Page 38

I wake to hushed voices.

"—definitely hunting patterns," Vex says. "Not random patrols."

"Coordinated search grid," Trent agrees. "They've committed significant resources."

"We need to move before they expand the perimeter."

I sit up, stretching muscles stiff from sleeping on hard stone. "How long was I out?"

Both men turn. Trent's expression softens momentarily at the sight of me.

"Four hours," he says. "You needed it."

Shit.

"Status update?" I ask, fully alert now.

Vex moves to the cave entrance. "Unity forces have established a containment zone. They're sweeping outward from the relay station in concentric circles."

"How far does the perimeter extend?"

"Three kilometers and expanding," Trent reports. "Our window for clean extraction is closing."

I join them at the entrance, peering into the pre-dawn darkness. My vision adjusts instantly, picking out details in the shadowy landscape. "Options?"

"North, through the ridge system," Vex suggests. "Difficult terrain for their vehicles."

"They'll anticipate that," Trent counters. "Standard evasion route."

"So we do something non-standard," I say, thinking aloud. "What's the last thing they'd expect?"

The men exchange glances.

"Going back toward Haven's Edge would be suicide," Vex says.

"And continuing east puts us deeper into their search grid," Trent adds.

I study the landscape, considering. "What about the contamination zone? The one you pointed out on the map yesterday."

"The chemical wasteland?" Vex looks surprised. "That's twenty kilometers south. Highly toxic."

"Exactly why Unity won't follow. Their standard equipment can't handle it."

"Neither can we," Trent objects. "Without proper protection?—"

"My modifications have been adapting to environmental toxins," I remind him. "And Vex's modifications include toxin resistance, right?"

Vex nods slowly, comprehension dawning. "It could work. My adaptations handle most wasteland toxins."

"And you?" I ask Trent, the question hanging heavy between us.

He holds my gaze. "Standard Sentinel enhancement includes basic toxin filtering. Limited duration, but enough to cross the zone if we move quickly."

I turn back to the landscape, decision made. "South it is. Through the contamination zone. "

We pack quickly, redistributing supplies for maximum efficiency. As we prepare to move out, Vex pulls me aside.

"Your modifications should adapt to the toxins," he says quietly, "but the process will be uncomfortable. Possibly painful."

"Define 'uncomfortable.'"

His amber eyes are serious in the dim light. "Like your body rewiring itself from the inside out."

"Been there, done that," I mutter. "I'll manage."

"I know you will, Flutterby." His hand touches my arm briefly. "Just stay close. The adaptation happens faster with proximity to compatible modifications."

The intimacy of the moment is broken when Trent approaches, pack secured and face unreadable.

"Ready?" he asks, eyes flicking between us.

We exit the cave under cover of lingering darkness, moving south in a defensive formation. The forest gradually thins as we progress, vegetation becoming sparser and more distorted—the first signs of the contamination zone's influence.

Two hours into our journey, we pause at the edge of what was once a river. Now it's a sluggish, rust-colored stream cutting through barren ground. The air carries a metallic tang that makes my nose wrinkle.

"Edge of the contamination zone," Vex confirms. "From here, we move fast. No stopping until we reach the other side."

"How bad is it going to get?" I ask.

"Worse than this," he says simply. "Much worse."

Trent checks his watch. "Sentinel enhancement filter activating now. Three-hour window before degradation begins."

We cross the stream and enter the contamination zone proper. The landscape transforms with horrifying suddenness—soil tinged with unnatural colors, vegetation twisted into bizarre 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 up while 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."

I take experimental breaths, marveling at my body's transformation. "It smells different now. Almost...sweet?"

"Your olfactory system has recategorized the toxins," Vex explains. "Your lungs are now processing them as useful compounds rather than poisons."

"Useful how?" Trent asks.

"Fuel, maybe. Building blocks for cellular repair." Vex shrugs. "Each adaptation is unique, it’s hard to say."

I rise shakily to my feet, testing my renewed strength. "How much farther through the zone?"

"Another two hours at our current pace," Vex says. "Less if you're up to moving faster."

"I'm good," I insist, though my legs still feel wobbly. "Let's go."

Trent's hand closes around my arm. "You just underwent a complete physiological transformation. Take a minute."

"We don't have a minute," I remind him. "Your enhancement filter has—" I check his watch, "—less than an hour before degradation."

The concern in his eyes deepens. "I'll manage."

"We all will," Vex interjects, impatience evident. "But standing here debating it won't help."

We resume our journey, now with Trent's condition becoming the primary concern. As his enhancement filter approaches its time limit, I notice his breathing growing more labored, his movements less fluid.

"Your filter's failing," I say quietly when Vex moves ahead to scout .

"Functioning within acceptable parameters," Trent responds automatically.

"Bullshit. I can hear your lungs struggling."

His expression tightens. "Necessary risk, okay? We'll clear the zone before critical failure."

"And if we don't?"

His eyes meet mine, that familiar Sentinel resolve unwavering. "Then we don't."

An hour later, Trent's condition has deteriorated significantly. His skin has taken on an unhealthy pallor, and each breath sounds raw. Still, he pushes forward, refusing to slow our pace.

"Edge of the zone," Vex announces as the landscape begins to show signs of recovery—patches of normal soil, less distorted vegetation.

Relief floods through me, but it's short-lived. Trent suddenly stumbles, a harsh cough tearing from his throat.

"Trent!" I catch him before he falls, alarm spiking as I feel the heat radiating from his skin.

"Filter failure," he manages, voice rough. "Expected."

Vex is beside us instantly, helping support Trent's weight. "How bad?"

"Toxin levels at 60% threshold," Trent reports clinically, despite his obvious distress. "Survivable with immediate evacuation."

"We're evacuating," I say firmly. "Right now."