Page 26 of Broken Sentinel

Holy shit.

Eden stirs in her sleep, making a small sound of distress. Without thinking, I reach out to smooth her hair, a gesture of comfort that feels strangely natural despite my Sentinel training.

"We need to report this," I say, the words automatic, drilled into me through years of conditioning. "A Splinter infiltrator, sympathizer network confirmed..."

But even as I say it, I know I don't mean it. The thought of reporting Eden, of watching Unity security take her away for "processing," fills me with a visceral revulsion I can't ignore. To report her means torture and possibly death.

"Is that what you want to do?" Trent asks quietly.

I look down at the sleeping child, at her delicate features and the subtle modifications that make her different, modifications similar to what might be happening inside me.

"No," I admit, the word both terrifying and liberating. "I don't want to report her. I want to help her."

It's the first time I've ever explicitly acknowledged a desire to disobey Unity protocols. The first time I've questioned not just how to execute a mission, but whether the mission itself is right.

Trent watches me closely, and I brace myself for his disapproval, for the reminder of our duty and oaths as Sentinels. Instead, he surprises me.

"Then we help her," he says simply. "And we figure out what's happening to you."

I stare at him, searching for any signs of deception or manipulation. There are none. Just certainty and something else, something warm that makes my heart beat faster despite the gravity of our situation.

"That would make us sympathizers," I point out. "Traitors to Unity."

"Maybe." His eyes hold mine steadily. "Or maybe it makes us true to something more important than Unity."

Before I can ask what he means, Eden's eyes snap open, that eerie amber glow visible even in the chamber's dim light.

"They're coming," she says with absolute certainty. "Three people. One is angry."

Seconds later, I hear footsteps in the corridor outside, confirming her enhanced hearing. Trent immediately moves to a maintenance panel, assuming the pose of a worker checking systems, while I return to my position beside Eden's bed.

The door slides open to reveal Kaplan accompanied by two others—a woman in maintenance uniform I recognize from our surveillance as one of the resource diversion coordinators, and a man whose squared shoulders and watchful eyes scream "military training" despite his civilian clothes.

The man's gaze zeroes in on Trent immediately, his bodylanguage shifting to alert wariness. "Who's this?" he demands of Kaplan. "You said one helper, not two."

"Davis was just leaving," Kaplan says quickly. "Finished the maintenance check."

Trent nods respectfully, gathering his tools with unhurried efficiency. "All systems functioning within parameters, Supervisor."

As he passes the newcomers, the man reaches out suddenly, grasping Trent's arm just above the wrist, exactly where a Sentinel identification chip would be embedded beneath the skin. Trent doesn't flinch, doesn't react defensively as his training would dictate, just looks at the man with mild confusion.

"Something wrong?" he asks, the perfect picture of a maintenance worker puzzled by unusual behavior.

The man holds Trent's gaze for a tense moment, then releases him. "No. You just...remind me of someone."

Trent gives a small, self-deprecating smile. "Got one of those faces, I guess. Good shift to you all."

As he leaves, I feel the weight of his absence immediately. Without our practiced synchronicity, I suddenly feel vulnerable, off-balance. But I can't show it, not now, when we're so close to the core of the sympathizer network.

"Your bonded?" the woman asks me, her tone casual but her eyes sharp and assessing.

"Yes," I confirm. "He doesn't know about her," I add, nodding toward Eden. "Thought I was doing regular maintenance."

"And you trust that?" the man asks skeptically.

I shrug. "He trusts me. Doesn't ask questions when I say it's work-related."

This seems to satisfy them, or at least they don't press further. The woman approaches Eden, her demeanor softening as she kneels beside the bed.

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