Page 27

I wake to sunlight streaming across my face and the strange sensation of being able to count dust motes as they dance through the air.

"What the hell?" I blink, watching the microscopic particles swirl in intricate patterns visible only because I guess my vision has somehow sharpened overnight. I can see textures in the wooden ceiling beams thirty feet up that should be impossible to discern at this distance.

This is going get annoying, isn’t it?

"Enhanced visual acuity," says a voice from the doorway. "Quite remarkable in your case."

Dr. Reid stands there, clipboard in hand, wearing what must pass for a lab coat in Haven's Edge, basically a long, well-worn garment patched in several places with mismatched fabric. His silver hair catches the morning light, making the subtle variations in color visible to my enhanced sight.

"Is this permanent?" I ask, sitting up and realizing I feel...good? Strong, at least. The bone-deep exhaustion from yesterday's transformation crisis has vanished completely.

"The enhancements? Yes." Reid approaches, peering at me. " Your mother designed adaptive modifications that would integrate completely once activated. They're part of you now, as natural as the color of your hair."

I swing my legs over the bed, testing each limb. Everything responds with a fluidity that feels almost too easy, like my body's suddenly running at peak efficiency without effort.

"There's more than just vision changes," I say, flexing my fingers. "Everything feels...I don't know, dialed up to maximum."

Reid nods. "Enhanced muscular response, accelerated neural processing, improved proprioception. Your body has essentially reconfigured itself for optimal function." He gestures to a small mirror on the wall. "Take a look."

I cross to the mirror, startled by the face that stares back at me. I still look like me—same dark hair, same features—but there's a subtle difference in my eyes. The brown irises now have a faint amber ring around their edges, barely noticeable unless you know to look for it.

"That's the visible marker of ocular enhancement," Reid explains. "The reflective quality will be more pronounced in low light conditions."

Like Vex's eyes. And Eden's.

"What else should I expect?" I ask, turning away from my reflection.

"Increased sensory input across all spectra.

Enhanced strength and speed, though nothing superhuman.

Just the upper limits of natural human capability.

Accelerated healing. Possibly some temperature adaptation.

" He checks his notes. "Your mother's records indicated potential for infrared vision in low light conditions, and enhanced hearing well beyond normal parameters. "

I test this by focusing on sounds beyond the room. Suddenly I can hear conversations from the corridor, footsteps two floors away, the rhythmic beating of Reid's heart. Holy shit .

"It's a lot," I admit, dialing back my focus with surprising ease, as if my brain already knows how to regulate the input.

"Your adaptation has stabilized remarkably quickly," Reid says, looking impressed. "Most transitions take weeks to settle. Yours resolved overnight." His expression softens. "I understand this is overwhelming. Having changes forced on you without consent or preparation?—"

"Isn't that the Splinter experience in a nutshell?" I interrupt, not wanting his pity. "At least mine were designed by someone who supposedly cared about me."

Before he can respond, a knock at the open door draws our attention. Nora, the silver-haired Elder with amber eyes, stands there wearing a flowing garment of layered fabrics in earthy greens and browns, its asymmetrical cut unlike anything Unity would have permitted.

"Our guest is awake," she says, smile lines deepening around her eyes. "And fully transitioned, I see."

"Remarkably stable integration," Reid confirms. "Elara's work was even more advanced than we suspected."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at their clinical assessment. "I'm still in the room, you know."

Nora laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "Forgive us, child. Scientific excitement tends to override social graces." She approaches, looking me over with knowing eyes. "How do you feel?"

"Different." I search for better words to describe the sensation. "Like I've been walking around half-asleep my whole life and suddenly woke up."

She nods as if this makes perfect sense. "The first days after transition are disorienting. Exhilarating, but overwhelming."

"I could use some actual clothes," I say, glancing down at the thin medical garment I'm still wearing. "And maybe a chance to test these new abilties. See what I can do.”

"Both easily arranged," Nora says. "There's fresh clothing in the cabinet there. And someone has volunteered to help you adjust to your enhancements."

"Let me guess. Tall, dark, and modified? Amber eyes and an attitude problem?"

Nora's smile turns knowing. "Vex has experience guiding transitions. His methods are perhaps unconventional, but effective."

"I'd prefer Dr. Reid's supervision," comes a voice from the doorway.

Trent stands there, imposing despite the borrowed clothes that don't quite fit his broad shoulders.

The simple gray shirt stretches across his chest, the fabric worn thin enough that I can see the outline of muscle beneath.

His dark hair looks damp, as if he's recently washed it, and several days' worth of stubble shadows his jaw.

My stomach does an unauthorized flip at the sight of him, anger warring with desire. I let anger win.

"This isn't your decision to make, Sentinel," Nora says calmly. "Zara is free to choose how she proceeds."

Trent's eyes meet mine, something vulnerable flickering beneath his controlled expression. "Of course. I just want to ensure her safety during a vulnerable transition period."

"I'm not vulnerable," I say sharply. "And I can make my own choices."

A flash of hurt crosses his face before the perfect Sentinel mask slides back into place. "I never suggested otherwise."

An awkward silence falls. Reid clears his throat. "Perhaps we should give Zara privacy to change. We can discuss training approaches afterward."

They file out, Trent lingering a moment longer than necessary, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. Then he's gone, leaving me alone with my enhanced senses and churning emotions.

The cabinet holds an assortment of clothing—practical garments pieced together from various fabrics, nothing like Unity's uniform jumpsuits.

I select a pair of fitted pants made from a material like denim but more flexible, and a deep red shirt with sleeves that can be rolled up or down.

The outfit feels strange after years of regulation uniforms—individual, distinctive.

Mine.

As I dress, I marvel at how my enhanced awareness extends to my own body.

I can feel each muscle group as it moves, sense the blood pulsing through veins, even detect the subtle electrical signals traveling along my nervous system.

It should be overwhelming, but somehow my brain processes it all without conscious effort.

When I step out of the medical room, Vex is waiting in the corridor, leaning against the wall with casual grace.

His long dark hair is partially braided back from his face today, accentuating razor-sharp cheekbones and that perpetually amused curve of his lips.

He wears what appears to be a leather jacket, though it's unlike any I've seen—fitted closely to his lean frame, with subtle reinforcements at shoulders and elbows.

The material has been darkened to near-black, but my enhanced vision catches variations in texture and color invisible to normal sight.

He straightens as I approach, amber eyes flicking over me with undisguised interest. "You clean up nice for a former Sentinel."

"You're just full of compliments, aren't you?"

His smile widens, revealing teeth slightly sharper than standard human norm. "I save them for rare occasions." He gestures down the corridor. "Hungry? Transition usually triggers significant appetite."

On cue, my stomach growls loudly enough that even normal hearing would catch it. Not embarrassing at all…

"Thought so," he says, leading the way. "Enhanced metabolism needs fuel. Come on."

I follow him through corridors I didn't properly notice during yesterday's crisis.

Haven's Edge is nothing like Unity's sterile, geometric precision.

The settlement has grown organically, structures added where needed, hallways connecting at odd angles, windows positioned to catch natural light rather than in perfect symmetry.

We emerge into what must be the community dining area—a large open space with mismatched tables and chairs, crowded with people despite the early hour.

The noise hits me immediately—dozens of conversations, the clatter of utensils, the sizzle of cooking food—but my enhanced hearing somehow sorts it all without overwhelming me.

"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 fluid and 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.

I stand abruptly, uncomfortable with the direction of my thoughts. "I'll see you at the clearing."