SEVENTEEN
THE NEXT AFTERNOONKira held still as Auralyn tugged and pulled at the interlocking sections of armor currently being fitted to her body under Auralyn's supervision.
"You know you don't have to do this," Kira said for the third time. "My old armor works just as well."
Auralyn's hands paused as she pinned Kira with a hard stare. "I doubt that."
With that, Auralyn returned to fitting the armor, adjusting as needed in an impressive display of skill.
Armor like this cost a small fortune. Kira could easily see families treating it as a priceless heirloom to be passed down through the generations.
While a few notches below synth armor, it was nonetheless one of the most impressive pieces of technology Kira had ever seen—comparable to the old battle armor she wore during the war.
Only this armor weighed much less, and she could already tell it would be easier to move in.
Although lightweight, it still felt substantial.
If she crashed while wearing this, there was a good chance she'd survive.
Even if Kira had salvaged a thousand Tsavitee ships filled with priceless technology, she still wouldn't have been able to afford the arm of this armor.
Members of Roake had given Kira valuable gifts before—but none of this quality.
She couldn't understand it—and what Kira didn't understand generally left her feeling antsy.
Something no one wanted.
"You're not good at accepting gifts," Auralyn observed.
This wasn't a gift. This was a priceless treasure shoved at Kira whether she wanted it or not.
"Wren accepted you as his disciple. That means you're one of us now." Auralyn tapped a few buttons, watching as the armor elongated and then contracted.
"You're awfully quick to pass approval," Kira said unhappily.
"Not the trusting type, are you?"
