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The center quarters are sparse but private—a small room carved directly into the mountain stone, furnished with only the essentials. A bed wide enough for one person, maybe two if they don't mind close quarters. A small desk bolted to the wall. A single light source embedded in the ceiling.

I stand in the center of this austere space, suddenly aware of my racing pulse as Trent follows me inside. He closes the door behind him, the soft click echoing in the silence.

For three years, we've operated in perfect synchronicity on missions. Now we stand awkwardly, neither sure how to navigate this new territory between us.

"So," I say finally.

"So," he echoes, a hint of uncertainty replacing his usual confidence.

I move to the room's single chair, needing distance to think clearly. "You wanted to talk."

Trent remains by the door, hands clasped behind his back in classic Sentinel posture. "Yes."

More silence stretches between us. For a man who navigates high-stakes missions with tactical precision, he seems remarkably hesitant now .

"About what happened in the forest," he begins finally. "Before the drone interrupted us."

Heat crawls up my neck at the memory. His mouth on mine, hands pulling me closer, the density of his cock pressing between my legs. How feral I was. Ravenous for more, like my body had a mind of its own and I was powerless to control it.

"What about it?" I ask, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.

He takes a step closer, expression intensifying. "You know exactly what. Us. This. Whatever's been building between us since?—"

"Since you told me you've been lying to me for our entire partnership?" I didn’t mean to be so combative off the bat but my words are sharp.

Trent flinches but doesn't retreat. "Yes. Since then. Since the truth finally came out."

"The truth," I echo. "Which part? That I'm a genetic experiment? That you've been monitoring me for years? That our entire partnership was based on your assignment to watch me?"

"Not everything was a lie, Zara." He takes another step forward. "What I feel for you—that's always been real."

My treacherous heart quickens at his words, but anger still simmers beneath the surface. "How am I supposed to believe that? How can I trust anything about us now?"

"Because you felt it too." His voice drops lower. "During synchronization. When our minds connected completely. You felt what I felt. No deception possible at that level."

He's right, damn him. In that moment of perfect neural alignment, I'd glimpsed his feelings for me—complex, intense, genuine. No lies possible in that depth of connection.

"It doesn't change what you did," I say, though my resolve weakens.

"No, it doesn't." He moves closer still, now within arm's reach. "I made choices I believed were necessary at the time. I followed orders. Protected you the only way I knew how."

"By keeping me in the dark about my own life?"

"By keeping you safe until your modifications were stable enough to handle the truth." His eyes hold mine, intensity burning through his usual control. "Your mother's design required specific activation conditions. Premature knowledge could have triggered unpredictable results."

"You couldn't know that for certain," I argue.

"No," he admits. "But I wasn't willing to risk your life to find out."

Something in his expression strips away my anger, leaving only the raw truth beneath. Whatever his motives, whatever orders he followed, his concern for me was genuine.

"When did it change?" I ask softly. "When did I become more than just an assignment to you?"

The question hangs between us, crucial and unavoidable.

"The Eastern Sector mission," he answers without hesitation. "Second year of our partnership. You took that suppression round meant for me."

I remember that mission—a routine Splinter extraction that went sideways when our target turned out to have combat modifications. I'd moved on instinct when the suppression round was fired, knocking Trent clear without conscious thought.

"Three days in Medical," he continues, voice tight with the memory. "Three days watching you fight through the effects while I reported your condition to both Unity Command and my handler in the sympathizer network. That's when I realized I was compromised."

"Compromised," I repeat. The clinical Sentinel term for emotional attachment.

"Completely." His smile is wan. "I requested reassignment. They refused."

"Why? "

"Because our neural synchronization rates were unprecedented.

Because we were the most effective Sentinel team in Unity's history.

" His expression softens. "Because they knew that if they separated us, I'd find a way back to you anyway.

" He pauses, swallowing hard. “I will always find my way back to you, Zara.”

The simple truth of his declaration hits me hard. My legs feel like jelly as I close the distance between us.

"And now?" I ask, voice barely above a whisper. "What am I to you now, Trent? Not an assignment anymore. Not your Sentinel partner. What?"

