Herro watched as Hilda bounced lightly on her heels before settling into a proper stance.
Considering he had only known her for a few days—no, not even a few, just two—and the only emotions she had ever displayed were different variations of angry and furious, seeing her this calm was… unsettling.
Hilda's fighting stance looked bizarre from Herro's perspective: hands low, constantly shifting and twitching. But he had seen her speed before, so he knew exactly what she was capable of.
Hilda didn't need much space to get from point A to point B.
(Point B… is likely my face.)
As Hilda began pacing in a slow circle, Herro moved with her, keeping inside the same orbit but staying as far from her as physically possible.
(She still hasn't set any ground rules for this spar, and anyway I'm exhausted from going three rounds already… this isn't good.)
Hilda looked down at Herro with the same neutral anger that seemed permanently etched on her face. At this point, he was seriously questioning whether that expression was simply her default.
Then Hilda… stood up straight and yawned.
(…What. What is she doing?)
Hilda turned sharply toward Lyra.
"Yeah, I think I'm good."
Rosa, Nate, Lyra, Dean, and even JJ all reacted in perfect unison with Herro.
"WHAT?"
Hilda already looked completely relaxed. To her, it was obvious; she didn't feel the need to explain.
But judging by everyone's faces, she supposed she should.
"Listen," she said. "I'm all for fighting and stuff… but the new kid already fought Rosa and Nate."
"And got bullied by you, Lyra," she added.
Lyra rolled her eyes so dramatically it was practically audible.
Hilda flicked a quick glance at Herro before continuing.
"I'm not gonna beat up on a guy who can't fight back. Besides, it's still early morning and I'm still sleepy."
"So I'm gonna take five on this."
As Hilda walked away, a stunned silence settled over the group.
Every member of Ironhide thought the same thing.
But one person was really happy.
Herro Touya.
Thank Terra.
Herro Touya's back collided with the training mat. The impact forced a long, ragged exhale from his lungs—one that had far more to do with pure, unadulterated relief than with exhaustion.
Not having to get his shit pushed in by the toughest girl on the team was a break he hadn't expected, and he intended to savor every second of the reprieve.
The relaxation didn't last long.
A shadow loomed directly over him.
Being Lyra Ironside.
Once Herro looked up, he met the gaze of his leader. Lyra's black eyes were the first thing he saw.
Which he had expected.
What he hadn't expected was the faint… smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she looked down at him.
Lyra reached down, hooked her hands under his arms, and hoisted him to his feet as if he weighed nothing at all. As the hulking woman towered over him, she brought her hands toward his face.
(Is she gonna hit me… please don't hit me.)
Then, with an anticlimactic—
POMPF!
Instead of a blow, she simply set his hat back onto his head.
The hat he had lost somewhere between Lyra hitting him and Nate turning him every which way.
Herro had been so internally focused on not getting hurt that he'd forgotten about it entirely.
"Ah… thank you, Miss Lyra."
"Don't mention it," she said. "That was your first gauntlet. How do you feel?"
"Honestly? A lot better than I thought. Though not having to fight Hilda probably saved me a few bruises… and bones… and dignity."
"Well, kid, I don't see any bruises on you and your bones look okay." She paused. "Dignity is something else entirely, but I think you've held onto a large percentage."
Lyra patted him on the back—extra hard—after that.
"Well, aren't I lucky," Herro muttered.
(This lady switches between responsible adult and violent tyrant every minute, I swear.)
"YAYYYY YOU SURVIVED!"
Two hands settled on Herro's back with a cheerfulness that could only belong to one person on this team: Rosa Tanya.
She was notably always in a cheerful mood, but for the moment it seemed increased, almost as if Hilda being reluctant to violence was something to be celebrated even more. What worried Herro was her use of the word "survived." Was there a mortality rate to these things?
Questions for later.
Lyra turned her head away from her roster before looking back.
"I guess your training is done for the day, so do what you want."
There was a collective wash of a singular emotion: relief.
Herro watched as the group of Rosa, Nate, JJ, and Dean almost decompressed as they left the training area.
(Wow, these guys must not get breaks often.)
But as the group filtered out, Herro noticed something else.
Hilda must have slipped away even earlier.
