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"Some Sentinels," Trent repeats, his tone making it clear he doesn't believe that for a second. "Run a full spectrum analysis on her bloodwork. I want to know exactly what's happening."

The technician hesitates. "That would require special authorization. The standard protocols only call for?—"

"I'm authorizing it," Trent cuts him off. "Security override Vanguard-Seven-One-Two. Log it as a tactical necessity for maintaining optimal Sentinel function."

I watch this exchange with growing unease.

Trent doesn't typically override medical protocols.

In fact, he's usually the one insisting we follow every rule to the letter.

Something about my reaction has genuinely alarmed him, and that's far more concerning than any physical symptoms I'm experiencing.

The technician reluctantly begins preparing a blood extraction kit while I watch Trent closely. There's tension in every line of his body, from the set of his shoulders to the way his fingers flex slightly at his sides, a tell I've only noticed in our most dangerous field operations.

"You're overreacting," I tell him quietly when the technician moves to the analysis station. "It was nothing. I feel fine now."

His eyes finally meet mine, and the intensity I see there steals my breath. "Your neural patterns spiked to levels I've never seen in any Sentinel. For approximately seven seconds, your brain was operating beyond measurable Enhancement scale."

I blink at him. "That's impossible."

"I know." He glances at the technician, then lowers his voice further. "Which is why we need to figure out what's happening before the next treatment."

Before I can respond, the medical bay doors slide open, and Chief Medical Officer Niren enters. His gaze sweeps the room, lingering on the disconnected enhancement apparatus and my clearly unfinished procedure .

"Sentinel Vanguard," he acknowledges with a curt nod. "I received an alert about an interrupted enhancement protocol. Care to explain?"

Figures that Niren would appear. Nothing goes unnoticed here. Nothing.

Trent straightens to his full height, easily towering over the slighter medical officer. "Sentinel Thorne showed irregular responses to the standard formula. I made a tactical decision to terminate the procedure before risking damage to a valuable asset."

Niren's eyes narrow slightly. "I wasn't aware tactical decisions extended to medical procedures, Sentinel."

"They do when they affect Sentinel performance in the field," Trent responds smoothly. "Would you prefer I consult a committee while watching my partner's neural patterns destabilize?"

I've always admired Trent's ability to challenge authority while sounding completely respectful. It's a skill I've never quite mastered, my temper rising at the worst times and making me sound like a blundering fool.

"Your concern is noted," Niren says after a moment. "However, enhancement protocols exist for a reason. Sentinel Thorne's previous treatments have all shown above-average adaptation. One irregular response doesn't justify special handling."

"With respect, sir ," Trent counters, "this is the third consecutive treatment where Sentinel Thorne has displayed atypical responses. The pattern suggests something systemic rather than incidental."

I shoot Trent a surprised look. Third consecutive treatment? I only remember mild discomfort during my last procedure, nothing worth reporting.

Has he been monitoring my treatments without telling me ?

Niren considers this information, then gestures to the technician. "Show me the neural activity logs."

While they review the data, Trent moves closer to my medical platform, positioning himself between me and the others in a way that could seem casual to anyone who doesn't know him as well as I do. It's a protective stance, one I've seen him take in the field when assessing unknown threats.

Since when did Unity medical staff become a threat?

"Interesting," Niren murmurs, studying the displays. "These patterns are rather unusual."

"Unusual enough to warrant further investigation," Trent presses.

Niren's expression remains neutral, but something shifts in his eyes, a calculation being made. "Perhaps. In the meantime, Sentinel Thorne will require a modified enhancement regimen."

"Modified how?" I ask, speaking up for the first time since Niren's arrival.

Niren barely glances at me. "Lower concentration, extended application time. It will be less efficient but potentially more stable for your...unique physiology."

The way he says "unique" makes it sound like a disease rather than an advantage. In Unity, anything that deviates from the carefully calculated norm is viewed with suspicion at best, hostility at worst.

"I'll design the protocol myself," he continues, turning back to Trent. "And Sentinel Vanguard, while your concern for your partner is commendable, in the future, please consult medical staff before interrupting established procedures."

"Of course, sir," Trent responds, his tone perfectly respectful while his posture remains unyielding.

Niren gives me one last assessing look before exiting, the technician following close behind with my blood samples.

