The once-pristine corridors of Zion now bore the scars of war.
And it was all her sister’s fault.
Six weeks ago, the Dissent descended on Zion and staged a simultaneous revolt on the Oranos Space Station. Scores of Systems civilians, soldiers, and employees had been killed in the skirmishes before the Systems finally regained control. Afterward, a decision had been made to send the civilians and employees on the space station to Zion while the Systems soldiers sought the remaining Dissent operatives.
It had taken the refugees three weeks to get to Zion—the tall, white, massive structure that loomed over Reva’s surfaceand served as the site for the Trials and the delivery of off-world goods. And now, hundreds of refugees packed into every available space on Zion’s residential floors, their faces pale and eyes hollow.
Makeshift bedding lined the walls, tangled with the few possessions people had managed to bring. The air reeked of sweat, fear, and the faint tang of blood. Somewhere, a child sobbed, their cries lost in the din of adults arguing and the hum of an overworked ventilation system.
Gemma stood at the edge of it all, her back pressed against a scuffed, white, metal wall, her hands trembling as she gripped the strap of her medbag, her chest tight with a familiar, unwelcome weight:
Panic.
Not from the crowds or the heat or the hunger. But from the constant, clawing awareness beneath her skin thatitwas still inside her.
The alien presence had gone silent after the implant but hadn’t vanished. Not really. It haunted her dreams and waited, patient and deliberate, curling in her bones. And sometimes, like now, she felt it shift. Not in pain, but in readiness.
Gemma closed her eyes, placed a hand on her chest, and breathed deeply on repeat.Everything’s okay. I have no reason to panic.
Before she could stop it, her mind replayed last night’s nightmare. She’d lost control again. Her limbs had moved with a strength she hadn’t been able to control; her voice had spoken words she hadn’t been able to understand, and her eyes had reflected something foreign and cold.
Gemma had felt the surge of power, an unnatural rightness that wasn’t hers, and it terrified her. Even now, the sensation lingered—quiet but insistent, a coiled predator waiting for her to slip.
Her pulse raced. Sweat formed at her brow. Nausea churned in her gut—
A scream pierced the air, wrenching Gemma back to reality. She shot her gaze from side to side, praying there hadn’t been another outbreak of violence amongst the refugees over bedding. But all seemed normal.
Well, as normal as a building full of war-ravaged people could be.
Gemma dropped her head back against the wall and took a few steadying breaths, readying herself to return to the fray and make sure everyone was healthy, nourished, and hydrated. Ramihadgiven her the position of chief medical officer. She couldn’t fail him.
“Gemma!”
She turned to find Imara limping toward her, dressed in her civil protection officer uniform. Imara’s prosthetic leg clicked softly against the floor, the sleek, black, metal limb moving with precision. Only those as close to Imara as Gemma could detect the slight flinch every time Imara’s prosthetic touched the ground. Imara would never admit it though.
“They’re about to riot in the south wing,” Imara said when she’d reached Gemma’s side. “Some genius told the refugees that the food ration distribution was delayed again.”
Gemma’s stomach twisted. Supply chains had fractured since the battle on the Oranos Space Station, and interruptions were becoming the norm. Rami did his best to make sure those in Zion had enough food and medical supplies, but refugees didn’t care about logistics.
They cared about survival.
“How bad is it?” Gemma asked.
“Bad. It’s already loud enough to make my ears bleed, and I don’t exactly have the bedside manner to calm them down.”
Gemma grimaced. “What about Christian?” He was much better with these types of situations than even she was. All they did was remind her that these people were stuck here, waiting on a transport to stars knew where, because of her sister.
“Christian’s training the new soldiers. You know that.”
Gemma sighed. Of course he was. He’d been training Gemma every morning since the doctors had cleared her four-and-a-half weeks ago, and he was so good at it. It hadn’t taken long for Rami to notice; when individuals from amongst the refugees had signed up to fight the Dissent, Christian had been excited to train them too.
Gemma couldn’t complain about something that had been making him happy just because she was terrified to confront the chaos her sister had created.
“They’ll listen to you,” Imara said, matter of fact. “You’ve been healing their kids, their parents—blast, half the people in Zion owe you for something by now. Me?” She gestured to herself. “I’m great at fucking and bossing people around. Playing mediator is definitely not in my skill set.”
Gemma rubbed her temple, tension building behind her eyes. “I don’t know if I’m—”
“You are,” Imara interrupted. Her expression softened. “Look, I know you’re tired, and you’re carrying way more than anyone should. But you’re exactly who they need. Just go remind them that everything’s not falling apart, even if it feels like it is.”