She was already gone.
a moment later
As Hilda walked down the second hallway of the Ironhide base, it didn't take long before she heard the hurried, uneven breaths of someone sprinting to catch up.
She slowed her pace. It could only be the new guy.
When Herro finally reached her, he bent forward for a moment, hands on his knees, dragging in air. The gauntlet had ended less than five minutes ago; his body was still screaming about it.
Once he finally found his breath, he found his words.
"T-thanks, Hilda."
"For not beating you up?"
"Well… when you put it like that, it doesn't exactly make you sound like a saint, but yeah."
"Don't mention it. I'm not gonna beat on a guy who's brand new and just got here."
"Wow… that's really nice of you, Hilda."
"Not… really."
"Oh."
(Jeez. My interactions with this girl can never just be normal, can they? I always have to mess it up by being awkward. Maybe I should just leave her alone.)
"Were you bullied?"
The question came out blunt and abrupt—even for Hilda.
At this point, Herro saw no reason to dodge it.
"Well… yeah. For a while. Pretty much most of high school, back at South Terra Roadschool."
"It was mostly guys ganging up on me. Kids I'd known since I was little, so I didn't really know how to react. Eventually I just… got used to it. I never had any intention of fighting back."
Hilda did a visible double-take, as though the last sentence had blindsided her.
"You didn't stand up for yourself?"
"It wasn't that simple. At the time I was still holding out hope it was just some joke I wasn't in on."
"And no one stood up for you?"
"A lot of those guys were tight with the student council crowd and people like that. There wasn't really anyone for me to talk to."
"Wow. Assholes."
That single word from Hilda was enough to make Herro genuinely perk up, surprise flickering across his face.
Hilda caught the look and her usual scowl softened—just a fraction—into something closer to neutral, almost gentle.
"A lot of the fights I got into back in South Terra were because people kept trying to start stuff with me. Unfortunately."
"Wow. That's surprising."
"What?"
"I just… assumed you were the type to, uh… fight for fun."
"Oh wow."
The sarcasm and faint offense in Hilda's voice hit like a slap. Herro immediately knew he'd crossed a line.
"Believe it or not, I'm not some violent barbarian."
Hilda placed a hand over her chest, radiating so much wounded pride and superiority that she practically glowed with it.
"But if I didn't fight back, it wasn't gonna stop. So I made a decision of violence."
Contrary to Hilda's earlier statements, she had quite the wide smile on her face as she said this.
"To be perfectly honest with you, there was some part of me that enjoyed beating them up. But it was never 'cause I was stronger. And at the end of the day, it's not like fighting got me any friends besides Rosa... who is my twin sister... so not much of an accomplishment anyway."
As Hilda rambled on, Herro Touya looked at her, absorbing everything she was saying. For the first time in a while, he was having an earnest interaction with someone his age. And it was with the girl that had tried to take his head off. But this version of her was different.
"HEY TOUYA!"
The shout was enough for Herro to leave his internal thoughts and step back into reality.
"You were just staring into space, dude… you okay?"
Hilda sounded genuinely concerned.
"Yeah."
(I gotta stop doing that.)
Spending time in juvie had taught Herro how to slip easily into his own thoughts. With no one to talk to there anyway, it had become second nature.
(Wait. Now is the perfect chance to ask about some things I've been curious about.)
"By the way, Hilda," he said, "I know what my gear is and what everyone else's is, but I'm still confused about some of the smaller stuff."
As Hilda came to a stop, Herro realized they were standing right in front of her room.
"If you want to keep talking to me, then we're doing it in my room."
"Oh!"
Herro had not calculated this development.
(Honestly, I'm picturing Hilda's room as terrifying. There's probably a hellhound on a leash in there, and even it's scared of her.)
Hilda's room was nothing like anyone would expect given her personality.
Bathed in soft pastel pink, the entire space felt like a daydream. Her bed sat tucked in the upper right corner, covered in pink sheets and a matching pink comforter, surrounded by an assortment of plushies—mostly extremely round bunnies. A window let in faint light, but it was softened behind white curtains.
The one unsurprising element was the heavy bag hanging in the corner, flanked on the floor by a pair of iron dumbbells. The carpet underfoot made sense given the rest of the building, but compared to the stark, utilitarian first-floor common room, this place was day and night.
