Page 45 of Broken Sentinel

"Twenty-six."

Lyra's expression transforms into something like awe. "It could be…hmmm…the timing matches." She accelerates again, the vehicle lurching forward with new purpose. "We need to get you to the Elders immediately. If you're truly connected to Elara Thorne..."

"Who is Elara Thorne?" I ask, though some part of me already knows—or fears—the answer.

"One of the founders of Haven," Lyra explains, her voice tight with excitement. "A pioneer in adaptive genetics. She had a daughter who was evacuated before the Purge, one of the Haven children sent into hiding."

I glance at Trent, expecting to see surprise matching my own. Instead, I find him watching me with an expression I can't quite decipher, something between confirmation and relief.

"You knew," I realize. "Didn’t you?”

"I found references to Elara Thorne in the restricted archives," he admits, clearing his throat. "The name similaritycouldn't be coincidence, but I had no proof until your memories started surfacing."

I give my head a shake, feeling bamboozled. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would you have believed me? That you might be the daughter of a Splinter scientist, placed in Unity as some kind of long-term genetic experiment?"

He's right, of course. Even a week ago, I would have rejected the idea completely. It took experiencing the changes myself to open my mind to possibilities beyond Unity's carefully constructed reality.

"We're approaching the settlement perimeter," Lyra announces, interrupting my whirling thoughts. "Prepare for identity verification."

The vehicle slows as we near a boundary marked by unusual structures, not walls like Unity's, but a series of towers with equipment I don't recognize. Monitoring systems, perhaps, or defense mechanisms.

"What should we expect?" Trent asks, his Sentinel training asserting itself in the assessment of new territory.

"Standard protocols for new arrivals," Lyra explains. "Genetic screening, decontamination, medical evaluation. Nothing invasive," she adds, clearly noting our tension. "Haven's Edge doesn't believe in Unity's methods."

The vehicle passes between the boundary towers, entering the outskirts of the settlement. Up close, I can see that the buildings are a mixture of salvaged arcology materials and adapted natural resources, structures that work with the environment rather than against it.

People move about despite the late hour, and many show visible modifications—some subtle, others dramatic. No one hides their differences here. No one pretends to be something they're not.

We stop outside a larger building with soft light glowingfrom its windows. As we exit the vehicle, the night air hits my enhanced senses with a barrage of new information—scents and sounds I have no reference point for, temperatures that shift with air currents rather than environmental controls. It’s intoxifying.

"The Elders will want to see you immediately," Lyra says, leading us toward the building. "Especially if there's a chance you're connected to Elara Thorne."

I hesitate at the threshold, suddenly overwhelmed by everything happening. In less than a day, I've gone from loyal Sentinel to fugitive, from Unity citizen to wasteland refugee, from someone questioning her enhancements to potentially being the daughter of a genetic pioneer.

Trent steps close, his hand finding mine in the darkness. "Still your partner," he says quietly. "Whatever comes next."

His touch grounds me, a familiar anchor in this sea of newness. I squeeze his hand, grateful beyond words for his presence.

We step forward into Haven's Edge, into a world where adaptation is celebrated rather than feared, where difference is strength rather than contamination, where the future remains unwritten rather than carefully controlled.

Into a world where I might finally discover who—and what—I truly am.

CHAPTER 10

Haven's Edgesmells nothing like Unity.

That's my first coherent thought as Lyra leads us through the settlement's main building. Where Unity is all sterile surfaces and recycled air, this place is...alive. The walls are made of something organic—actual wood, I think—and the air carries a dozen scents my enhanced senses struggle to catalog: herbs hanging in bunches from the ceiling, unfamiliar spices, soil, and something metallic that might be the modified genetics of the people themselves.

"The Elders are waiting," Lyra says, guiding us down a corridor lit by fixtures that emit a warmer light than Unity's harsh illumination. "They don't usually convene at this hour, but..." She glances back at me, eyes lingering on my face. "When I mentioned your name, they made an exception."

My stomach twists into knots. After years of believing I was just another orphaned Unity citizen, the possibility that I might have a history—a real history, connected to this place—feels too enormous to process.

"What exactly do these Elders want with us?" Trent asks, his voice steady but his body positioned slightly ahead of mine, protective, as always.

"Answers, mainly," Lyra replies. "And to determine if you're who I think you might be." Another glance at me.

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