Mac’s posture tightened, wolf bristling at the idea of an unseen door opening. Melvin stayed close to Reynolds, because Reynolds was shaking now, and because the last thing Melvin would allow was for Reynolds to be dragged through something ancient while panicking like prey.
The High Steward’s eyes met Melvin’s. “You will accompany him to the threshold,” he said.
Melvin’s stomach dropped. “Me?”
“You,” the High Steward confirmed. “Your presence steadies. Your instincts perceive. You will ensure he crosses with his mind intact.”
Mac’s head snapped up. “No.”
The High Steward didn’t glance at Mac. “Lieutenant Carter will remain here for now,” he said. “To maintain continuity in the unit. To keep suspicion from forming. You understand the necessity.”
Mac looked like he wanted to tear the room open with his hands. Melvin felt it too, anger rising like heat. But the logic was designed to be airtight.
Distance trial. Control disguised as procedure.
Melvin forced his voice steady. “You said you would test distance,” he said.
“You didn’t say you’d separate Lieutenant Carter and me today.”
“Today is efficient,” the High Steward said. “There is no benefit in waiting.”
Mac stepped closer, eyes hard. “If he goes,” Mac said, nodding toward Reynolds, “he goes with both of us.”
The woman Steward’s expression sharpened. “That is not permitted.”
Reynolds’ voice cracked. “Sir,” he whispered, “I don’t want,”
Melvin leaned in close to him, voice low. “Look at me,” he said. “Not them. Me.”
Reynolds’ eyes locked on Melvin’s, wide and terrified.
“You’re going to cross,” Melvin said. “And you’re going to keep breathing. You’re going to keep your mind. You’re going to remember your name. You’re going to remember your unit. You’re going to remember this room. That’s how you keep yourself.”
Reynolds swallowed. His lips trembled. “Okay.”
Melvin looked up at Mac.
Mac’s gaze held his, fierce and quiet and full of everything they weren’t allowed to say in front of governance. Desire and protectiveness lived there side by side, buried under rank and duty. Mac’s jaw worked once.
Don’t let them take pieces of you,” Mac said quietly. “Don’t let them make you smaller.”
Melvin nodded. “I won’t.”
Mac’s eyes flicked to Melvin’s chest pocket, where the laminated card rested, then back up. Something in that glance felt like a vow.
The Circle deepened. The air tasted metallic, like a storm gathering behind closed doors.
“Your effects will follow,” the High Steward said.
“Uniforms. Equipment. Personal articles. Nothing entrusted to your keeping will be lost in passage.”
Reynolds blinked. “Our gear too?”
“The Veil does not separate a Soldier from what he needs,” the Steward said. “What is yours will be delivered where you arrive.”
The younger Steward crossed to the bed with clipped, efficient motions. A quick glance confirmed what the monitors already showed. He stepped back, giving Reynolds space to sit up on his own.
Melvin stayed close as Reynolds swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, Feet finding the tile with a faint scrape. Reynolds took one breath, then another, and pushed to his feet as if standing were an order he could obey even when nothing else made sense.
