Page 98 of Broken Sentinel

A new wave of coldness floods my veins as more chemicalsenter through the IV. My brief surge of strength fades, leaving me weaker than before.

"Fascinating," Keller murmurs. "Her system attempted to neutralize the compound. Adjusting the formula now."

"Continue your analysis, Doctor," Mercer instructs. "I want a complete genetic profile by morning."

"What about the Splinter male?" Keller asks. "His predator adaptations show interesting complementary patterns to the subject's."

"Run parallel tests," Mercer decides. "Their modifications likely evolved in response to similar environmental pressures."

They're talking about Vex. Testing him like a lab specimen. The thought makes my chest ache with a surprising intensity.

"And Director," Keller adds, "the evolved subject—designation Lin—is requesting another meeting."

Mercer's expression hardens. "Tell him our agreement stands. He'll receive research access once we've completed our initial analysis."

"Lin sold us out," I realize aloud. "For what? Access to Unity research?"

"Dr. Lin understands the value of cooperation," Mercer says. "His faction believes the next evolutionary step requires resources only Unity can provide. A pragmatic alliance."

"Until you've extracted what you need and eliminate them," I counter.

Mercer merely smiles. "Rest, Ms. Thorne. Tomorrow begins your contribution to Unity's future."

As they exit, the guards remain by the door, weapons ready. The suppression compound makes my thoughts sluggish, but one certainty cuts through—I need to escape. Find Trent and Vex. Warn Haven's Edge about Lin's betrayal.

Hours pass in a haze of medical tests and changing staff. I track shift patterns, security rotations, trying to identify weaknesses despite the drugs. My body feels increasinglywrong, like wearing clothes that don't fit. Without my modifications responding normally, I'm only half-present.

During a brief moment alone, I test the restraints again. Still no give, but I notice something—when I push against them, the monitors register a slight fluctuation. My modifications are trying to respond, fighting the suppression.

A technician returns before I can experiment further. More tests, more samples taken. Through it all, I maintain the appearance of defeated compliance while gathering information. Four guard rotations. Six hours between full medical checks. A ventilation system that cycles every thirty minutes, creating a brief audio dead zone as the fans engage.

Then, during what must be the night cycle based on reduced staffing, the main doors slide open. Two guards enter, escorting a prisoner.

Trent.

His face is bruised, one eye swollen. He walks stiffly, favoring his left side. His Sentinel uniform has been replaced with standard prisoner gray. Despite his condition, his posture remains unyielding—spine straight, head high.

Our eyes meet across the lab. A thousand unspoken words pass between us in that glance. He's alive. Hurt but unbroken.

"Prisoner transfer for comparative analysis," one guard announces to the night technician. "Director's orders."

The technician looks confused but doesn't argue. "Secure him to examination platform B."

The guards maneuver Trent to a table adjacent to mine, efficiently fastening restraints. When they finish, one leans down to check the ankle restraint—and subtly presses something into Trent's hand. The movement is so quick I almost miss it.

"Monitoring active," the guard says aloud. Then, barely moving his lips: "Twenty minutes. Be ready."

Unity guards helping prisoners? Something doesn't add up.

Once they leave, the technician focuses on her monitors, largely ignoring us. Trent turns his head slightly, eyes meeting mine.

"You okay?" he mouths silently.

I give a small nod. "You?"

"Been better," he mouths back, the ghost of a smile touching his lips.

The technician rises, moving to a different workstation. As soon as her back is turned, Trent's hand opens, revealing what the guard gave him—a small metallic disc, barely larger than a thumbnail.

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