Page 57 of Broken Sentinel

"Except for the part where I had no say in any of it."

A smile ghosts across his face. "None of us have a say in how we're born, Zara Thorne. Only in what we do with it afterward."

Before I can respond, the door opens, spilling light into the room. Trent stands in the doorway, his silhouette rigid with tension.

"Visiting hours are over," he says, voice clipped.

Vex doesn't move. "She's not a patient, Sentinel. She's transitioning. There are no visiting hours."

I feel the familiar prickle of frustration. "Again, I'm right here. Stop talking about me like I'm not."

Trent's eyes shift to me, softening slightly. "Reid sent me to check on you. Your readings spiked again."

"I'm fine." I gesture at Vex. "He was just explaining some things about the adaptation process."

"I'm sure he was." Trent's tone could freeze water. "Regardless, you need rest. Dr. Reid's orders."

Vex stands, seeming more amused than annoyed by Trent's interference. "Your watchdog is right about one thing—rest helps stabilize the changes." He moves toward the door, pausing briefly beside Trent. "Though there are other methods of stabilization she might find more interesting than sleep."

The implication hangs in the air like a challenge. Trent'sjaw tightens, but he says nothing as Vex slips past him and disappears down the corridor.

For a moment, Trent remains in the doorway, a rigid silhouette against the light. Then he steps inside, letting the door close behind him.

"He shouldn't be here," he says quietly. "His motives aren't as altruistic as he pretends."

"And yours are?" The words come out sharper than I intended, the hurt still too fresh.

Trent flinches as if I'd struck him. "You have every right to be angry?—"

"Don't tell me what I have a right to feel." I swing my legs over the side of the bed, surprised by how steady I am. "You don't get to decide that anymore."

"Zara—"

"Three years, Trent." I stand, facing him fully. "Three years of partnership. Of trust. Of me thinking you had my back while you were actually monitoring me for signs of genetic deviation."

"That's not?—"

"What it was? Then what was it?" I step closer, anger giving me courage. "Was anything real? Or was I just an assignment you were handling?"

Pain flashes across his face. "You were never just an assignment,” he says, his voice going low and rough.

"How would I know the difference? Everything I thought was real turned out to be a lie."

"Not everything." He steps forward, closing the distance between us. "Not what happened during synchronization. You felt what I felt, Zara. That wasn't fabricated. That wasn't duty. That wasme.”

The memory of our last sync session flares—that moment of perfect transparency when I glimpsed his feelings for me, raw and powerful and real. It would be easier if I coulddismiss that as manipulation too, but I know what I experienced.

"Then why didn't you tell me?" My voice drops, the anger giving way to something more painful. "When my symptoms started, when I was terrified of what was happening to me—why keep lying?"

"I was protecting you." His eyes hold mine, willing me to understand. "If Unity discovered what you were before you were ready?—"

"That wasn't your decision to make!" The words burst out of me. "My life. My body. My truth. You had no right to keep it from me."

"No." He doesn't try to justify it further. "I didn't."

His admission catches me off guard. I expected more excuses, more rationalizations. The simple acceptance of wrongdoing leaves me unbalanced.

"I can't trust you," I say finally. "How can I ever trust you again?"

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