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Tegula smiled, a fissure in cold stone.

“The Academy won,” he said. “Asset Cento scored the winner moments after you were removed. A spectacular volley. The Board is ecstatic. His compliance ratings have stabilized, and the National Team file on him has been reopened.”

Relief hit me so hard the room swam. Felix had done it. He had survived. The gamble had worked, and the sacrifice wasn’t for nothing.

Then Tegula’s smile widened, and the harsh reality settled in.

“He won without me,” I whispered, the realization hitting me.

“He won despite you,” Tegula corrected. “He cut the dead weight, and he soared. It confirms my hypothesis. The Prototype functions best when it isn’t burdened by inferior components.”

“We are partners,” I said, pulling against the cuffs again. “We are a unit. You said it yourself.”

“I said what I needed to say to get results,” Tegula said dismissively. “But let’s be realistic. Felix Cento is a prodigy. You? You were a tool he used to learn how to get dirty and fight back, and now that tool is broken. Do you mourn a hammer when the handle snaps? No. You throw it away and get a new one.”

He gestured at my leg.

“I have a hundred recruits who are faster, younger, and unbroken. Why would I requisition a year of reconstructive surgery for a Sector 9 rat who might never be one hundred percent again?”

“Because I’m better than them,” I said. “I proved it. I broke the algorithm.”

“You broke your leg,” Tegula said.

He tapped a command into the console. The strap across my chest loosened slightly, enough to let me breathe, not enough to move.

“You have two options,” he said, and his voice had gone bored. “Option A: medical discharge. You have Triple-A genetics. Madame Koresh was very impressed with your... vitality. She is willing to process you into the Breeding Program immediately. You will live in comfort. You will be safe. All you have to do is perform on command.”

I gritted my teeth. A stud horse for the State. A cage and a cot, milked for DNA while Felix played on the screens above me.

“I’d rather die.”

“That is Option B,” Tegula said, unbothered. “Reassignment. The Front Lines are always hungry for meat. Even crippled meat can hold a rifle in a trench. They won’t fix your leg. They’ll give you a painkiller and point you toward the enemy.”

He looked at his watch, checking the time like a man with a dinner reservation waiting.

“I will give you an hour to decide. It is quiet down here. You’ll find it good for thinking. Try not to think about Felix. He has already moved on to the next partner. The victory party is quite loud; I doubt he can even hear himself think, let alone remember the name of the casualty.”

The door sealed behind him with a hydraulic hiss, and the room went back to white silence.

I stared at the ceiling. He was lying. I knew he was lying.

I closed my eyes and forced myself to remember. The heat of the dorm room. The way Felix cleaned the mud off my skin. The way he shivered when I touched him. The way he looked at me after he came, wrecked and open.

We survive tomorrow, he said.

He wouldn’t abandon me. He sacrificed his own kit for me. He risked a court-martial for me.

But he is the King.

The doubt crept in. Felix played the game to save himself. Maybe he saved me in the clinic because he needed me for the drill and now the drill was over. The match was over. He was safe. He was Rank One. He didn’t need a cripple dragging down his stats.

I pulled against the restraints again, ignoring the fire shooting up my leg. The metal cuffs dug into my skin, drawing blood.

I was not going to the Breeding Ward. And I was not going to the Front.

If Felix had abandoned me, I would kill him. But first, I had to get out of this bed.

CHAPTER 30