Page 39

We half-carry Trent the remaining distance, emerging from the contamination zone into relatively clean territory as the sun begins to set. We find shelter in a small grove where the air runs clearer, laying Trent on a bed of moss.

"Water," Vex instructs, already digging through his pack for medical supplies. "His system needs flushing."

I help Trent drink, supporting his head. His normally controlled features are tight with pain, but he accepts the water without complaint .

"Unity pursuit?" he asks between sips.

"Typical," I mutter. "Dying of toxin exposure and still focused on the mission."

"Not dying," he corrects. "Just…compromised."

"Scans show no pursuit," Vex reports, checking a small device from his pack. "Contamination zone worked as a deterrent."

"See?" Trent attempts a smile that turns into another cough. "Plan successful."

"Idiot," I say, but there's no heat in it. Just worry.

Vex produces a small vial of cloudy liquid. "Detox compound. Standard wasteland remedy for contamination exposure."

"Side effects?" Trent asks, ever the Sentinel considering all variables.

"Unpleasant but not dangerous," Vex assures him. "Accelerates toxin processing."

Trent nods once, accepting the vial and downing its contents without hesitation. Almost immediately, his body tenses, muscles contracting sharply.

"What's happening?" I demand as Trent's back arches in obvious pain.

"Purging response," Vex explains. "The compound forces toxins out through sweat glands."

Indeed, Trent's skin is now covered in a sheen of moisture that carries an unnatural greenish tinge. His breathing comes in harsh gasps, each exhale carrying visible vapor.

"Stay with him," Vex instructs, rising. "I'll secure the perimeter and collect clean water. He'll need it when the purge completes."

As Vex disappears into the growing darkness, I turn my full attention to Trent. His features are contorted in pain, body trembling with the force of the detoxification.

"Hey," I say softly, wiping his forehead with a cloth. "Still with me? "

His eyes flutter open, finding mine with effort. "Always," he manages.

The one word response carries echoes of our partnership, missions where we relied on each other completely, moments when one word contained entire conversations.

"You shouldn't have pushed so hard," I chastise gently. "Your filter was failing."

"Had to get you through." His hand finds mine, grip weak but determined. "Worth it."

"Don't," I warn. "Don't make this about protecting me."

Despite his condition, a spark of stubbornness lights in his eyes. "It's always been about protecting you, Zara. From the beginning."

"I know. Because of your assignment," I say, the old hurt resurfacing.

"No." He struggles to sit up, fighting through obvious pain. "Because of you. Just you."

Our faces are suddenly close, his breath warm against my skin. For a moment, I'm transported back to our days as partners—the training sessions that ran late, the mission debriefs in cramped quarters, all those moments when protocol was the only thing keeping us apart.

Protocol that no longer applies.

"Trent," I whisper, not sure if I'm warning him away or inviting him closer.

He answers by closing the distance between us. His lips find mine with surprising gentleness, the contact sending electricity racing down my spine and pooling low in my belly. I respond instinctively, hands lifting to cradle his face, feeling the scratch of stubble against my palms.

The kiss deepens, three years of restraint dissolving in an instant.

His tongue traces the seam of my lips, seeking entrance that I eagerly grant.

The first slide of his tongue against mine pulls a soft moan from my throat that I couldn't suppress if I tried.

His arms wrap around me, pulling me closer despite his weakened state, one hand splaying across my lower back while the other threads through my hair.

My enhanced senses heighten everything—the heat of his skin, the racing of his pulse that matches my own, the subtle changes in his breathing as desire takes over.

I taste the lingering bitterness of the detox compound, but beneath it is something uniquely him—something I've wanted for longer than I care to admit.

I shift closer, practically climbing into his lap, needing to eliminate any space between us.

His body responds instantly, a low groan rumbling through his chest as my thigh presses between his legs, feeling the unmistakable hardness there.

My own body answers with a rush of heat and dampness that makes me press against him more urgently.

His hand slides from my hair down my neck, then lower, palm skimming the side of my breast in a touch that's tentative at first, then more confident when I arch into it.

