The medical bay released Renne after two days. Her left arm still throbbed, wrapped in a compression sleeve that hummed softly as it stimulated tissue repair. The doctors had given her a list of restrictions: no piloting for seventy-two hours, no physical exertion for forty-eight, and mandatory check-ins every morning.
She ignored the last one.
On the morning of the third day, she walked to the hangar before sunrise. The corridors were empty, the station's lighting dimmed to simulate night. Her footsteps echoed off the white walls.
The hangar was dark, the mechas standing in their alcoves like sleeping giants. Renne walked to Argent's corner.
The mecha was exactly as she'd left it—slumped on one knee, scorch marks on its shoulder, its armor still dusty. The damaged weapons rack beside it had been removed, leaving an empty space.
She stood in front of it, her arms crossed.
"You almost killed me," she said quietly. "And almost killed someone else."
The optical lens was dark. No warmth. No hum.
"I'm not leaving," she continued. "But you need to understand something. I'm not your old pilot. I'm not going to die and leave you alone. But I'm also not going to let you burn me out."
She stepped closer and placed her palm on the mecha's leg. The metal was cold.
"We do this my way. Slow. Controlled." She pressed her forehead against the cold surface. "If you push like that again, we're both finished. And I didn't survive Mars to die in a rust bucket because it couldn't wait."
For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, faintly, she felt it—a vibration. Not the desperate surge from before, but something softer. A tremor, like a held breath being released.
The metal warmed under her palm. Not hot, just… present.
Renne exhaled. "Okay. That's a start."
---
She spent the next three days in the simulation pods.
Vex had ordered it. No physical contact with Argent until she could control the nanomachine feedback without the mecha's anima interference. The simulators were cold, clinical—no warmth, no presence. Just data.
Renne sat in the pod for hours, running basic mobility drills over and over. Her scores were average at first. Then, slowly, they improved. She learned to feel the flow of power from the simulated nanomachines, to recognize the warning signs of a surge before it built.
On the second day, Vex appeared at the pod's window. He watched her complete three laps of a virtual obstacle course without a single error.
When she emerged, he was holding a tablet. "Better."
"I'm not going to let it happen again," Renne said.
"You will," he said flatly. "Overclock isn't something you control by avoiding it. It's something you learn to use." He turned the tablet toward her. On the screen was a graph—her neural activity during the surge, spiking into the red. "This is your limit right now. You hit Overclock Level One for three seconds before your body started shutting down."
Renne stared at the graph. "There are levels?"
"Ten. Level ten is death." He closed the tablet. "Most knights never go above level four. The ones who do usually don't live long." He looked at her with his red eye. "But your mecha is old. Its anima is unstable. You might not have a choice when real combat comes."
He walked away, leaving her standing in the empty simulation bay.
---
On the fourth day, her restrictions were lifted. She reported to the hangar for her first official training session with Argent.
Word had spread. When she walked in, the other cadets parted around her like water around a stone. Some whispered. Others just stared.
Eris was waiting by the citizen mechas, her face a mix of worry and excitement. "You're back!"
"I'm back."
"Is it true you almost crushed Lord Vorn's nephew?"
Renne blinked. "Who?"
"The noble in the white mecha. The one your mecha almost stepped on." Eris lowered her voice. "His family is furious. They wanted you expelled. But Zade—the Aethel heir—he said it was a training accident and the noble should have been paying attention."
Renne's gaze drifted across the hangar. Zade was standing beside his white mecha, talking to another noble. He didn't look her way.
"He defended me?"
"Apparently. Weird, right? The nobles usually stick together." Eris shrugged. "Maybe he's not as stuck-up as he looks."
Renne didn't respond. She was still watching Zade when Vex's voice cut through the hangar.
"Inductee Renne. Your mecha. Now."
She walked to Argent. This time, the mecha was standing—someone had repaired the damage from the Overclock, straightened its posture, replaced a few scorched plates. It still looked old, but it didn't look broken.
She climbed the ladder. The cockpit had been cleaned. The displays were active, showing basic diagnostic readouts.
She sat down and strapped in. The harness pressed against her chest, tight and secure.
"Ready?" Vex's voice came through the cockpit speakers.
Renne placed her hands on the controls. The nanomachines in her spine hummed. She reached for the connection—and found it waiting.
No surge. No desperation. Just a steady, cautious presence.
'Slow,' she thought. 'We go slow.'
She eased the controls forward. Argent took a step. Smooth. Controlled.
She took another step. Then a turn. Then a stop.
"Good," Vex said. "Now do it again. And again. Until you don't have to think about it."
