The contrast between the levels of the Rebellion's mountain had never been more polarized. Below, in the cavernous training hangers, the air was a thick fog of sweat and pulverized concrete. Above, in the Commander's office, it was a tomb of silent, expensive scent and predatory comfort.
The Grinding StoneJess lunged forward, her training blade—a weighted slab of dull steel—whistling through the air. Her opponent, a scarred veteran named Kai, parried the blow with a grunt, the vibration rattling Jess's teeth.
"Again!" Kai roared, his voice bouncing off the high, jagged walls of the hanger.
Jess didn't wait for her pulse to settle. She swung again, her movements fueled by a cold, rhythmic fury. Every strike was a silent scream for the sister she could see but couldn't touch. Every time her boots skidded on the grit, she pictured the Command Tier. She pictured the silk, the silver collar, and the way Talisa's hand had lingered on Sofia's hair.
"You're fighting like a beast, recruit," Kai spat, catching her blade in a lock and shoving her back with a burst of seasoned strength. "That'll get you killed in the Void. You need discipline. You need to be a scalpel, not a club."
Jess wiped a streak of blood and grease from her forehead. Her muscles were screaming, but she welcomed the pain. It was the only thing that felt real. "I don't want to be a scalpel," she rasped, her eyes burning with a dark, lethal light. "I want to be the thing that breaks the mountain."
She drove forward again, her telepathy flaring in short, jagged bursts that made Kai's eyes twitch. She wasn't just training to be a soldier; she was training to be an assassin.
The Commander's ShadowHigh above the training floor, the atmosphere was suffocatingly still. Talisa sat behind her massive desk of reclaimed mahogany, her eyes scanning a holographic map of the Salt Flats. The room was dim, lit only by the blue glow of the data-streams.
She wasn't alone.
Sofia sat directly in Talisa's lap, her petite frame almost disappearing against the Commander's dark tactical tunic. She looked like a doll carved from porcelain and silk, her sapphire eyes staring blankly at the flickering maps. She was the picture of perfect, quiet submission, her hands resting limply on Talisa's powerful forearms.
Talisa didn't look at her. Her mind was on logistics—ammunition counts, troop movements, and the encroaching High Wave scouts. But her hand was not idle.
With a slow, rhythmic motion, Talisa's hand moved from Sofia's shoulder to the crown of her head. She petted the girl with a possessive, absentminded tenderness, her fingers tracing the tight lines of the braid she had made. It was the way a ruler might stroke a favored hound or a precious relic.
The "Influence" filled the office—a golden, heavy hum that made the brutal decisions on the screen seem easier to make. Talisa leaned her chin on Sofia's shoulder, the rough skin of her scarred cheek brushing against Sofia's soft temple.
"Do you hear them down there, Sofia?" Talisa whispered, her voice a low vibration against the girl's ear. "The recruits? They're breaking their bones so they can fight for a world where you can stay exactly like this. Safe. Quiet. Mine."
Sofia didn't answer. She couldn't. She simply leaned back into the embrace, her heart beating a fast, terrified rhythm against Talisa's chest. She looked toward the reinforced window that overlooked the training floor, searching for a flash of dark hair or a familiar stance.
The Unseen GazeThrough a gap in the ventilation grate, Jess looked up. From her position on the mats, the angle was sharp, but she could see into the Commander's office.
She saw the silhouette. She saw Sofia's small form cradled against the woman who had stolen her. She saw the slow, rhythmic movement of Talisa's hand—the petting, the ownership, the absolute control. The jealousy hit Jess like a physical blow to the stomach. It wasn't just that Sofia was a prisoner; it was that Sofia looked so compliant.
"Eyes on me!" Kai shouted, swinging a heavy blow at Jess's head to snap her back to reality.
Jess ducked, her movement a blur of pure instinct. She didn't look away from the window. Her grip on her training sword tightened until the metal groaned.
Stay small, Sofia, Jess thought, a single tear carving a path through the soot on her face. Stay quiet. Let her think she's won. Because when I get up there, I'm not just taking you back. I'm making sure she never breathes the same air as you again.