Page 118 of Broken Sentinel

"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'sreach. "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 willalwaysfind 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.

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