At the center sat a low white coffee table on a circular pink rug, with a single purple floor cushion beside it.
There were photos taped to the wall: one of Rosa laughing, another of an older man and woman Herro assumed were Hilda's parents. Scattered among them were small drawings on white paper, and above the bed—written in bold marker—"Hilda not Rosa." A sheer canopy draped over the bed, dotted with tiny star designs.
Herro looked around in quiet, idle shock.
Hilda noticed, glancing sideways at him.
"I didn't join through the gear-bearer rehabilitation program," she said. "I chose Ironhide myself. So when I told my parents, they helped me move all this in."
"Wow."
"If you're making fun of my room, I don't appreciate it."
"No, I just… wasn't expecting it."
"Aren't I full of surprises today?"
Hilda delivered the line with so much smug sarcasm that you'd swear this was the highlight of her entire day.
Hilda casually sat on her bed and Herro followed suit sitting....on the floor
"Okay, so what do you want to know?"
Herro perked up. Dean gave solid advice, but he needed a little more before he could wrap his head around everything.
"Well… I know what I did with my Gear, but replicating it might be difficult. So I was wondering if there's some kind of method or technique."
Hilda's expression shifted into one of genuine thought. After a moment she seemed to reach a conclusion.
"No idea."
"WHAT?"
"My Gear is automatic, so I can't help you there. I think about using it and it just… happens. Since Gears are connected to DNA, everyone's is unique. And while that stuff is mostly biological, Gears are basically extensions of a Terran's will, trauma, and fundamental nature."
(Wow. She knows a lot about this stuff.)
"I imagine you get the basic gist, but everyone's Gear in Ironhide is pretty straightforward and simple."
"Lyra doesn't have one. She's Gearless. Before you ask—yes, she's still the strongest person here. So it doesn't really matter."
Herro nodded, filing that away.
"Nate's got Kinetic Aegis. It's a shield that absorbs hits and lets him throw it like a weapon. The more you hit it, the harder it hits back. Pretty straightforward."
"And Rosa?"
"Air Trend. Wind manipulation. She controls air currents—offense, defense, mobility, whatever. It's versatile." Hilda's expression softened slightly. "She's really good with it too."
"Dean?"
"Gear-Nullify Touch. Exactly what it sounds like. He touches you, your Gear turns off. Lasts as long as he's touching you plus like thirty seconds after." Hilda's tone was matter-of-fact. "It's why he's useful even though he doesn't fight much."
"And JJ?"
Hilda paused. "...Actually, I don't know what JJ's Gear is. He never uses it. Never talks about it. Might not even have one, honestly."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah. He handles tech and intel, stays off the battlefield. Whatever his situation is, it works for him." She turned back to her supplies. "That's everyone."
Hilda paused after looked at Herro
" you know what your gear does right?
" I mean....sorta'
hilda look of annoyance felt like a knife in herros stomach
"Sorta?"
Hilda's expression shifted from mild annoyance to something closer to genuine disbelief.
"How do you 'sorta' know what your own Gear does? You used it. You launched a car. That's not 'sorta.'"
"I know I did that! I just... I don't know HOW I did it. It just kind of... happened?" Herro gestured vaguely with his hands, as if that would somehow communicate the complex experience of activating a Gear for the first time.
Hilda stared at him for a long moment.
Then she sighed—the kind of sigh that carried the weight of someone realizing they'd signed up for a much longer conversation than anticipated.
"Okay. From the top. What did it FEEL like when you used it?"
Herro thought back to that moment on the highway. The terror. The desperation. JJ about to get crushed.
"It felt like... something inside my chest started draining. Like water flowing out of a bucket. It went down my arms and into my hands, and then when I pushed—" He mimed shoving something away. "—it just... came out."
"Good. That's Terran Energy." Hilda shifted on her bed, tucking one leg under herself. "Every Terran being on the planet has it. It's like... think of it as your body's battery. The planet charges it constantly, but when you use your Gear, you're draining it."
"The water bucket thing?"
"Yeah, basically. You got a bucket. Terra fills it. You use your Gear, you're pouring water out of that bucket." Hilda made a pouring motion with her hand. "The bigger your bucket, the more energy you have. The faster Terra refills it, the longer you can keep fighting."
