Cassandra could not help the way her eyes kept drifting toward Xenon as the dropship tore through the clouded sky on an emergency return vector to the Dome.
The cabin was tense—thick with the low hum of engines straining beyond safe limits and the sharp, metallic scent of blood that refused to dissipate no matter how hard the Copper's filtration vents worked. Kira lay on a makeshift bed welded together from scavenged plating and field restraints, her body unnaturally still except for the shallow rise and fall of her chest.
She had been badly injured. Worse still, her nanites had failed to stabilize the wound.
Apparently, her VITALITY stat was critically low—too low. The System had delivered its verdict with cold indifference: automated repair protocols were suspended. Manual intervention was required if she was to survive the next few hours.
Jim refused to leave her side.
He knelt beside the bed, hands stained red as he reapplied pressure where the bandages were already soaked through. His voice was low, steady, murmuring reassurances he couldn't possibly guarantee. Every time Kira stirred or winced, his grip tightened as though he could anchor her to life by force of will alone.
They had managed to slow the bleeding, but it was obvious to everyone in the cabin—Cassandra included—that Kira had already lost too much blood.
And everyone could see it now.
The way Jim cared for her.
It wasn't just concern. It wasn't the obligatory loyalty of squadmates bound by shared missions and survival. It was something more fragile and dangerous. Something that made Cassandra's chest ache in a way she hadn't expected.
Affection.
She recognized it instantly. The instinctive closeness. The way his entire world had narrowed down to the figure lying before him. Cassandra understood that look better than she cared to admit.
She had once been in Kira's place—long ago, in a chapter of her life she had buried so deeply she sometimes pretended it had never existed.
Almost reflexively, her gaze shifted toward Malachi.
The motion betrayed her.
Old memories surged forward uninvited, sharp and vivid, and to her utmost surprise—he was already looking at her.
For a heartbeat, they locked eyes.
The world seemed to stall in that instant. The roar of engines dulled. The smell of blood faded. Years collapsed into a single breath. Everything they had been, everything they had lost, hovered between them like a ghost that refused to rest.
Then instinct took over.
They both looked away.
But the damage had been done.
That moment lingered—heavy, suffocating. All those years they had spent together felt suddenly close enough to touch, as though time itself had folded cruelly inward.
Cassandra clenched her jaw and shoved the memories back into the abyss they had crawled out from. She could not afford them. Not now. Not ever.
She had more important things to focus on.
Her gaze returned to Xenon.
The boy she had barely known for a day.
And yet—something about him unsettled her.
She hated uncertainty. Hated gaps in her understanding. Xenon was a walking void, and it infuriated her. He had taken down a Hunter-class zombie on his own—something she herself still struggled to do even with experience, training, and scars to prove it.
He had done it effortlessly.
Worse still, he hadn't even seemed aware of what he had accomplished.
That kind of power never ended well. Cassandra knew the pattern. She had seen it repeat itself too many times to count. People like Xenon either burned out… or were burned away.
She told herself the bitterness twisting in her chest was envy. Nothing more.
Still, she resolved to keep a close eye on him.
He stared ahead now, expression distant, detached from the chaos surrounding him. Lost in thought. Completely unaware of Cassandra's scrutiny.
She wasn't wrong.
Xenon's attention was fixed on Kira.
On the blood. The pain etched across her pale features. The way her fingers twitched weakly against the restraints. Most of all—the uncertainty. The looming possibility that she might not survive.
At first, guilt had eaten at him.
This was his fault.
If he had better control. If he had understood his weapon. If he had been stronger.
But as the moments dragged on, the guilt shifted—morphed into something colder and far more dangerous.
He saw fragility.
And in that moment, it struck him with terrifying clarity.
Despite the nanites coursing through their veins. Despite being resurrected corpses bound by System contracts and artificial purpose. Despite being weapons designed to cull the dead for the sake of humanity—
They were still fragile.
Still weak.
Still capable of breaking.
Something inside Xenon hardened.
I won't let this happen again.
The thought echoed through him with quiet certainty.
I'll grow stronger.
If the System could bring them back from death… then surely it could do more.
Surely, there was a point where weakness ended.
Where mortality ceased.
The Dome rose from the wasteland like a divine wound in reality.
Its barrier shimmered with layered light, refracting the dying sun into fractured halos as the dropship descended through controlled airspace. Defense turrets tracked their approach silently. The gates parted just long enough to swallow them whole.
The moment the craft touched down, medical units swarmed in.
Kira was transferred immediately—her body lifted onto a hovering gurney as alarms chirped softly, reacting to her unstable vitals. Jim tried to follow, only stopping when a medic blocked his path.
"I'm staying," Jim said, voice sharp, unyielding.
There was no argument. No hesitation.
The medic stepped aside.
They vanished down the sterile corridors toward the Intensive Care Unit, the doors sealing shut behind them with a hiss that felt final.
The hangar fell into an uneasy quiet.
That was when Cassandra turned on Xenon.
Her voice cut through the space like a blade. "You endangered all of us."
Xenon stiffened.
"You broke formation. You ignored direct orders. And because of that," she continued, eyes burning, "one of my squad is lying in critical condition."
Her steps echoed as she closed the distance between them. "I don't care how strong you think you are. If you can't follow orders, you don't belong on this squad."
The words landed heavy.
"I should dismiss you," she said coldly.
Malachi moved before Xenon could speak.
"That weapon acted on its own," he said calmly. Too calmly. "You saw it. Grave Point wasn't responding to input."
At first it had not been glaring to him. But after replaying the scenario several times in his head, Malachi realized that that was the only plausible explanation. He had heard that things like that happened anyway.
Cassandra's glare flicked toward him.
Malachi didn't back down. He turned to Xenon. "Tell her."
Xenon hesitated.
Every warning Jim and Kira had given him echoed in his mind.
Don't trust anyone with System flaws.
His throat tightened. Then he nodded.
"It's true," Xenon said. "Grave Point… wasn't syncing. It acted out on its own."
He stopped there.
He didn't mention the System lag. The failed synchronization. The way his interface had stuttered and gone dark at the worst possible moment.
He couldn't.
Malachi studied him carefully.
Too carefully.
Something wasn't adding up—but Malachi said nothing. Not yet.
Cassandra exhaled sharply. "Fine. I'll give you one more chance."
She stepped back. "But hear this clearly—if you disobey another order, if you lose control again, I will dismiss you. No exceptions."
Then she added, "Hand over the B-tier core."
Xenon blinked.
"What?"
"You won't deposit it yourself," Cassandra said. "A rookie killing a Hunter draws attention. Unnecessary scrutiny. I'll take care of it."
Malachi's eyes widened slightly.
Jealousy flickered across Cassandra's expression—quick, controlled. He knew what that core represented. Power. Advancement. And he knew Cassandra well enough to recognize ambition when he saw it.
But he stayed silent.
Xenon nodded immediately.
The word censoring rang loudly in his mind.
He imagined cold rooms. Diagnostics. Higher-ups dissecting his System logs. Finding the fault. Finding him.
And deciding he was a defect.
Disposable.
His hands trembled as he passed the core over.
As Cassandra turned away, Xenon swallowed hard.
They can never find out.
The thought echoed in his mind—
frightened, desperate, absolute.