There’s only one other person in the carrier.
Kael.
Newer rehab intake. Mouthy. Human. Smells like stim chews and rebellion.
He leans back against the shuttle’s bench, arms crossed like he’s about to nap.
“Didn’t think I’d be lucky enough to get paired with the Deathmarch Prince himself,” he says, grinning.
I don’t smile. “You talk a lot.”
“Yeah. It’s a thing. Makes people either like me or want to put me through a wall. Jury’s still out with you.”
I stare at him for a beat. Then shrug. “Wall’s an option.”
He laughs, unbothered. “Good. I like a little spice in my drills.”
The sim starts easy.
Too easy.
Targets rise from sand—glimmering drones made to mimic humanoid movement. I strike the first with a two-punch combo that sends it flying in pieces. My limbs sing with the rhythm. My core locks in.
I’malmostmyself again.
Kael sweeps around beside me, tagging targets with energy arcs, his aim sharp and wild.
“You weren’t kidding about the wall thing!” he shouts over the din. “These bots are toast!”
I don’t answer. The air’s too hot. The scent of burning composite triggers something sharp in my mind.
We advance toward the ridge.
Then it happens.
A flash of light. A sound. Justwrongenough.
And I’mnoton Corven-7 anymore.
The canyon becomes jungle.Smoke. Screaming.
I smell blood.
Not mine.
The sharp scent of metal and ozone after a plasma burst. The weight of a body in my arms. The way her voice cracked when she said my name.
Vael, please?—
“Stop,” I growl. “Stop?—”
Kael says something. I can’t hear it.
My knees lock. My breath hitches.
Another flash. Another scream—no, it’s feedback from the sim, but it’swrong. Wrong sound. Wrong smell. Wrong timeline.
I spin.
