reminder of our duty and oaths as Sentinels. Instead, he surprises me.

"Then we help her," he says simply. "And we figure out what's happening to you."

I stare at him, searching for any signs of deception or manipulation. There are none. Just certainty and something else, something warm that makes my heart beat faster despite the gravity of our situation.

"That would make us sympathizers," I point out. "Traitors to Unity."

"Maybe." His eyes hold mine steadily. "Or maybe it makes us true to something more important than Unity."

Before I can ask what he means, Eden's eyes snap open, that eerie amber glow visible even in the chamber's dim light.

"They're coming," she says with absolute certainty. "Three people. One is angry."

Seconds later, I hear footsteps in the corridor outside, confirming her enhanced hearing. Trent immediately moves to a maintenance panel, assuming the pose of a worker checking systems, while I return to my position beside Eden's bed.

The door slides open to reveal Kaplan accompanied by two others—a woman in maintenance uniform I recognize from our surveillance as one of the resource diversion coordinators, and a man whose squared shoulders and watchful eyes scream "military training" despite his civilian clothes.

The man's gaze zeroes in on Trent immediately, his body language shifting to alert wariness. "Who's this?" he demands of Kaplan. "You said one helper, not two."

"Davis was just leaving," Kaplan says quickly. "Finished the maintenance check."

Trent nods respectfully, gathering his tools with unhurried efficiency. "All systems functioning within parameters, Supervisor."

As he passes the newcomers, the man reaches out suddenly, grasping Trent's arm just above the wrist, exactly where a Sentinel identification chip would be embedded beneath the skin.

Trent doesn't flinch, doesn't react defensively as his training would dictate, just looks at the man with mild confusion.

"Something wrong?" he asks, the perfect picture of a maintenance worker puzzled by unusual behavior.

The man holds Trent's gaze for a tense moment, then releases him. "No. You just...remind me of someone."

Trent gives a small, self-deprecating smile. "Got one of those faces, I guess. Good shift to you all."

As he leaves, I feel the weight of his absence immediately. Without our practiced synchronicity, I suddenly feel vulnerable, off-balance. But I can't show it, not now, when we're so close to the core of the sympathizer network.

"Your bonded?" the woman asks me, her tone casual but her eyes sharp and assessing.

"Yes," I confirm. "He doesn't know about her," I add, nodding toward Eden. "Thought I was doing regular maintenance."

"And you trust that?" the man asks skeptically.

I shrug. "He trusts me. Doesn't ask questions when I say it's work-related."

This seems to satisfy them, or at least they don't press further. The woman approaches Eden, her demeanor softening as she kneels beside the bed.

"Hello, little one. I'm Lyra. How are you feeling today? "

Eden's eyes dart to me, then back to the woman. "Better. She helped me."

Lyra follows Eden's gaze to me, a new curiosity in her expression. "Did she? That's good to hear."

The man remains by the door, his posture that of a guard rather than a visitor. His continued scrutiny makes my skin prickle with awareness—not fear exactly, but recognition of another predator in the room.

"Transport's arranged," Kaplan tells Lyra. "Two days, southern access point. Medical team will be waiting on the other side."

"Good." Lyra turns back to Eden. "You'll be going home soon, little one. Back to your people."

Eden nods solemnly. "I told them what I saw. But I didn't find who I was looking for."

"It's alright," Lyra soothes. "You've helped more than you know."

As they discuss Eden's care and transport plans, I listen carefully while pretending to organize medical supplies.

They're smuggling her back out, not just hiding her, but actively returning her to the Splinter community she came from.

The level of organization required for such an operation speaks to something much larger than a few sympathetic maintenance workers.

"The new orders came through," the man says quietly to Kaplan. "All Sentinels on high alert starting tomorrow. Something big is happening."

Kaplan frowns. "Will that affect the transport?"

"Shouldn't. They're focused on the eastern sectors." The man glances at me. "Your helper should return to her regular duties tomorrow. Fewer complications."

I pretend not to hear, continuing my inventory of supplies while processing this new information. High alert for Sentinels means a major operation is planned, possibly connected to the increased Splinter infiltration attempts Marlow mentioned.

The timing feels significant. Eden's presence here, the sympathizer network's activities, my own emerging anomalies, all converging now.

"I'll finish the shift today," I offer. "Let Lyra get some rest before transport preparations."