The moment the doors close, I turn to Trent. "What was that about? And why didn't you tell me there were issues with my previous treatments?"

"Because there weren’t, at least none that registered on standard monitoring." He moves to the console, fingers flying over the controls. "The abnormalities only show up on deeper neural scans, which aren't part of routine enhancement observation."

"Then how did you know to look for them?"

Trent's hands pause over the console. "Because I've been monitoring your biometric data since our first neural sync three years ago."

"That's..." I search for the right word. Invasive? Concerning? A violation of privacy that should make me angry but somehow doesn't? "...thorough of you."

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "It's called being a good partner, Thorne."

There's that word again: partner. Such a simple term for something that feels increasingly complex.

On the surface, it means we work together, train together, fight together.

But the way Trent says it, the way he just positioned himself between me and potential threat, suggests something deeper than professional collaboration.

Or maybe that's just wishful thinking on my part.

Yeah. It’s wishful thinking.

"The data's gone," Trent says suddenly, his expression hardening as he stares at the console screen.

"What data?"

"Your neural scans from today. They've been purged from the local system." His fingers move rapidly over the controls. "The backups too."

A chill runs through me that has nothing to do with the enhancement chemicals still in my system. "Could it be standard procedure?"

"No." He straightens, eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes my stomach flip. "Someone doesn't want there to be a record of what happened to you today."

"Why would anyone care about my enhancement reaction?"

Instead of answering, Trent moves to the cabinet along the far wall, retrieving a standard medical kit. With efficient movements, he extracts a small collection vial and a tissue sampler.

"I need a sample," he says, returning to my side.

"Didn't the technician already take blood?"

"Yes, and it's already disappeared into Unity Medical's classified testing division." He holds up the tissue sampler. "This is for us. A backup."

The implications settle over me like a cold shadow. Trent Vanguard, Unity's most decorated Sentinel, is suggesting we keep secrets from the very system we've sworn to protect. It's not just irregular, it's dangerous.

"Trent," I say quietly, fear crawling up my spine, "what exactly are you worried about?"

His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the perfect Sentinel facade slips. What I see beneath it steals my breath, concern, determination, and something deeper that makes my heart beat faster.

"I don't know yet," he admits. "But Niren's response was too measured, too prepared. Like he expected something like this to happen eventually."

"Like what? An enhancement reaction?"

"No." His voice drops lower. "Like you."

Me?

Before I can process what that means, he continues, "This will sting a bit." The tissue sampler touches my arm where the enhancement chemicals entered, extracting a small cylinder of skin and muscle.

"What now?" I ask as he secures the sample in the collection vial .

"Now you rest and recover while I do some research." He slips the vial into an inner pocket of his uniform. "And we both pretend today was nothing more than a minor procedural irregularity."

"And if it wasn't?"

Trent's expression shifts to neutral, his failsafe. "Then we have bigger problems than a failed enhancement treatment."

As he helps me stand from the medical platform, his hand briefly steadies my elbow, a point of warmth in the clinical chill of Medical Bay 7. For that brief moment, the contact feels like an anchor in increasingly uncertain waters.

"Your next procedure is scheduled in two weeks," he says, his voice returning to its professional cadence. "Until then, report any unusual symptoms immediately—to me, not Medical."

"Understood." I straighten my uniform, trying to return to the familiar rhythm of Sentinel duty and protocol. "Should I be worried? Because I’m kinda freaking out here.”

Trent considers for a moment, his tall frame outlined against the sterile white of the medical bay. With his broad shoulders and perfect posture, he looks like one of the ancient statues I've seen in Unity's historical archives, immovable, untouchable, eternal.

"No," he finally says. "But stay alert. And Zara—" he rarely uses my first name, and the sound of it in his deep voice sends an unauthorized thrill through me, "—trust your instincts. They've kept us alive this long."

As we exit Medical Bay 7 side by side, returning to the carefully controlled environment of Unity's upper arcology, I can't shake the feeling that something fundamental has shifted between us, between me and Trent, between me and Unity, between me and whoever I thought I was.

In a world built on rigid order and perfect predictability, uncertainty is its own kind of danger. And right now, the only certainty I have is the tall, dark-haired man walking beside me, who just broke protocol to protect me from something neither of us understands.

The question is why?