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The third wave hits like a lightning strike, electricity crackling along my neural pathways.

My eyes fly open to find Trent staring at me, his pupils dilated, breath coming slightly faster.

In this moment, I don't just sense his physical state, I feel the edges of his emotions, like shadows glimpsed through fog.

Surprise. Concern. Curiosity. And beneath it all, something warmer that makes my heart rate spike.

"Remarkable," Ellis murmurs, studying the monitoring displays. "Your neural patterns are achieving spontaneous harmonization beyond standard parameters. Level three synchronization achieved in record time."

I barely hear her. I'm too busy drowning in the strange double-awareness of being both myself and slightly Trent at the same time.

I can feel the tension in his jaw as if it were my own, taste the standard-issue hydration supplement he consumed earlier, catch the faint scent of my own skin through his enhanced senses.

It's exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

"Proceeding to level four," Ellis announces.

Wait, four? Most Sentinel pairs never go beyond level three!

"Supervisor, perhaps we should stabilize at level three before—" Trent begins.

"Command's orders are clear, Sentinel Vanguard," Ellis cuts him off. "Your team is to attempt all synchronization levels you can successfully achieve. "

The fourth wave doesn't wash over us—it smashes through us, breaking down walls I didn't even know I'd built. Suddenly I'm not just sensing Trent's physical state or skimming the surface of his emotions—I'm falling into his mind, glimpsing fragments of memories that aren't mine.

A child standing at a vast transparency panel, watching simulated rain fall against the arcology walls while real devastation rages outside...

A younger Trent receiving his first Sentinel assignment, pride and trepidation warring inside him...

The first time we met, but from his perspective: me, looking younger and fiercer than I remember, determination blazing in my eyes as I completed the combat assessment that would pair us together...

And beneath it all, a current of something focused entirely on me—an awareness so intense it makes my breath catch.

"Level four synchronization achieved," Ellis says, her voice betraying actual emotion for the first time. "Neural compatibility at 96%. This is unprecedented for non-sibling pairs."

Trent's hands tighten almost imperceptibly around mine. Through our connection, I feel his sudden wariness—not of the synchronization, but of Ellis's reaction to it.

"Proceeding to final level," she continues.

"Wait—" Both Trent and I speak at the same time, our voices harmonizing perfectly.

Too late. The fifth wave crashes through us, dissolving the last boundaries between our minds. There's no separation now, no Trent-thoughts and Zara-thoughts, just a unified consciousness experiencing two bodies simultaneously.

And with that unity comes complete transparency. For one blinding moment, every hidden feeling, every secret longing I've harbored for Trent lies exposed between us, and his for me.

The shock of it jolts through both of us like a physical blow. His eyes widen, locked on mine, as the truth crashes over us both: this is more than partnership, more than professional respect or compatibility.

This is something Unity would never allow, something that breaks every rule of Sentinel conduct.

This is?—

"Extraordinary," Ellis breathes, oblivious to our internal revelation. "Your neural patterns have achieved perfect synchronization. 100% alignment. In seventy years of the Sentinel program, this has never been documented."

Through our joined minds, I feel Trent's immediate understanding of the danger.

If Unity discovers the true nature of our connection, we'll be separated immediately.

Sentinel partners with emotional attachments are considered compromised assets, security risks to be neutralized through reassignment.

Or worse.

With a mental discipline that I feel as much as I see, Trent begins carefully rebuilding the barriers between us, creating a surface-level synchronization that reveals nothing of what lies beneath.

I follow his lead, helping to build a facade that will satisfy the monitoring systems while protecting our newly discovered secret.

"Unusual fluctuation in the quantum field," Ellis notes, frowning at her displays. "Synchronization level appears to be...adjusting."

"The deep sync was likely a temporary spike," Trent says smoothly, his voice perfectly controlled despite the storm I can feel raging inside him. "First-time access to higher levels often produces unstable results."

Ellis looks unconvinced but nods. "We'll maintain level five observation for the standard duration. Please remain connected."

For the next two and a half hours, Trent and I perform a delicate mental dance—maintaining enough synchronization to satisfy the monitors while carefully avoiding the complete transparency that revealed our true feelings.

It's beyond exhausting, like trying to hold back an ocean with our bare hands.

