Page 59 of Broken Sentinel

"Our guest is awake," she says, smile lines deepening around her eyes. "And fully transitioned, I see."

"Remarkably stable integration," Reid confirms. "Elara's work was even more advanced than we suspected."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at their clinical assessment. "I'm still in the room, you know."

Nora laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "Forgive us, child. Scientific excitement tends to override social graces." She approaches, looking me over with knowing eyes. "How do you feel?"

"Different." I search for better words to describe the sensation. "Like I've been walking around half-asleep my whole life and suddenly woke up."

She nods as if this makes perfect sense. "The first days after transition are disorienting. Exhilarating, but overwhelming."

"I could use some actual clothes," I say, glancing down at the thin medical garment I'm still wearing. "And maybe a chance to test these new abilties. See what I can do.”

"Both easily arranged," Nora says. "There's fresh clothingin the cabinet there. And someone has volunteered to help you adjust to your enhancements."

"Let me guess. Tall, dark, and modified? Amber eyes and an attitude problem?"

Nora's smile turns knowing. "Vex has experience guiding transitions. His methods are perhaps unconventional, but effective."

"I'd prefer Dr. Reid's supervision," comes a voice from the doorway.

Trent stands there, imposing despite the borrowed clothes that don't quite fit his broad shoulders. The simple gray shirt stretches across his chest, the fabric worn thin enough that I can see the outline of muscle beneath. His dark hair looks damp, as if he's recently washed it, and several days' worth of stubble shadows his jaw.

My stomach does an unauthorized flip at the sight of him, anger warring with desire. I let anger win.

"This isn't your decision to make, Sentinel," Nora says calmly. "Zara is free to choose how she proceeds."

Trent's eyes meet mine, something vulnerable flickering beneath his controlled expression. "Of course. I just want to ensure her safety during a vulnerable transition period."

"I'm not vulnerable," I say sharply. "And I can make my own choices."

A flash of hurt crosses his face before the perfect Sentinel mask slides back into place. "I never suggested otherwise."

An awkward silence falls. Reid clears his throat. "Perhaps we should give Zara privacy to change. We can discuss training approaches afterward."

They file out, Trent lingering a moment longer than necessary, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. Then he's gone, leaving me alone with my enhanced senses and churning emotions.

The cabinet holds an assortment of clothing—practical garments pieced together from various fabrics, nothing likeUnity's uniform jumpsuits. I select a pair of fitted pants made from a material like denim but more flexible, and a deep red shirt with sleeves that can be rolled up or down. The outfit feels strange after years of regulation uniforms—individual, distinctive.

Mine.

As I dress, I marvel at how my enhanced awareness extends to my own body. I can feel each muscle group as it moves, sense the blood pulsing through veins, even detect the subtle electrical signals traveling along my nervous system. It should be overwhelming, but somehow my brain processes it all without conscious effort.

When I step out of the medical room, Vex is waiting in the corridor, leaning against the wall with casual grace. His long dark hair is partially braided back from his face today, accentuating razor-sharp cheekbones and that perpetually amused curve of his lips. He wears what appears to be a leather jacket, though it's unlike any I've seen—fitted closely to his lean frame, with subtle reinforcements at shoulders and elbows. The material has been darkened to near-black, but my enhanced vision catches variations in texture and color invisible to normal sight.

He straightens as I approach, amber eyes flicking over me with undisguised interest. "You clean up nice for a former Sentinel."

"You're just full of compliments, aren't you?"

His smile widens, revealing teeth slightly sharper than standard human norm. "I save them for rare occasions." He gestures down the corridor. "Hungry? Transition usually triggers significant appetite."

On cue, my stomach growls loudly enough that even normal hearing would catch it. Not embarrassing at all…

"Thought so," he says, leading the way. "Enhanced metabolism needs fuel. Come on."

I follow him through corridors I didn't properly noticeduring yesterday's crisis. Haven's Edge is nothing like Unity's sterile, geometric precision. The settlement has grown organically, structures added where needed, hallways connecting at odd angles, windows positioned to catch natural light rather than in perfect symmetry.

We emerge into what must be the community dining area—a large open space with mismatched tables and chairs, crowded with people despite the early hour. The noise hits me immediately—dozens of conversations, the clatter of utensils, the sizzle of cooking food—but my enhanced hearing somehow sorts it all without overwhelming me.

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