(That actually makes sense. Dean mentioned something similar but didn't go into detail.)
"So when I collapsed after throwing that car..."
"You drained your bucket too fast. Rookie mistake." Hilda's tone wasn't mocking—just matter-of-fact. "Your body wasn't used to channeling that much energy at once, so it hit you hard. It gets easier with practice."
"How much easier?"
"Depends on the person. Some people have huge buckets and can spam their Gears all day. Other people—" She shrugged. "—get one good shot and they're done."
Herro absorbed this information, filing it away. "What about you?"
"My bucket's pretty average. But Heavy Metal doesn't drain me much because it's automatic—I think about using it and my body just does it. The longer I stay transformed, the more it costs, but it's not like I'm shooting lasers or creating stuff. I'm just... changing what I'm already made of."
"So different Gears cost different amounts of energy?"
"Obviously." Hilda said it like it was the most self-evident thing in the world. "Creating something from nothing costs way more than just controlling something that already exists. And moving your own body costs less than moving someone else's."
She paused, eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him.
"Your Gear's weird though."
"Weird how?"
"You hit something once and it gets hit TWICE, right? That second impact—the delayed one—that's the 'divergent' part?"
"I... think so? It happened when I threw the car. First impact when my hands touched it, then a second one a split-second later that was way stronger."
"Exactly. That's weird." Hilda leaned forward slightly. "Most Gears do one thing. Fire guy shoots fire. Ice girl makes ice. I turn into metal. Simple. Your Gear does one thing that BECOMES two things. That's a weird interaction."
(I hadn't thought about it that way.)
"Is that bad?"
"No, it's just complicated. Which means you're gonna have a harder time learning to control it than someone with a straightforward Gear." Hilda shrugged. "But complicated doesn't mean weak. If anything, it probably means yours is stronger than it looks."
"Really?"
"Yeah. The more conditions a Gear has, the more powerful it usually is when those conditions are met. Your Gear has this whole 'split impact' thing going on—that's not normal. Normal is 'I punch you, you get hurt.' Your Gear is 'I punch you, you get hurt, and then you get hurt AGAIN for some reason.'"
Herro blinked. "That's... actually kind of scary when you put it like that."
"Welcome to having a Gear." Hilda's expression was completely neutral. "We're all scary when you think about it too hard."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Herro asked the question that had been nagging at him since the mission.
"How do I use it on purpose?"
"What do you mean?"
"Like... the first time I used it, I was panicking. I wasn't thinking about technique or control or anything—I just did it because I had to. But I can't rely on panic every time I need my Gear, right?"
Hilda nodded slowly. "Yeah, that's the problem with trauma-awakened Gears. You unlock them in a life-or-death situation, so your body associates using the Gear with that same fear and desperation. It's hard to activate when you're calm."
"So how do I fix that?"
"Practice. Repetition. You gotta teach your body that using your Gear doesn't require you to be terrified." Hilda stood up, walked over to her punching bag, and tapped it lightly. "For me, I practiced transforming small parts first. Just my hand. Then my arm. Then my whole body. Over and over until it became automatic."
She demonstrated—her right hand shifted seamlessly into gleaming chrome metal, fingers flexing. Then it reverted back to flesh just as quickly.
"See? I'm not scared. I'm not angry. I'm just doing it."
Herro stared. "That's incredible."
"It's repetition." Hilda turned back to him. "You need to figure out what your Gear feels like when it's ABOUT to activate. That sensation you described—the draining in your chest, the energy flowing to your hands—you need to memorize that. Then you practice triggering it over and over until you can do it without thinking."
"But what if I hurt someone by accident?"
Hilda's expression softened—just barely, but enough to be noticeable.
"That's why we have the training room. And why Lyra made you spar today. You need to learn your limits in a controlled environment so you don't accidentally kill someone in the field."
She walked back to her bed and sat down, crossing her arms.
"Look. I'm not gonna sugarcoat it—learning to control your Gear is hard. Especially one like yours that has multiple stages or effects. You're gonna mess up. You're gonna hit things you didn't mean to hit, and you're gonna drain yourself by accident more than once."
