We strike.
Whiplash’s plasma whips snap forward, crackling as they slice into the kaiju’s chest. The feedback floods our neural channels — pain, light, noise. It’s like touching the surface of a star.
For a split second, everything in meburns.
Then, through the Meld, I feel her hand — not physical, but something deeper — wrap around my mind and pull meback.
Not away. Not apart.
Through.
The blast hits.
When the dust settles, I realize I’m laughing.
It’s not sane laughter. It’s feral and wild and full of disbelief.
“Holy hell,” I pant, chest heaving. “You felt that?”
Aria’s voice trembles through the comm link. “You almost got us killed.”
“Almost is my favorite distance.”
“You’re insane.”
“Yeah,” I say, grinning through the ache. “But you’re synced to me now, so what’s that make you?”
She doesn’t answer for a beat. Then, quietly:
“Connected.”
The word hits me like a punch to the ribs.
Outside, the storm begins to ease. The kaiju’s silhouette fades into the haze, retreating for now. The horizon glows faint orange from the residual plasma burn.
Inside the cockpit, the silence feels too small for what just happened.
The air hums with leftover energy — from the Meld, from the storm, fromus.
She finally looks at me.
And it’s not the sharp, assessing glance of an engineer checking her instruments. It’s something rawer. Human. Curious.
“I saw you,” she says softly. “During the Meld. Not just your thoughts. You.”
I try to joke — my default when things get too heavy.
“Yeah? Was I impressive?”
Her eyes flick away, but her voice stays even. “You were... hurting.”
I go still.
She doesn’t mean it as pity. I canfeelthat. She means it as truth.
She saw the scars I keep buried — the fire, the screams, the failure that still claws through my dreams.
And she didn’t flinch.
