Page 4 of Broken Sentinel

And tomorrow, I'll see Trent again, and we'll return to our perfect synchronicity, our flawless partnership.

And I'll pretend that it's enough.

CHAPTER 2

Medical Bay7 has always given me the creeps.

It's not just the sterile white surfaces or the faint scent of antiseptic that permeates everything. It's something else, something about the way sound behaves in here, as though the walls themselves are listening, cataloging every heartbeat and breath.

Or maybe it's just that I'm about to let Unity technicians pump my body full of chemicals designed to make me a more efficient weapon.

Yeah, that’s probably it.

"Enhancement subject Thorne, Zara. Reporting as scheduled." I stand perfectly still as the biometric scanner maps my body, its blue light sliding over my skin like cold water.

"Identification confirmed," the technician says without looking up from his console. Like most Unity personnel, he has the uniform features of someone who's never gone without an optimization treatment, with smooth skin, perfect symmetry, not a single distinguishing characteristic to remember him by.

That's by design, of course. Unity doesn't value individuality; it values function and homogeny, sowe’re all one big bland soup working to keep the lives at the top of the chain flourishing.

And it values control above all else. The more we put our heads down and do as we’re told, the easier we are to shape.

"Bay three is prepped for your procedure." He gestures toward the row of recessed chambers along the far wall, their transparent doors standing open like hungry mouths.

I move toward my assigned bay, my steps measured and confident despite the knot of unease in my stomach. Six years of enhancement treatments, and I still haven't gotten used to them. The other Sentinels claim the unease eventually fades. I'm beginning to think they're lying.

As I change into the required medical gown, I catch my reflection in the polished surface of a monitoring panel. Dark hair cropped precisely at regulation length, pale skin that hasn't seen real sunlight in years, eyes a shade of brown so dark they're almost black. Standard-issue Zara Thorne, Unity Sentinel.

Except lately, I don't feel very standard at all.

"Sentinel Thorne." A new voice, deep and familiar, sends an unauthorized ripple down my spine.

I turn to see Trent striding through the main doors, his broad shoulders and towering frame making the room seem suddenly smaller. His dark hair is slightly longer than regulation, a special exemption granted to him after proving the extra centimeter improved his combat efficiency by some fractional percentage. Not sure how that works, exactly, but Trent knows how to get his way. His jawline could cut glass, all sharp angles and perfect symmetry that even Unity's aesthetic engineers couldn't improve upon.

He moves with the easy confidence of someone who knows exactly how much space he occupies in the world and how to use it to maximum effect. It's mesmerizing to watch, not that I'd ever admit that to anyone, least of all myself.

"Sentinel Vanguard," I acknowledge, keeping my voiceneutral. "I wasn't aware you were scheduled for enhancement today."

"I'm not." His gray eyes scan the medical bay with practiced efficiency. "I've been assigned to supervise your procedure."

"Supervise?" I raise an eyebrow. "Since when do enhancement protocols require supervision?"

A slight tension appears at the corner of his mouth, so subtle that only someone with enhanced perception would notice it. "Since Command noted irregularities in your last three biometric scans."

My stomach tightens, but I maintain a casual expression. "Nothing serious, I hope. I'd hate to miss the Unity Day celebrations. I hear they're serving actual fruit this year, not just the synthetic stuff."

His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I think I see something there. Concern, perhaps, or something deeper. Then it's gone, replaced by the professional distance that defines our partnership.

"Standard precaution," he says. "Command wants to ensure optimal Sentinel performance."

Of course they do. In Unity, that's all that matters—performance, efficiency, function. Not the fact that something feels increasingly wrong inside my body, like my very cells are rebelling against the chemicals designed to enhance them.

I follow the technician to the enhancement chamber, Trent trailing a precise two steps behind. As I settle onto the reclined medical platform, memories from my first enhancement procedure surface unbidden.

Six years ago, in this same medical bay. I was eighteen, freshly graduated from Sentinel basic training, terrified but determined not to show it.

And there was Trent, twenty-four and already a legend among Sentinels, assigned as my training supervisor. He'dstood exactly where he's standing now, monitoring my vitals with that same inscrutable expression.

"Remember to breathe normally," he'd instructed as the technicians prepared the enhancement cocktail. "The first treatment is the most intense. Your body will fight it initially. Don't resist."

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