"That's not very reassuring."
"I'm not trying to reassure you. I'm telling you the truth." Hilda's dark eyes locked onto his. "But here's the other truth: you CAN learn it. Every Gear user goes through this. Even me."
"Even you?"
"Yeah. First time I used Heavy Metal, I turned my whole body into metal and couldn't turn back for like twenty minutes. Rosa had to drag me around like a statue." A ghost of a smile crossed her face. "She thought it was hilarious. I thought I was gonna be stuck like that forever."
Despite himself, Herro laughed. The image of Hilda as a metal statue being dragged around by Rosa was too absurd not to.
"See?" Hilda said. "Everyone starts somewhere. You're not special."
"Wow. Thanks."
"What I mean is—" Hilda's tone shifted slightly, became less harsh. "—you're not the first person to be scared of their own power. And you won't be the last. But if you actually put in the work, you'll get it under control."
Herro nodded slowly. "Okay. So... practice. Repetition. Memorize the feeling."
"Exactly."
"And if I mess up?"
"Then you mess up. That's what training's for." Hilda shrugged. "Just don't mess up during an actual mission and you'll be fine."
(Easier said than done.)
But despite the casual way she said it, Herro felt... better. Not confident, exactly, but less terrified. Like maybe this impossible thing wasn't quite as impossible as he'd thought.
"One more thing," Hilda said, standing up again. "You need to give your Gear a trigger."
"A trigger?"
"Yeah. Something that helps you activate it consistently. For some people it's a word they say. For others it's a specific motion or stance. It's basically a mental switch that tells your body 'okay, now we're using the Gear.'"
"Like what?"
"I don't know, that's your job to figure out." Hilda walked to her door, clearly signaling that the lesson was ending. "But think about it. What were you doing with your hands when you launched that car?"
Herro thought back. "I... raised them. Palms forward. Like I was pushing something away."
"There you go. That's probably your trigger. Palms forward, pushing motion. Next time you practice, start with that. See if it helps."
She opened the door, glancing back at him.
"Now get out. I need a nap."
Herro scrambled to his feet. "Right. Yeah. Thanks, Hilda. Really."
"Don't mention it." She paused, then added, "And Touya?"
"Yeah?"
"Stop apologizing for existing. It's annoying."
Before he could respond, she'd closed the door in his face.
Herro stood in the hallway for a moment, processing everything he'd just learned.
Terran Energy. Buckets. Draining. Practice. Triggers.
It was a lot. But it was more than he'd known an hour ago.
(Hilda's actually a pretty good teacher. Who knew?)
He started walking back toward his room, already thinking about how he'd practice later.
Palms forward. Pushing motion. Memorize the feeling.
(I can do this. I think. Maybe.)
(Yeah. I can do this.)
The next day.
Herro stepped out of his room and started walking… well, he wasn't entirely sure where he was supposed to be going.
(I suppose I can talk to Lyra. It's still insane that I live here now. Maybe sooner or later this place will actually start feeling like home.)
He moved with the brisk pace of someone brimming with determination.
The kitchen was empty. The living room was empty.
Actually…
No one seemed to have left their rooms since morning.
He pulled out his phone. Thursday.
Only to be met by one individual right behind him.
"Hello, Herro."
Herro jumped, startled, and spun around to find Dean standing there in his usual quiet way.
Dean's face remained mostly neutral, but the faint upward curve at the corners of his mouth suggested he might have enjoyed the scare—possibly on purpose, possibly not.
"Oh, hey Dean… Where is everybody? Yesterday we were all out for breakfast."
"If Lyra doesn't make it known that she plans on training or doing something as a group, everyone just stays in their own rooms."
"Oh. Don't you guys have stuff to do? Like… you have that mission board in the common room."
"Well, considering our low member count, we can't really get things done at the same pace other family units do."
"'Low member count'?"
Dean nodded, his expression remaining placid. "We have seven people total, including you. Most Family Units operate with anywhere from twenty to forty active members."
Herro blinked. "Twenty to—wait. We're supposed to have how many?"
"Well-funded units typically maintain rosters between twenty and forty personnel. The Empire considers that the standard operational capacity for a sanctioned Family." Dean's tone was matter-of-fact, like he was reciting information from a textbook. "We have seven."
