It’s her.
It’s Aria.
The room tilts, but I force my legs steady. Every step feels like dragging a dead man behind me—maybe because I’ve been one. I don’t know how long I was gone. Minutes. Weeks. Long enough to forget the shape of my own shadow.
The door swishes open and Cowley enters mid-bark. “Stand down, Vakuta?—!”
He stops short.
I’m already pacing. Muscles twitching under gauze. Chest heaving. No armor. No mech. Just me—and whatever this new current is burning through my veins like liquid fire.
Cowley’s voice drops. “You shouldn’t even be standing.”
“Where is she?”
His lips purse. He folds his hands behind his back. “Aria’s been reassigned.”
“Where.”
“Earth.”
That word slams into me. Cold. Distant.
I blink. Just once.
“She doesn’t know you’re alive,” Cowley adds.
I nod.
“She will.”
He frowns, probably thinking I’m about to collapse. But I’m already halfway across the room, dragging the remains of my med gown behind me, grabbing the nearest base gear I can reach. It’s too tight across the chest, but it'll do.
“Sit down, Vakuta. You’re still flagged for neurological instability,” Cowley says.
I stop only to meet his eyes.
“Don’t care.”
He sighs and shifts tactics. “We’re offering you a new mech. Cleaner. Faster. Meld optimized. Codename: ‘Rook.’”
I laugh.
“You think this is about specs?”
“We’re trying to keep you grounded,” he says.
“I’m already grounded,” I snap. “You grounded me when you let her leave without telling her I was breathing.”
“She requested reassignment. There wasn’t a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.”
Cowley sighs. “She was... fragile, Naull. After Rhavadaz. We thought she needed distance.”
I grip the edge of the console until my knuckles crack. “She doesn’t need distance. She needs the truth.”
“She needs stability.”
