Page 8 of Broken Sentinel

"What now?" I ask as he secures the sample in the collection vial.

"Now you rest and recover while I do some research." He slips the vial into an inner pocket of his uniform. "And we both pretend today was nothing more than a minor procedural irregularity."

"And if it wasn't?"

Trent's expression shifts to neutral, his failsafe. "Then we have bigger problems than a failed enhancement treatment."

As he helps me stand from the medical platform, his hand briefly steadies my elbow, a point of warmth in the clinical chill of Medical Bay 7. For that brief moment, the contact feels like an anchor in increasingly uncertain waters.

"Your next procedure is scheduled in two weeks," he says, his voice returning to its professional cadence. "Until then, report any unusual symptoms immediately—to me, not Medical."

"Understood." I straighten my uniform, trying to return to the familiar rhythm of Sentinel duty and protocol. "Should I be worried? Because I’m kinda freaking out here.”

Trent considers for a moment, his tall frame outlined against the sterile white of the medical bay. With his broad shoulders and perfect posture, he looks like one of the ancient statues I've seen in Unity's historical archives, immovable, untouchable, eternal.

"No," he finally says. "But stay alert. And Zara—" he rarely uses my first name, and the sound of it in his deep voice sends an unauthorized thrill through me, "—trust your instincts. They've kept us alive this long."

As we exit Medical Bay 7 side by side, returning to the carefully controlled environment of Unity's upper arcology, I can't shake the feeling that something fundamental has shifted between us, between me and Trent, between me and Unity, between me and whoever I thought I was.

In a world built on rigid order and perfect predictability, uncertainty is its own kind of danger. And right now, the onlycertainty I have is the tall, dark-haired man walking beside me, who just broke protocol to protect me from something neither of us understands.

The question is why?

CHAPTER 3

Three daysafter my enhancement disaster, and I still feel like someone rearranged my insides without bothering to leave an instruction manual.

"You're distracted," Trent says as we make our way through Central Arcology's main thoroughfare, his long stride forcing me to walk faster than I'd like.

"Just tired." I glance at the massive transparency panels overhead, where artificial sunlight streams through in carefully calculated patterns. Today's simulated weather is "partly cloudy with mild temperature fluctuations"—Unity's idea of providing environmental variety without actual inconvenience.

Outside, beyond the sealed arcology walls, I know the real sky probably looks nothing like this peaceful simulation. The atmospheric degradation reports I've glimpsed on classified channels show toxic yellow storms swirling across what used to be the Northern European continent. The 2075 climate assessment called this region "borderline uninhabitable" for unmodified humans.

Good thing we've got these lovely sealed bubbles to live in. All it cost us was, you know, freedom and privacy and theright to be something other than perfectly functional cogs in Unity's giant machine.

That’s all.

"Thorne." Trent's voice pulls me back to the present. "You're doing it again."

"Sorry." I rub the back of my neck, where a dull ache has been building all morning. "I'm fine. Just thinking about how much I'm looking forward to being hooked up to your brain for three hours."

His mouth quirks in what might almost be a smile. "Afraid I'll discover all your secrets?"

If he only knew. Like how I've memorized the exact angle of that almost-smile, or how sometimes I find excuses to walk behind him just to appreciate the view. He’s sculpted like a god all over but his ass is a separate deity all on its own.

"Please. My brain is the most boring place in the arcology. Nothing but Sentinel protocol and outdated song lyrics."

"Song lyrics? Didn't have you pegged as a music enthusiast."

I shrug. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Vanguard."

His eyes meet mine, gray and steady. "I look forward to finding out."

The simple statement sends an unauthorized tingle down my spine. Neural synchronization is intimate in ways that go beyond physical proximity. During deep sync, there's no hiding—every thought, every feeling becomes a shared experience.

Which is exactly why I'm terrified of today's session.

We reach the Sentinel Division's Synchronization Center, a sleek structure nestled in the heart of Central Arcology's security sector. The building's smooth curves and gleaming surfaces project Unity's favorite aesthetic: flawless, frictionless perfection.

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