"That's..." Herro tried to do the math. "That's less than a third of the minimum?"
"Less than a third of the average minimum, yes." Dean started walking down the hallway, gesturing for Herro to follow. "The Empire mandates that Family Units maintain at least six active members to retain their sanctioned status. Drop below that number, and you're automatically disbanded."
(Six. We're literally one person away from being shut down.)
"So we're basically operating on the edge of dissolution at all times?"
"Correct." Dean said it so calmly that Herro almost missed how terrifying that statement actually was. "Though to be fair, we've been at this roster size for about eight months now. Lyra's gotten quite good at convincing the Imperial oversight board that we're 'actively recruiting' whenever they send inspection notices."
"Are we actively recruiting?"
"No."
"Oh."
They turned a corner, heading down toward the second floor. Herro noticed Dean moved with the same quiet grace he always did—footsteps barely audible, presence easily forgotten if you weren't paying attention.
"Why don't we have more people?" Herro asked. "I mean, I know we're poor, but—"
"Because Lyra is exceptionally selective about who she allows into the unit." Dean's voice carried a hint of something that might have been approval. "Most Family Leaders will accept anyone with a pulse and a Gear because they need the numbers to stay operational. Lyra refuses to compromise on personnel quality, even when it puts us at risk of disbandment."
"That seems... irresponsible?"
"Perhaps. But it also means everyone here was chosen specifically because Lyra believed they belonged here. Not because we needed warm bodies to meet Imperial quotas." Dean glanced at him. "You, for instance. Lyra could have rejected your transfer and let you serve your sentence elsewhere. She didn't have to take you."
Herro hadn't thought about it that way. "Why did she take me?"
"You'd have to ask her. Though I suspect it has something to do with Nate vouching for you, and Lyra trusting Nate's judgment more than she trusts most things." Dean paused at a stairwell. "That, and she probably saw something in your file that made her think you were worth the trouble."
(Something in my file. Great. My criminal record is apparently my resume now.)
They descended to the second floor, and Herro noticed the atmosphere was different here—quieter, more serious. The walls were bare compared to the photo-covered chaos of the first floor common room.
"So what do we do when there aren't missions?" Herro asked, trying to keep the conversation going. "Just... stay in our rooms?"
"More or less. Some of us train individually. JJ works on maintaining our tech systems and monitoring communications. Hilda usually works out or patrols the neighborhood. Rosa sometimes goes into the city to handle public relations."
"Public relations?"
"Making sure people know we exist and that we're worth donating to." Dean's expression turned slightly rueful. "Family Units survive almost entirely on public donations. If civilians don't know who we are or don't think we're doing good work, we don't eat."
Herro absorbed this information with growing unease. Every new detail about how Ironhide operated made the whole situation seem more precarious.
"That sounds... stressful."
"It is. Though Lyra handles the stress by drinking and delegating everything to Nate, so from her perspective it's quite manageable."
Despite himself, Herro laughed. Dean's deadpan delivery made it impossible not to.
"You're funnier than I expected."
"Thank you. I practice in the mirror." Dean said it so seriously that Herro couldn't tell if he was joking or not.
They walked in comfortable silence for a moment before Dean spoke again.
"You're adjusting well, by the way."
"Am I?" Herro wasn't sure he agreed with that assessment. He'd been here barely three days and still felt like he was fumbling through every interaction.
"You survived your first mission without panicking. You're making an effort to understand how the unit functions. You're not complaining about the living conditions or demanding special treatment." Dean's silver eyes studied him. "Many people in your position would be significantly less... cooperative."
"I mean, it's not like I have much choice."
"You'd be surprised how many people make their lack of choice everyone else's problem." Dean's tone remained neutral, but there was weight behind the words. "The fact that you're trying to fit in rather than making everyone else accommodate you speaks well of your character."
Herro felt his face heat slightly. Compliments still caught him off-guard.
"I just... I don't want to be a burden. Everyone here has their own stuff to deal with. I don't want to make things harder."
