The obstacle course was a graveyard of twisted metal and floating debris, suspended in a cavernous chamber at the station's core. Platforms shifted without warning. Barriers dropped from the ceiling. And circling above, drones fired non-lethal rounds at any cadet who moved too slow or broke formation.
Renne stood at the entrance, Argent looming behind her. Around her, cadets formed into squads, their mechas gleaming under the floodlights. She saw the nobles cluster together, their voices low, their laughter sharp. Citizens grouped by nationality or shared background. No one stood near her.
She felt it like a physical weight—the space around her was wider than necessary, the glances shorter, the whispers just loud enough to catch.
"—should have been expelled—"
"—nearly killed Lord Vorn's nephew—"
"—Indent trash, what did you expect—"
She kept her face blank. Her hands were steady at her sides. She had learned on Mars that showing hurt was an invitation. So she didn't.
Eris appeared beside her, breathless. "They're pairing us randomly. I got squad three with a bunch of nobles." She lowered her voice. "You're with squad seven."
Renne looked at the assignment board on her bracelet. Squad seven was a mix of citizens and one noble. She scrolled the names and stopped.
Zade Aethel.
"Great," she muttered.
Eris winced. "Maybe he won't talk to you?"
Renne didn't answer. She walked toward the staging area for squad seven, her boots loud on the metal floor. The other members were already there—three citizens she didn't know, and Zade, standing apart from them, his arms crossed.
He looked at her when she approached. His pale blue eyes were unreadable, but they didn't hold the contempt she expected. He just watched, the same way he had in the hangar after the Overclock.
"You're late," he said.
"I'm on time." She checked her bracelet. "You're early."
The three citizens exchanged glances. One of them, a tall boy with a shaved head, stepped forward. "Look, no offense, but we don't want a repeat of last week. Can you control that thing?"
Renne met his eyes. "Yes."
"Because if it goes berserk again—"
"It won't."
Her voice was flat, final. The boy opened his mouth, but Zade cut him off.
"She said it won't." His tone was cold, brooking no argument. "We have two minutes to clear the first sector. Focus."
The boy closed his mouth. Renne shot a glance at Zade, but he was already walking toward his mecha—a sleek white unit with gold trim, its canopy already open.
She climbed into Argent's cockpit and strapped in. The connection came easier now—a steady hum, a familiar presence. She felt Argent's anima brush against her consciousness, cautious but present.
'No surges,' she thought. 'Just follow the course.'
---
The course began with a vertical ascent through a shaft of moving platforms. Renne guided Argent upward, matching the rhythm of the shifting metal. Her movements were slower than Zade's, who was already three platforms ahead, his mecha flowing through the obstacles like water.
She didn't try to match his speed. She focused on her own control, on the feedback from Argent's limbs, on the steady pulse of the connection.
Above her, she heard the crack of drone fire. A cadet from squad four screamed as a stun round clipped their mecha's shoulder, sending them spinning into a wall. The impact echoed through the chamber. Medical drones were already moving toward the wreck.
Renne didn't look. She kept moving.
The second sector was a maze of floating barriers that moved in random patterns. Renne weaved through them, her movements precise. The citizens in her squad were behind her, struggling with the tighter gaps. Zade was ahead, already clearing the exit.
She was halfway through when a barrier shifted faster than she anticipated. She had to brake hard, Argent's leg scraping against a metal beam. The screech echoed through the chamber.
Her spine tingled—a warning. The nanomachines were responding to her spike of adrenaline.
She breathed. Slowed her heart. Let the connection settle.
The warning faded. She moved forward again, slipping through the gap with a fraction of space to spare.
Then a scream tore through the comms—not from her squad. She looked down.
A cadet from squad two, a girl in a gray mecha, had misjudged a platform shift. Her mecha's foot slipped off the edge, and it tipped backward, arms flailing. Below her, a gap of thirty meters opened onto a bed of exposed machinery. If she fell, the impact would crush the cockpit.
Renne's body moved before her mind caught up.
She dropped Argent through a gap in the barriers, ignoring the screech of metal against metal. Her mecha's arm shot out, grabbing the falling mecha by its wrist. The weight yanked Argent sideways, its feet scraping against the platform edge.
The platform edge crumbled.
Renne felt the metal give way under Argent's left foot. Her mecha lurched, its grip on the other mecha slipping. The girl screamed again.
"Hold on!" Renne shouted, though she didn't know if her comm was open.
She threw Argent's other arm forward, wrapping it around the falling mecha's torso. The extra weight dragged Argent further over the edge. Its right foot slid. Sparks flew as metal grated against metal.
