I threw a punch that connected. The impact traveled up my arm, and something loosened in my chest.
"Again."
I hit the bag harder. The sound of it was satisfying. Solid. Real.
"You train like this," I said between strikes. "After combat?"
"Every time." He moved behind the bag to brace it. "The Reach teaches discipline as a core belief. But discipline isn't about suppression. It's about giving the body what it needs so the mind can follow."
I threw another combination. Left-right-left. My breath came faster now, sweat dampening my shirt.
"The mission keeps playing in my head," I admitted. "The choices. The casualties. I keep thinking about what I could have done differently."
"That's your brain trying to find an answer for a problem that's already solved." He absorbed my next punch without shifting, his weight anchoring the bag. "It doesn't know how to stop because it still thinks you're in danger. So you exhaust the body. Burn through the adrenaline. Give your system proof that the threat has passed."
Three more punches. My arms were starting to shake.
"How long does it take?" I asked. "Before it stops feeling like this?"
"Depends." He stepped around the bag and gestured for me to follow him to the mat. "Some missions take days. Others take weeks. The worst ones never fully leave. They just become part of you."
He lowered himself to the floor and began stretching, motioning for me to mirror him. I sank down across from him, grateful for the chance to rest my burning muscles.
"I lost six people on that mission," he said quietly. "Six fighters who trusted me to bring them home."
I settled into the stretch, pulling one leg in close. The Tether carried a whisper of his grief. Controlled. Contained. But present.
"I felt it," I said. "When Vaelix read the casualty report. You didn't let it show, but I felt it."
"I've had practice hiding it." He switched positions, extending his other leg. "The first time I lost someone under my command, I shut down for three days. Couldn't eat. Couldn't speak. My commander dragged me to the training hall and worked me until I couldn't stand."
"That sounds brutal. Also, we are talking about this kind of training, right? Because if not, where do I sign up?"
"It was this kind of training," he said, as a smile flitted across his face. "It also worked. The body knows how to move past survival mode, but sometimes you have to show it the way."
We stretched in silence for a while. My hamstrings protested, tight from days of tension, but I leaned into the discomfort. Let it ground me in the present.
"I keep thinking about the second camp," I said. "The one we couldn't reach. The corporations killed everyone because of what we did."
Kaedren's eyes met mine. Steady. Unflinching. "What would have happened if we hadn't acted at all?"
I knew the answer. The women in the first camp would have stayed enslaved. The babies born there would have grown up as corporate property. Baby Hope probably would have died, along with her mother, and every other person on that planet.
"They would have suffered anyway," I said. "Just slower. Without anyone trying to stop it."
"Exactly." He rose to his feet and offered me his hand. "The corporations didn't kill those people because of us. They killed them because that's what they do. Our actions allowed some of them to get out."
I took his hand and let him pull me up. His grip was warm, steadying.
"One more round," he said. "Then we'll call it."
But instead of leading me back to the heavy bag, he walked to the center of the mat and settled into a defensive stance.
"What are we doing?"
"Controlled grappling. Nothing dangerous." His eyes held mine. "I want you to take me down."
"Now we're talking.”