She began her laps. Step, turn, stop. Step, turn, stop. Each movement deliberate. Her focus was absolute, her breathing measured.
But on the fifth lap, her mind slipped.
She was turning Argent to the left when a flash of memory cut through her concentration—the white mecha, frozen, her own mecha's leg swinging toward it. The screams. The smell of ozone from the shattered weapons rack.
Her hands jerked on the controls.
Argent's leg stuttered. The mecha listed sideways, its weight shifting too fast. The cockpit display flickered, and for a heartbeat, the hum in her spine sharpened—a warning, the nanomachines beginning to resonate.
'No!'
Renne slammed her will against the surge. Her fingers clamped down on the controls, forcing them steady. She gritted her teeth and pulled back, imagining a wall, a door slamming shut.
The hum flattened. The display steadied. Argent's leg locked, and the mecha held its balance.
Silence. Her heart was hammering so hard she could feel it in her throat.
"Inductee Renne," Vex's voice came through the speakers, calm but edged. "What happened?"
She took a breath. Then another. "Lost focus. It won't happen again."
A long pause. "Continue."
She eased Argent forward again. This time, she didn't let her thoughts wander. She kept them locked on the movement, on the feedback from the mecha's limbs, on the steady pulse of the connection. Each step was a conscious choice to stay in the present, to not let the fear take control.
By the end of the session, her back ached and her hands were sore, but she had completed the basic mobility drills without another slip. When she climbed out of the cockpit, she found Vex waiting at the bottom of the ladder.
"Adequate," he said. "Tomorrow, you run the obstacle course. With the others."
He walked away. Renne watched him go, then looked back at Argent. The mecha's optical lens was glowing—a soft, steady blue.
She leaned against the ladder for a moment, letting her legs steady. Her hands were still trembling. The memory of the near-miss was vivid—the way the connection had almost buckled, the surge that had started to build.
'I stopped it,' she told herself. 'I held it.'
She looked at her palms. The skin was red where she'd gripped the controls.
'One day at a time.'
---
That night, Renne sat on her bed, her bracelet's interface glowing in the dark. She scrolled through the academy's internal directory, searching for any mention of confiscated items.
Nothing. No logs. No records.
She thought about the message: *Your father's chip was not confiscated. It was transferred.*
Someone had taken it. Someone who knew what it was. Someone who wanted her to know they had it.
She closed the directory and opened a different search. *Confiscated items transfer protocols.*
The results were restricted. Access denied.
She stared at the red text for a moment, then closed the interface. She lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
'Who are you?' she thought. 'And what do you want from me?'
A soft knock at her door made her sit up.
She opened it. The corridor was empty. But on the floor, a small data slate had been placed. She picked it up.
The screen displayed a single line of text:
*The chip is in the Academy Vault. Sector 7, Level 12. Access requires a noble's clearance. Find an ally you can trust. You have seven days.*
Renne's pulse quickened. She looked up and down the corridor. Empty.
She stepped back into her room and closed the door. She pressed the slate against her chest, her mind racing. Then the screen flickered.
New text appeared, as if typed in real time:
*Don't bother checking the corridor cameras. I've already scrubbed the footage. Just like I scrubbed your father's execution record.*
Renne's blood turned cold. She read the words again. Her father's execution—there had been no record. She had searched for it after she arrived, found nothing. She assumed it was standard procedure for Indent.
But this person knew. And they had erased it.
Another line scrolled onto the screen:
*You're not the only one who wants the chip. But I'm the only one who can help you get it. Seven days. Don't waste them.*
The screen went dark.
Renne stood frozen, the slate cold in her hands. She turned it over, examined the edges. No markings, no serial number. A blank piece of tech that could have come from anywhere.
She placed it under her mattress, her movements slow, deliberate.
'They knew about my father. They erased records. They have access to cameras, to the vault, to everything.'
She lay back, staring at the ceiling. Her mind churned through possibilities. Academy staff? A noble? Someone with power, with reach. Someone who had been watching her since before she arrived.
'And they want me to find an ally. A noble I can trust.'
Her thoughts went to Zade. The Aethel heir. The one who had defended her today.
'Can I trust him?'
She didn't know. She didn't trust anyone. But the sender knew things they shouldn't. And they had given her a deadline.
'Seven days.'
She closed her eyes, but sleep didn't come easily. Every shadow in her room seemed deeper, every creak of the station's structure seemed like footsteps.
Somewhere in the dark corridors of the academy, someone was watching her. Guiding her. Testing her.
She just didn't know if they were leading her to freedom—or into a trap.