Page 117 of Broken Sentinel

"Limited," he admits. "I've established a one-way bursttransmission to the Old Refuge, but receiving is compromised. Too much atmospheric interference."

"So they know we made it, but can't respond?"

He nods. "Basic confirmation only. They'll know we're alive and have Lily, but not our location."

"Probably safer that way," I say, leaning against the console. "Less chance of Unity intercepting coordinates."

Trent's hands still on the controls. In the green glow of the equipment displays, his expression shifts to something more personal than mission focus.

"About earlier," he begins. "In the craft?—"

"All clear," Vex announces, appearing in the doorway. "Lily's resting. The suppression compound is nearly cleared from her system."

I step back from the console, the moment between Trent and me broken again. "Good. She needs recovery time."

"We all do," Vex says, studying us both with those perceptive amber eyes. "There are four sleeping quarters. I've taken the one nearest the medical bay to monitor Lily. You two can choose from the others."

With that, he disappears back down the passage, leaving an expectant silence in his wake.

Trent clears his throat. "You should take the center quarters. More defensible position."

Always the Sentinel, planning for contingencies. "Fine. Which will you take?"

His eyes meet mine, something unspoken passing between us. "The one adjacent to your position. Tactically sound."

"Tactically sound," I repeat softly. “Right.”

We stand there, the communication array's soft hum filling the silence. All the interruptions, all the almost-moments between us from the forest to the rescue to the patrol craft, seem to converge in this quiet space.

"Zara," Trent says finally, voice dropping to that register that always sends warmth through me. "We need to talk."

The simple statement holds the weight of everything unsaid between us. My heart picks up speed, modifications responding to emotional stimuli as readily as physical threats.

"Yes," I agree. "We do."

Without another word, I turn and head toward the center quarters. After a brief hesitation, his footsteps follow.

CHAPTER 23

The center quartersare 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.

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