Page 20 of Broken Sentinel

The thermal field pulses gently around us as the external temperature drops another degree. Instinctively, I shift closer to Trent's warmth, and his arm adjusts to hold me more securely.

"We should sleep," he says, though I can tell from his voicethat his mind is still processing everything. "Morning shift starts in six hours."

"Right. Sleep. In this completely normal and professional situation."

I feel rather than see his smile in the darkness. "Always the professional, Thorne."

"One of us has to be."

His quiet chuckle vibrates against my back, and something shifts in the atmosphere between us, the tension transforming from awkward to...something else.

Something warmer and more dangerous.

"Zara," he says softly, using my first name in that way that always makes my stomach flip, "whatever happens with this mission, with your condition...I need you to know that I?—"

The environmental panel suddenly buzzes loudly, cutting him off. The message scrolls across its surface: SYSTEM TEST COMPLETE. RESUMING NORMAL OPERATIONS.

Almost immediately, the temperature begins to rise as the environmental controls reengage. The lights brighten to standard levels, banishing the intimate darkness.

Trent pulls away from me with careful movements, rolling to the edge of the sleeping platform. "Looks like they fixed the issue."

Test complete. Not a malfunction or resource conservation, but a test. They’re probably monitoring our reactions. I should have realized it immediately.

"They're watching us," I say quietly.

"More likely evaluating our adaption to lower-level conditions," Trent responds, but I can tell he's not entirely convinced. "Standard procedure for new transfers."

"Dropping temperatures below habitability minimums isn't standard anything." I sit up, missing his warmth despite the returning heat. "Someone's testing us."

Trent stands, his expression transitioning back to professional assessment. "If so, we've responded as expected for ourcover identities. Maintenance workers accustomed to resource limitations and environmental fluctuations."

He's right, of course. If Marlow or someone else in Intelligence was watching, they saw nothing but two maintenance workers adapting to unfavorable conditions. Nothing to suggest Sentinels, and certainly nothing to suggest the complicated truth of what's developing between us.

Except for Trent's unfinished sentence, hanging between us like a promise.

What was he going to say?

That he…what?

What?!

I know better than to ask now. The moment has passed, the spell broken by the return to normal operations. Trent is already checking the maintenance tablets for morning assignments, back to mission-focused efficiency.

"We should each take a rest cycle," he says without looking at me. "I'll take first shift on the floor now that environmental controls are functioning."

"You don't have to—" I begin.

"It's better this way," he interrupts, his tone making it clear the subject is closed.

I want to argue, but he's right. Whatever was building between us in the darkness and cold is too dangerous to explore now, with too many unknowns surrounding us—my condition, the mission, Marlow's suspicions, the sympathizer network.

I lie back on the sleeping platform, now feeling too large and empty without him. "Wake me in four hours for my shift, then."

He nods, already arranging his uniform into a makeshift bedroll on the floor. The perfect Sentinel, always in control, always maintaining protocol.

Except for that moment when he wasn’t, when his bodybetrayed his attraction, when he almost said whatever he was going to say before we were interrupted.

As I close my eyes, trying to find sleep in our strange new environment, I can't help wondering about all the interrupted moments between us. The almost-confessions. The nearly-crossed lines. The not-quite-breached protocols.

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