His hand rises to my face, fingers tracing my cheekbone with a gentleness that makes my breath catch. "Everything," he says simply. "You're everything."

The last of my resistance crumbles. Three years of tension, of protocol and restraint, of wanting without having—all of it converges in this moment.

I'm not sure who moves first. Maybe both of us, drawn together by a gravity that's existed since our first neural sync. His mouth finds mine with desperate hunger, arms pulling me against him as if afraid I might vanish.

There's no hesitation now. My hands slide into his hair, holding him to me as the kiss deepens.

His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open to him immediately, a soft sound of need escaping me as he explores my mouth.

His body is hard against mine, all Sentinel muscle and controlled strength.

His scent surrounds me, familiar from countless missions yet somehow new in this context.

"Zara," he breathes against my lips, voice rough with barely contained desire.

My name has never sounded like that before—like something a starving man hungers for. I respond by pressing closer, eliminating what little space remained between us.

His hands slide down my back to my hips, fingers digging in with just enough pressure to make me gasp. The sound seems to break something loose in him. Suddenly I'm being lifted, pressed against the door as my legs wrap instinctively around his waist.

The new position brings us into perfect alignment. Even through layers of clothing, I can feel exactly how much he wants me. The hard length of him presses against my core, sending electricity through my nerve endings.

"I need to feel you," he growls between kisses, tugging at his shirt.

He sets me down just long enough to pull his shirt over his head, revealing his chest and abdomen sculpted by years of Sentinel conditioning.

Though I’d seen him like this before, I’d never been allowed to touch and though need is pulsing through me, making me impatient, I trace the defined muscles with hungry fingers, learning him by touch.

My own shirt then bra follows, tossed aside onto the floor. Trent's eyes darken as he takes in the sight of me, his gaze almost physical in its intensity. My nipples tighten under his heated stare.

"You're beautiful," he says, voice reverent.

Before I can respond, his mouth is on mine again, hands exploring newly exposed skin. When his fingers brush the underside of my breasts, I arch into the touch, suddenly desperate for more contact. It’s almost painful in how much I want him.

He obliges, cupping my bare breast. His thumb circles the peak, drawing it into an even tighter bud that sends jolts of pleasure straight to my core, making me gasp.

“Fuck, I want you,” he says and then we’re stumbling toward the narrow sleeping platform, shedding remaining clothes along the way. When we reach it, both of us are down to undergarments, skin flushed with desire.

Trent pauses, eyes roaming my nearly naked body with appreciation that makes me feel powerful despite my vulnerability.

I return the examination, taking in the broad shoulders, narrow waist, strong thighs—and the unmistakable evidence of his arousal straining against his last remaining piece of clothing. I’m practically salivating now.

"You sure about this?" he asks, control returning briefly through the haze of desire.

In answer, I hook my fingers into my underwear and slide them down my legs. His sharp intake of breath is immensely satisfying.

"I've wanted this—wanted you—for three years," I tell him, parting my thighs. "I'm done waiting."

Something primal flashes in his eyes. In one smooth movement, he removes his own underwear, finally standing before me completely exposed.

My mouth goes dry at the sight of him. Sentinel enhancement or natural blessing, he's impressively endowed. The thought of him inside me sends a rush of heat between my legs, coupled with a tiny burst of fear because hello, how the hell is that supposed to fit inside me?

But there’s no time to think about it. He joins me on the bed, his weight pressing me into the mattress in the most delicious way.

His mouth finds my neck, trailing hot kisses from my pulse point to my collarbone while his hands explore my body with increasing boldness. Every single stroke feels like heaven.

When his fingers trace the curve of my hip, then slide between my thighs, I can't contain a moan. He finds me already wet for him, ready from mere kisses and touches.

I think I’ve been ready for him for years.

"Zara," he groans against my skin. "So responsive, aren’t you? All for m."

His fingers circle my center, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves with unerring precision. My hips buck involuntarily as pleasure spirals through me. My modified body seems to amplify every sensation, nerve endings firing with heightened intensity .