"That attitude is exactly why Lyra let you join." Dean stopped in front of a door that had faint sounds coming from behind it—rhythmic impacts, like someone hitting something repeatedly. "Most people who end up in Family Units through the Rehabilitation Mandate are angry, resentful, and convinced the system is punishing them unfairly. Even the ones who genuinely committed crimes tend to think they don't deserve the consequences."
"And I do deserve consequences?"
"I didn't say that." Dean's expression softened slightly. "But you're not acting like the world owes you something. You're not treating this as a prison sentence you're being forced to endure. You're trying to make it work. That's rare."
Before Herro could respond, Dean pushed the door open.
The room beyond was clearly a training space—smaller than the main training room they'd used yesterday, but still sizable. Worn mats covered the floor. A heavy bag hung in one corner. Free weights lined one wall.
And in the center of the room, Lyra Ironside was doing pull-ups on a bar mounted near the ceiling.
She was shirtless—just a sports bra and cargo pants—and the sight of her muscular back and shoulders flexing with each repetition made Herro immediately look away, face burning.
(Why. Why is she always half-naked. This is a professional workplace. Sort of.)
"Forty-seven... forty-eight..." Lyra's voice was steady, showing no strain despite the fact that she was doing pull-ups with what appeared to be a weighted vest strapped to her torso. "Forty-nine... fifty."
She dropped from the bar, landing with a heavy thud, and turned to face them.
"Dean. Touya." She grabbed a towel from a nearby bench and wiped sweat from her face. "What's up?"
"I brought Herro to see you," Dean said simply. "As you requested."
"I requested?" Herro looked between them, confused.
"I may have neglected to mention that part." Dean's expression was perfectly innocent. "My apologies."
(He did that on purpose. He absolutely did that on purpose.)
Lyra tossed the towel aside and walked over to a water bottle, downing half of it in one go. She looked at Herro with those slate-gray eyes that always seemed simultaneously exhausted and intensely focused.
"You settling in okay, kid?"
"I... yeah. I think so."
"Good." She set the water bottle down. "We need to talk about your status."
Herro's stomach dropped. "My... status?"
"Relax. You're not in trouble." Lyra grabbed her jacket from where it was draped over a weight bench and shrugged it on—much to Herro's relief. "But we need to clarify something. Right now, you're not officially official."
"I don't understand."
Lyra sighed and gestured for him to sit on one of the benches. Dean remained standing, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
"Okay. So. The Gear Offender Rehabilitation Mandate is a bureaucratic nightmare," Lyra began, sitting across from him. "When you got released from detention, they transferred your case to us with a temporary authorization. That first mission you went on? Technically a trial run."
"A trial run?"
"Yeah. To see if you could handle field work without getting yourself or someone else killed." She pulled a cigarette from her jacket pocket but didn't light it, just rolled it between her fingers. "You passed. Congrats. But passing the trial doesn't automatically make you a full member."
Herro felt his anxiety ratcheting up. "So I'm... what? On probation?"
"Sort of. The Empire classifies you as Pending Youth." Lyra said the term like it tasted bad. "It's their designation for anyone under seventeen who's part of a Family Unit but hasn't been fully processed yet."
"I'm seventeen."
"You turned seventeen four months ago. The Imperial system updates ages annually on January first. According to their records, you're still sixteen until the calendar rolls over." Lyra's expression was flat. "Bureaucracy is stupid. Welcome to the Empire."
Dean spoke up from his position against the wall. "Pending Youth status means you're allowed to train with the unit and participate in missions under supervision, but you're not considered a full roster member for legal purposes."
"Which means," Lyra continued, "we need to file about forty different forms, get approval from three separate Imperial offices, submit your medical records, psychological evaluation, combat assessment, and a bunch of other tedious bullshit before you're officially on the books."
Herro's chest tightened. "And if we don't file all that stuff?"
"Then technically, you're still a ward of the detention system and they could recall you at any time." Lyra finally lit her cigarette, took a long drag, and exhaled smoke toward the ceiling. "Which is why we're going to file all that stuff. Eventually."
"Eventually?"
"Nate handles paperwork. I'll tell him to do it." She waved her hand dismissively. "Point is, don't stress about it. You're not going anywhere."
"But you just said—"
"I said technically they could recall you. In practice, the Imperial oversight system is so backlogged and understaffed that they won't notice we haven't filed your permanent transfer documents for at least six months. By the time they do notice, Nate will have everything processed and submitted." Lyra looked at him directly. "You're a member of Ironhide, Touya. The paperwork is just formality."
