Page 80 of Broken Sentinel

Vex's amber eyes study me, reflective quality more pronounced in the dim light. "Sometimes survival and discovery happen simultaneously, Flutterby."

The nickname still sends a ridiculous flutter through me.

"What's the story behind that, anyway?" I ask, shifting to lighter ground. "The nickname."

"Told you. Butterflies. Transformation."

"No, I mean where did you learn about butterflies? They aren't exactly common knowledge in the wasteland, are they?”

His expression shifts, a rare vulnerability crossing his features. "My grandmother. Before Unity's purges, she was a biologist specializing in insect adaptations to climate change. She escaped with research samples, including butterfly cocoons."

I try to picture this—a woman fleeing with delicate insect life while the world collapsed around her.

"She survived hiding in the northern territories," Vex continues. "Started a small research outpost that eventually became one of the first Splinter settlements. By the time I was born, she'd managed to establish a breeding population."

"The blue ones in the clearing?"

He nods. "Descendants of her original specimens, whichwere orange, by the way. They shouldn't exist anymore, but they adapted. Changed. Survived."

"Like us," I say softly.

"Like you," he corrects. "My modifications were forced on me. Yours were designed to emerge naturally."

I hear Trent moving around in the back of the cave, gathering supplies. Despite the distance, I know he can hear our conversation.

"You never talk about that," I say to Vex. "How you were modified."

His jaw tightens. "Not much to say. Unity captured me. Experimented. I survived when others didn't."

The blunt summary doesn't match the pain I glimpse in his eyes. "I'm sorry," I offer inadequately.

He shrugs. "Made me what I am. Good and bad."

A comfortable silence falls between us as we watch the rain. I'm struck by how quickly I've adjusted to Vex's presence—his intensity, his directness, the wild energy he carries like a second skin.

"Two minutes," Trent calls from behind us.

I turn to see him approaching with our packs, mission-ready as always. His eyes flick between Vex and me, noting our proximity with a carefully neutral expression that doesn't quite succeed.

"Rain's letting up," Vex confirms, standing in one fluid motion. "We should move while we have cloud cover."

We shoulder our packs and step out into the drizzle. The forest basin stretches before us, vegetation glistening with raindrops. Despite the circumstances, there's a wild beauty to it that Unity could never replicate.

"Reid's transmitter ready?" Trent asks me as we set out.

I pat the secure pocket where I've stored the small communication device. "Ready. Once we reach the signal point, it'll broadcast the warning through the sympathizer network."

"And send your genetic signature in the opposite direction," Vex adds. "Drawing Unity away from both Haven's Edge and the arcologies."

"That's the plan." I try to sound confident, though the weight of responsibility sits heavy.

We move through the forest with practiced efficiency, Vex taking point with his knowledge of the terrain, Trent covering our rear, me in the middle. The formation feels strangely natural, as if we've done this dozens of times before.

Hours pass in focused travel, conversation limited to necessary communications. As the forest thickens, my enhanced senses track the environment automatically—noting animal movements, detecting subtle changes in air currents, cataloging unfamiliar scents.

"Hold," Vex says suddenly, dropping into a crouch.

We freeze instantly, scanning for threats. Trent moves up beside me, his shoulder brushing mine as he searches the forest ahead.

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