Still trapped in this chrome coffin. Still half-machine, half-memory.
The machines hum beside me, soft and constant. The sound used to comfort me. Now it feels like a leash.
Everything does. The synthetic weight of my left arm. The dull ache where flesh meets alloy. The faint mechanical whine whenever I breathe too deep.
They rebuilt me. And yet somehow, I’m not sure theysavedme.
I stare at the ceiling until I can’t anymore. Then I roll my head to the side.
Rynn’s there.
She thinks she’s quiet, but I’ve always been able to hear her.
The sound of her boots scuffing against the floor as she moves from console to console. The rustle of her sleeve when she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
Even the rhythm of her breathing — steady, too steady, like she’s counting each inhale just to keep her hands from shaking.
She’s working.
Pretending that’s all it is.
But I can smell her.
Under the antiseptic and sterile air — that scent I used to wake up to, faint citrus and heat.
It hits something primal. I swallow hard, trying not to let it show.
She’s changed.
Sharper now. More guarded. Her hair’s longer, darker at the roots. There’s a line between her brows that wasn’t there before — the kind carved by guilt or grief, maybe both.
I shouldn’t care.
I should focus on recovery, on figuring out who brought me here and why.
But she’s standing ten feet away and my entire body won’t stop remembering her.
The memory of her laugh — low, rough at the edges, always catching on the inhale.
The warmth of her hand on my neck when she wanted to calm me down after a fight.
The way she used to taste like rain and smoke.
I clench my fists until the joints creak.
She finally looks up.
Our eyes meet across the room, and for a second, she stops breathing.
Then she does what she’s been doing since the moment I woke up — hides behind that professional mask.
“Try to rest,” she says. Her voice is all surgeon, no softness. “Your neural links are stabilizing but you’re still in flux. Overexertion will slow regeneration.”
“Rest,” I echo. “You make it sound like an order.”
Her brow lifts. “Would you prefer I sedate you again?”
I almost grin. Almost. “You always did like getting the last word.”
