This isn’t just a call.
It’s a warning.
Naull’s alive. But something’s wrong. The Meld feels warped—off-balance. A frequency out of phase. Something foreign sitting just beneath the surface, like oil on water. I know the signature. I felt it before.
Spectra.
The Meld didn’t just return.
It was breached.
I run.
Straight for the simpad bay. The crew tries to intercept me—protocol this, chain of command that—but I shove past them. I strip my gloves, my jacket, my dog tags. Everything not essential. My hands are shaking, but my spine is steel.
I drop into the interface cradle, slap the neural band against my temple.
“Override protocols. Alpha priority. Commander Aria Reyes. Engage link to unit Whiplash zero-one.”
The system pauses.
Then accepts.
I feel it before I see it. The link snapping into place like a magnetic lock. Not Meld. Not yet.
But something deeper.
Deeper than thought.
Deeper than bone.
“Naull,” I whisper into the silence of the pod. “I swear to God, if you’ve gotten yourself killed again…”
The sync pulses once. And then?—
A vision.
Not his. Not mine. Ours.
Sand. Blood. Metal shards in flesh. Naull staggering across a ravine, shoulders torn open, breathing in gasps, one arm dragging useless behind him. And eyes?—
God. His eyes.
Gold. Glowing. Unnatural.
Like Garma’s.
I jolt upright, yanking the band from my skin. Alarms scream. Technicians shout. Someone slaps a med scanner against my throat, but I don’t register the data.
I just know one thing.
Naull isn’t alone out there.
And whatever he’s carrying?—
It’s changing him.
Or worse.