"Are you sure?"
"Kid, I've been running this unit for two years. I know how to work the system." She tapped ash off her cigarette. "Besides, even if they did try to pull you back, I'd tell them to fuck off. You're ours now. I don't give people back."
The casual certainty in her voice was oddly reassuring.
Dean pushed off from the wall. "What Lyra is trying to say, in her characteristically blunt way, is that you're part of the family. The Imperial designation is irrelevant."
"Family is in the name," Lyra added with a slight smirk. "Rosa say that to you yet?"
"She did, actually."
"Course she did. Kid's obsessed with that line." Lyra stood up, stretching her arms above her head. Her spine popped audibly. "Anyway. That's the situation. You're Pending Youth on paper, full member in practice. Don't worry about it."
"And the paperwork—"
"Nate will handle it. That's what I pay him for." She paused. "Well, I don't actually pay him. None of us get paid. But it's what he does, and he's very good at it."
Herro couldn't help but smile despite his lingering anxiety. "You really just delegate everything, don't you?"
"Delegation is a leadership skill, Touya. I'm an exceptional leader." She said it so seriously that it was clearly a joke. Probably. "Now get out of here. I've got another fifty pull-ups to do and you're making me lose count by existing in my vicinity."
Dean gestured toward the door. "Come on. I'll show you where we keep the spare training equipment."
As they left the room, Herro glanced back to see Lyra jumping back up to grab the pull-up bar, resuming her workout like the conversation had never happened.
(She's so weird. But also... kind of reassuring? In a bizarre, dysfunctional way.)
They walked down the hallway in silence for a moment before Herro spoke.
"Does she always talk like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like... everything's fine and nothing matters and also she could snap your spine if you annoyed her enough."
Dean smiled—actually smiled, which was rare enough that Herro noticed. "That's just Lyra. She cares a lot more than she pretends to. She's just very bad at expressing it in conventional ways."
"I noticed."
"The fact that she took time to explain your status instead of just telling Nate to handle it means she wanted you to hear it directly from her. So you'd know you weren't going anywhere." Dean's tone was gentle. "That's about as emotionally vulnerable as Lyra gets."
Herro thought about that. About Lyra taking time out of her workout to reassure him. About her casual certainty that he belonged here.
You're ours now. I don't give people back.
"She's a good leader, isn't she?"
"One of the best I've ever known." Dean said it without hesitation. "She's just also a disaster as a human being. The two things coexist."
They reached the first floor and Dean led him toward a storage closet Herro hadn't noticed before.
"So what happens now?" Herro asked. "Do I just... wait for Nate to file the paperwork?"
"Essentially, yes. In the meantime, you train, you go on missions when we have them, and you get used to living here." Dean opened the closet, revealing shelves of training equipment—pads, gloves, weights, resistance bands. "Your day-to-day life doesn't change. You're just aware now that there's administrative bureaucracy happening in the background."
"And if something goes wrong with the paperwork?"
"Then Lyra will yell at Nate, Nate will fix it, and you'll never know there was a problem." Dean handed him a pair of training gloves. "Trust the system. Or more accurately, trust Nate to navigate the system on your behalf."
Herro took the gloves, turning them over in his hands.
"This is all so much more complicated than I thought it would be."
"Family Units are complicated by design. The Empire wants us functional enough to be useful but disorganized enough to never become a threat." Dean's expression turned contemplative. "The fact that we manage to survive despite the system working against us is testament to everyone's determination."
"Or stubbornness."
"Often the same thing." Dean closed the closet door. "You should probably check on your room. Rosa mentioned something about wanting to help you 'decorate' and I suspect she's already started without your permission."
Herro's eyes widened. "She's in my room?"
"Almost certainly."
"Right now?"
"I would estimate a seventy percent probability."
Herro was already moving toward the stairs.
Dean's quiet laugh followed him up to the third floor.
(This place is insane. Everyone here is insane. And somehow I'm supposed to just... fit in?)
But as he climbed the stairs, Herro realized something.
He was starting to.....at least.
END OF CHAPTER 9