The woman gives me a grateful nod, but the man's eyes narrow slightly. "Awful eager to help for someone who just discovered all this today."

I meet his gaze steadily. "I have my reasons."

"Everyone does," he responds cryptically.

After they leave, with Lyra promising to return in a few hours, it's just me and Eden again. The child watches me with those unsettling amber eyes that seem to see far more than they should.

"He was testing your friend," she says matter-of-factly. "Looking for the mark."

"What mark?"

Eden taps her own wrist. "The one Sentinels have. The one you have."

My heart skips a beat. "You can see that?"

She nods. "It glows, but only a little. Not like your friend's. His burns bright."

Another confirmation of her enhanced perception—she can somehow detect our Sentinel identification chips beneath the skin, chips that should be undetectable without specialized equipment.

"Eden," I say carefully, "when you said I'm like you inside, what exactly did you mean?"

She tilts her head, considering. "The doctors said some of us were born different. Some were made different later. You were made different, but it's been sleeping. Now it's waking up."

"Do you know why? Why now? "

She shrugs one small shoulder. "The older ones said sometimes it just needs the right time. Or the right place." She looks at me intently. "Or you need to be near others like you."

The implication sends a chill through me. If proximity to other modified individuals can trigger dormant adaptations, then my exposure to Splinters during missions might be accelerating whatever changes are happening within me.

"Are you afraid?" Eden asks suddenly.

The question catches me off guard. Am I afraid? Of what I might be becoming? Of what it means for my identity as a Sentinel? Of Unity's response if they discover the truth?

"Yes," I admit, the honest answer surprising me. Of everything. "But I'm also curious."

Eden smiles slightly. "That's good. Fear keeps you safe, but curiosity makes you free."

It sounds like something she's been taught, a Splinter philosophy perhaps. Yet there's wisdom in it that resonates with me.

For the rest of my shift, I care for Eden while processing everything I've learned. When Lyra returns to relieve me, I exit the chamber with reluctance, strangely protective of this child who has inadvertently confirmed my worst fears and ignited my deepest questions.

I find Trent waiting for me in our cramped quarters, his expression revealing nothing until the door slides shut and the privacy field activates.

"You're unharmed," he says, the slight relaxation in his shoulders betraying his concern.

"I'm fine. The man—the one who grabbed your arm—he knew what to look for. He was checking for a Sentinel chip."

Trent nods. "I noticed. Military trained, possibly former Security Division."

"Eden confirmed it. She can see our chips somehow, says they 'glow.'" I sink onto the sleeping platform, suddenly exhausted. "She also said my genetic changes were deliberate, not random. That they've been 'sleeping' and are only now 'waking up.'"

Trent processes this in silence, his analytical mind no doubt calculating possibilities and implications.

"What does that make me, Trent?" I ask quietly. "If I'm not what Unity says I am—a pure human—then what am I?"

He moves to sit beside me, close enough that I can feel his warmth but not quite touching. "You're Zara Thorne," he says simply. "That’s all that matters.”

But who is Zara Thorne?

The unexpected response brings a lump to my throat. "It matters when it could get me processed as a Splinter infiltrator."

"Not while I'm here." The certainty in his voice is absolute.

I look at him, this man who represents everything Unity stands for—discipline, control, perfection—yet who just promised to protect me from that very system.

"Why?" I ask, echoing Eden's question from earlier. "Why would you risk everything to protect me if I'm becoming what we've been trained to hunt?"

Trent meets my gaze, and for once, he doesn't hide behind Sentinel control or professional distance. What I see in his eyes makes my breath catch—determination, certainty, and something deeper.

Perhaps something I want to see.

"Because that's what people should do," he says, repeating his words to Eden. "Protect each other. Even when they're different." He pauses, then adds quietly, "Especially when it's you."

The admission hangs between us, not quite a declaration but more than we've ever acknowledged before. I don't know who moves first, but suddenly his hand covers mine on the sleeping platform, warm and solid and real.

"Whatever happens," he says, "whatever you're becoming, we'll face it together. "

In this moment, in our cramped maintenance quarters with the hum of Lower Arcology machinery surrounding us, I believe him. Despite Unity, despite our mission, despite the uncertain changes transforming me from within, I believe him.

And for the first time since my enhancements began failing, I'm not afraid of what I might become.

Because I won't face it alone.