Page 88 of Broken Sentinel

"Typical," I mutter. "Dying of toxin exposure and still focused on the mission."

"Not dying," he corrects. "Just…compromised."

"Scans show no pursuit," Vex reports, checking a small device from his pack. "Contamination zone worked as a deterrent."

"See?" Trent attempts a smile that turns into another cough. "Plan successful."

"Idiot," I say, but there's no heat in it. Just worry.

Vex produces a small vial of cloudy liquid. "Detox compound. Standard wasteland remedy for contamination exposure."

"Side effects?" Trent asks, ever the Sentinel considering all variables.

"Unpleasant but not dangerous," Vex assures him. "Accelerates toxin processing."

Trent nods once, accepting the vial and downing its contents without hesitation. Almost immediately, his body tenses, muscles contracting sharply.

"What's happening?" I demand as Trent's back arches in obvious pain.

"Purging response," Vex explains. "The compound forces toxins out through sweat glands."

Indeed, Trent's skin is now covered in a sheen of moisture that carries an unnatural greenish tinge. His breathing comes in harsh gasps, each exhale carrying visible vapor.

"Stay with him," Vex instructs, rising. "I'll secure the perimeter and collect clean water. He'll need it when the purge completes."

As Vex disappears into the growing darkness, I turn my full attention to Trent. His features are contorted in pain, body trembling with the force of the detoxification.

"Hey," I say softly, wiping his forehead with a cloth. "Still with me?"

His eyes flutter open, finding mine with effort. "Always," he manages.

The one word response carries echoes of our partnership, missions where we relied on each other completely, moments when one word contained entire conversations.

"You shouldn't have pushed so hard," I chastise gently. "Your filter was failing."

"Had to get you through." His hand finds mine, grip weak but determined. "Worth it."

"Don't," I warn. "Don't make this about protecting me."

Despite his condition, a spark of stubbornness lights in his eyes. "It's always been about protecting you, Zara. From the beginning."

"I know. Because of your assignment," I say, the old hurt resurfacing.

"No." He struggles to sit up, fighting through obvious pain. "Because of you. Just you."

Our faces are suddenly close, his breath warm against my skin. For a moment, I'm transported back to our days as partners—the training sessions that ran late, the mission debriefs in cramped quarters, all those moments when protocol was the only thing keeping us apart.

Protocol that no longer applies.

"Trent," I whisper, not sure if I'm warning him away or inviting him closer.

He answers by closing the distance between us. His lips find mine with surprising gentleness, the contact sending electricity racing down my spine and pooling low in my belly. I respond instinctively, hands lifting to cradle his face, feeling the scratch of stubble against my palms.

The kiss deepens, three years of restraint dissolving in an instant. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, seeking entrance that I eagerly grant. The first slide of his tongue against mine pulls a soft moan from my throat that I couldn't suppress if I tried. His arms wrap around me, pulling mecloser despite his weakened state, one hand splaying across my lower back while the other threads through my hair.

My enhanced senses heighten everything—the heat of his skin, the racing of his pulse that matches my own, the subtle changes in his breathing as desire takes over. I taste the lingering bitterness of the detox compound, but beneath it is something uniquely him—something I've wanted for longer than I care to admit.

I shift closer, practically climbing into his lap, needing to eliminate any space between us. His body responds instantly, a low groan rumbling through his chest as my thigh presses between his legs, feeling the unmistakable hardness there. My own body answers with a rush of heat and dampness that makes me press against him more urgently.

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