Page 58 of Broken Sentinel

He doesn't answer immediately. When he does, his voice is quiet but steady. "One day at a time. One truth at a time. I can't change what I did, Zara. But I'm here now, not because of any assignment, but because there's nowhere else I'd rather be."

The sincerity in his voice makes something ache in my chest. It would be easier if he'd been cold, calculating—just another Unity operative following orders. The Trent standing before me now, vulnerable and honest, is harder to keep at a distance.

"I need time," I tell him, stepping back. "Space to figure out what all this means. Who I am now."

He nods, accepting this without argument. "Whatever you need." He moves toward the door, then pauses. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. Not for protecting you, but for hurting you. That was never my intention."

After he leaves, I sink back onto the bed, emotions churning.The anger is still there, but alongside it now is confusion. Trent lied to me for years—that's an undeniable fact. But he also risked everything to help me escape, to stay by my side when he could have completed his mission and walked away.

People make sense as heroes or villains. It's the in-between that's fucking messy, complicated, and impossible to categorize.

I lie back, staring at the ceiling as my enhanced vision picks out details invisible to normal eyes—the subtle patterns in the wood, the microscopic life forms moving across surfaces. Everything is clearer now, sharper, more defined.

Except the one thing I need most to understand: my own heart, caught between anger and longing, between past and future.

Sleep eludes me for hours as my thoughts chase themselves in circles. When exhaustion finally claims me, I dream of running through endless corridors, searching for a door marked "truth" that remains forever just out of reach.

CHAPTER 12

I waketo sunlight streaming across my face and the strange sensation of being able to count dust motes as they dance through the air.

"What the hell?" I blink, watching the microscopic particles swirl in intricate patterns visible only because I guess my vision has somehow sharpened overnight. I can see textures in the wooden ceiling beams thirty feet up that should be impossible to discern at this distance.

This is going get annoying, isn’t it?

"Enhanced visual acuity," says a voice from the doorway. "Quite remarkable in your case."

Dr. Reid stands there, clipboard in hand, wearing what must pass for a lab coat in Haven's Edge, basically a long, well-worn garment patched in several places with mismatched fabric. His silver hair catches the morning light, making the subtle variations in color visible to my enhanced sight.

"Is this permanent?" I ask, sitting up and realizing I feel...good? Strong, at least. The bone-deep exhaustion from yesterday's transformation crisis has vanished completely.

"The enhancements? Yes." Reid approaches, peering at me. "Your mother designed adaptive modifications that would integrate completely once activated. They're part of you now, as natural as the color of your hair."

I swing my legs over the bed, testing each limb. Everything responds with a fluidity that feels almost too easy, like my body's suddenly running at peak efficiency without effort.

"There's more than just vision changes," I say, flexing my fingers. "Everything feels...I don't know, dialed up to maximum."

Reid nods. "Enhanced muscular response, accelerated neural processing, improved proprioception. Your body has essentially reconfigured itself for optimal function." He gestures to a small mirror on the wall. "Take a look."

I cross to the mirror, startled by the face that stares back at me. I still look like me—same dark hair, same features—but there's a subtle difference in my eyes. The brown irises now have a faint amber ring around their edges, barely noticeable unless you know to look for it.

"That's the visible marker of ocular enhancement," Reid explains. "The reflective quality will be more pronounced in low light conditions."

Like Vex's eyes. And Eden's.

"What else should I expect?" I ask, turning away from my reflection.

"Increased sensory input across all spectra. Enhanced strength and speed, though nothing superhuman. Just the upper limits of natural human capability. Accelerated healing. Possibly some temperature adaptation." He checks his notes. "Your mother's records indicated potential for infrared vision in low light conditions, and enhanced hearing well beyond normal parameters."

I test this by focusing on sounds beyond the room. Suddenly I can hear conversations from the corridor, footsteps two floors away, the rhythmic beating of Reid's heart. Holy shit.

"It's a lot," I admit, dialing back my focus with surprising ease, as if my brain already knows how to regulate the input.

"Your adaptation has stabilized remarkably quickly," Reid says, looking impressed. "Most transitions take weeks to settle. Yours resolved overnight." His expression softens. "I understand this is overwhelming. Having changes forced on you without consent or preparation?—"

"Isn't that the Splinter experience in a nutshell?" I interrupt, not wanting his pity. "At least mine were designed by someone who supposedly cared about me."

Before he can respond, a knock at the open door draws our attention. Nora, the silver-haired Elder with amber eyes, stands there wearing a flowing garment of layered fabrics in earthy greens and browns, its asymmetrical cut unlike anything Unity would have permitted.

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