Through it all, our physical connection remains unbroken, his hands warm around mine. Occasionally his thumbs brush against my wrists in what might be accidents but feel like reassurances.

I don't dare examine too closely what happened in that moment of perfect alignment. The implications are too dangerous, too overwhelming to process while still connected to him. But I can't deny what I felt.

What we both felt.

That… want . That need. So palpable it takes everything in me not to revel in it.

"Synchronization session complete," Ellis finally announces. "Beginning disconnection sequence."

The levels dissolve one by one, our minds gradually separating back into distinct consciousnesses. When the final connection breaks, the sudden absence feels like a physical wound—a piece of myself torn away and returned to him.

"You may disengage physical contact," Ellis says, focusing on the final readings.

Trent's hands remain around mine for several heartbeats longer than necessary. When he finally pulls away, his fingertips trail against my palms in a touch so light it might be my imagination—except that the skin tingles long after the contact ends.

"Preliminary results show exceptional compatibility," Ellis says, collecting data from the monitoring stations. "Your team has set a new benchmark for neural synchronization potential. Command will be quite interested in these findings."

I can imagine. The question is what exactly they'll be interested in. Our effectiveness as Sentinels, or the anomalies that seem to be multiplying around us?

"You're free to recover and return to quarters," Ellis continues. " Your next duty rotation begins at 0600 tomorrow." She pauses, studying us with renewed interest. "I'll be overseeing all your synchronization sessions moving forward. We have much to explore with your unique neural compatibility."

Great. Just what we need, more scrutiny.

Ellis exits the chamber, leaving us alone for the first time since the synchronization began. The silence between us feels charged with everything we can't say in a monitored Unity facility.

I stand on slightly shaky legs, moving behind the privacy screen to change back into my uniform. My mind is racing, trying to process everything that happened during those moments of complete connection.

He knows. He knows exactly how I feel about him.

And I know that he?—

A sudden warmth trickles from my nose, interrupting my thoughts. I touch my face, fingers coming away red with blood. Nosebleeds aren't uncommon after intense synchronization, but this feels different, heavier, more concerning given my recent enhancement issues.

"Everything all right?" Trent calls from the other side of the screen.

"Fine," I lie, quickly pressing a sanitization cloth to my nose. "Just tired."

By the time I emerge, I've stopped the bleeding and disposed of the evidence. Trent is already dressed, his Sentinel uniform making him look once again like the perfect Unity soldier—controlled, disciplined, untouchable.

Except I've touched his mind now. I know better.

"We should talk," he says quietly, eyes scanning the chamber for monitoring devices.

"Not here." I tap my wrist communicator twice, Sentinel shorthand for "under observation."

He nods once. "Nutrition center, then training simulation? "

Standard post-sync routine, nothing that would raise suspicions. "Sounds like a plan."

We exit the synchronization chamber side by side, carefully maintaining professional distance. But something has fundamentally changed between us, a shift as profound as the one that created the world we now inhabit.

I catch our reflection in a polished wall panel as we walk, two perfect Sentinels in perfect Unity uniform, the picture of order and control. Nothing to suggest the chaos beneath the surface.

The irony isn't lost on me. We live in a world created by humanity's failure to adapt quickly enough to environmental collapse.

When the climate tipping points finally toppled in the 2030s and the Cascade Fever of 2038 decimated global populations, our ancestors had two choices: adapt to a changed planet or create controlled environments where change could be prevented.

Unity chose the latter, building sealed arcologies where every variable could be monitored and managed. The Splinters chose the former, embracing genetic modification to survive in the wasteland Unity abandoned.

Two approaches to the same existential threat.

Two visions of what humanity should become.

And now here I am, a loyal Unity Sentinel with something very non-standard happening to my body and mind. Something that feels suspiciously like change in a system designed to prevent it at all costs.

The nosebleed may have stopped, but the warning it represents lingers. Something is happening to me, something connected to the strange reactions during enhancement, something that created that unprecedented neural alignment with Trent.

As we walk through Central Arcology's perfectly regulated corridors toward the nutrition center, I wonder which path I'm on now. Unity's carefully controlled stability or the Splinters' unpredictable adaptation?

And I wonder if Trent—rule-following, protocol-obsessed, perfect Sentinel Trent—will follow me there.