Even through my shirt, the contact sends sparks shooting through me, my enhanced senses making everything feel absolutely addictive.

I gasp against his mouth, breaking the kiss only to trail my lips along his jaw, down to the pulse point at his neck where I can taste the salt of his skin.

"Zara," he breathes, my name like a prayer on his lips.

His hands grow bolder, one slipping beneath the hem of my shirt to find bare skin.

The direct contact of his fingers on my waist nearly undoes me, every nerve ending firing at once, my modified senses making each touch feel like a brand. “Oh fuck.”

I pull back just enough to see his face, finding his eyes heavy-lidded and dark with want, pupils so dilated there's only a thin ring of gray around the black.

His lips are swollen from our kisses, a flush spreading across his cheekbones.

I've never seen Trent—controlled, regulated, perfect Sentinel Trent—so undone.

The sight sends another wave of desire surging through me .

"I've thought about this," I confess, voice husky and barely recognizable. "For years."

"Every day," he admits, the naked honesty in his voice nearly breaking something inside me. "Every mission, every sync session, every time you were close enough to touch but I couldn't?—"

I silence him with another kiss, this one desperate and hungry, my hands dropping to his chest and feeling the thundering of his heart beneath my palms. His muscles jump and tense under my touch as I explore, learning the contours of his body in ways three years of partnership never allowed.

You can touch me now , I think.

His hands grip my hips, pulling me fully into his lap so I'm straddling him, the position bringing us into perfect alignment.

Even through layers of clothing, the pressure and friction draw shocked gasps from us both.

My body moves instinctively, rolling against him as his hands guide my hips in a rhythm that sends pleasure spiraling through me.

I’m so sensitive now that I feel I’m borderline feral, like I might just come if we keep going, if he keeps rocking me against his length like this, even through our clothes.

We're so lost in each other that we almost miss the sound, a distinctive electronic hum cutting through the night air. Almost, but not quite. Even passion can't override our training completely.

It disappears but brings us back into the present.

Holy fucking hell.

"That wasn't protocol-approved," I manage, trying for lightness despite the heat coursing through me.

A rare, full smile transforms his features. "I'm not a Sentinel anymore, remember?"

"Neither am I," I whisper, leaning in again.

But before I can kiss him, before my body demands to get off right here and now, the sound comes back .

We break apart, instantly alert. Trent's hand goes to his weapon, mine to the knife Vex gave me.

"Drone," Trent whispers, strength returning with adrenaline.

"Unity design," I confirm, identifying the sound pattern. "Search class."

The moment shatters as reality crashes back. We're still hunted. Still in danger. Still on mission.

No matter what my newly enhanced and sensitive body tries to say.

When Vex returns minutes later with fresh water, he finds us in defensive positions, all traces of our intimate moment erased except for the lingering heat in my cheeks and the way Trent's eyes keep finding mine.

"Unity drone, half kilometer east," I report. "Just passed over but could return."

If Vex notices the charged atmosphere, he doesn't comment. "Camp's not secure anymore. We need to move."

"Where to?" I ask, helping Trent to his feet. He's steadier now, the detox compound having done its work.

"I discovered something while scouting," Vex says. "An old bunker. Pre-collapse military by the look of it. Shielded from scans."

"Lead the way," Trent says, his voice back to mission-professional though his fingers brush mine briefly as we gather our gear.

As we move through the darkness toward this new shelter, I can't help the confusion swirling through me.

My body bears the imprint of Trent's touch, my lips still tingling from his kiss.

Yet ahead walks Vex, whose fierce protection and understanding of my changing nature has created its own powerful connection.

Unity Sentinel and Wasteland Splinter. My past and my possible future. Both risking everything to keep me safe .

And me, caught between them, still discovering what I truly am and what I truly want.

The drone's presence confirms one thing, though, our mission is far from over. Unity is still hunting, still determined to capture me. The other Haven children still need warning. Haven's Edge still needs protection.

Personal complications will have to wait.

At least, that's what I tell myself as we disappear into the night, even as I feel Trent's gaze like a physical touch across the darkness.