The connection in her spine flared—pain, sharp and immediate. She felt the nanomachines strain, felt Argent's anima surge in response to her desperation.
'No,' she snarled in her mind. 'Hold. We hold.'
She locked her control arms, forcing the connection to stabilize. The flare subsided to a dull burn, but Argent's feet kept slipping. The platform edge was disintegrating under them.
Below, the exposed machinery hummed, waiting.
Renne's arms screamed. Sweat dripped into her eyes. She could feel Argent's joints straining, the old servos whining under the pressure.
'We're going to fall,' she thought. 'We're both going to fall.'
Then Zade's mecha appeared above her. Its white armor gleamed as it dropped to one knee on a stable section of the platform. One arm extended, grabbing Argent's shoulder.
"Pull," his voice came through the comm, calm and cold.
Renne pulled. Zade's mecha hauled backward, and together they dragged the falling mecha back onto solid metal. The three mechas crashed onto the platform, the impact shaking the entire section.
For a moment, no one moved.
The girl's voice came through the comm, barely a whisper. "I—I thought I was dead."
Renne didn't answer. Her hands were locked on the controls, her knuckles white. The burn in her spine was fading, but her whole body was shaking.
Zade's mecha straightened. "Get moving," he said to the girl. "Before the next shift."
Her mecha scrambled upright and lurched toward the exit. Renne watched her go, then looked at Zade's mecha.
"You came back," she said.
"You were about to go over." A pause. "You grabbed her even though you knew it would pull you down."
Renne's jaw tightened. "She would have died."
"She would have." His voice was quiet. "You didn't hesitate. And you held the surge."
She didn't know what to say to that. She sat in the cockpit, her heart still hammering, and watched Zade's mecha turn and move into the next sector.
---
After the course, Renne sat in the locker room, her uniform damp with sweat. The other cadets had filed out, their voices fading down the corridor. She was alone.
She pressed her palm against the small of her back, where the implant site throbbed. The doctors had said it would take weeks for the tissue to fully integrate. She didn't have weeks.
The locker room door opened. She looked up.
Zade stood in the doorway, still in his uniform, his platinum hair damp from his own shower. He didn't step inside. He just stood there, watching her.
"The cadet you saved. Her name is Mira. Citizen from Europa." He paused. "Her family will hear that a noble's mecha pulled her up. That's what the official report will say."
Renne's hands stilled. "You're covering for me."
"I'm protecting you." His voice was flat. "If the nobles knew an Indent with an unstable mecha saved a citizen, they'd find a reason to expel you. Or worse."
She stood, grabbing her bag. "Why do you care?"
He didn't answer immediately. When he spoke, his voice was lower. "Because you're different from the other Indent who come through here. They either break or they grovel. You do neither. And today, you risked yourself for someone you didn't know."
She walked toward the door. He didn't move out of the way.
"What do you want from me?" she asked, stopping inches from him.
His pale blue eyes held hers. "To understand why a rusted mecha that rejected everyone for seven years chose you."
"Maybe it's just as broken as I am," she said. "Maybe that's why we fit."
For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Not contempt. Not curiosity. Something older, something that looked like recognition.
Then he stepped aside. "Tomorrow, the advanced course. Try not to lag."
She walked past him without looking back. But she felt his gaze on her until she turned the corner.
---
At midnight, Renne was in her room, staring at the data slate the unknown sender had left.
She had spent the evening trying to trace its origin, but the device was clean—no markers, no transmission logs, no connection to the academy's network. It was a ghost.
She set it on her bedside table and lay down, closing her eyes.
Sleep came slowly. When it did, it was filled with images: the child suffocating on Mars, her father's hands raised, the falling mecha reaching for her, the platform crumbling under Argent's feet, Zade's hand pulling her back from the edge.
She woke with a gasp, her heart pounding.
The slate was glowing.
She sat up, grabbing it. The screen displayed a single line of text:
*Check your bracelet. Now.*
Renne's hand moved to her wrist. The silver band was cool against her skin. She tapped the interface, expecting the usual sleep-cycle display.
Instead, a video feed appeared.
It was dark, grainy, shot from a camera somewhere in the academy. The image showed a vault door—massive, black, with the seven-pointed star of the Imperium embossed on its surface. Sector 7, Level 12. The Academy Vault.
The door was opening.
Renne's breath caught. She watched as the heavy bolts retracted, the door swinging inward on silent hinges. Beyond it, rows of shelves lined with confiscated items—weapons, data slates, personal effects.
A single shelf slid out, extended by a robotic arm. On it, a small gray data chip.
The chip was glowing. Blue light pulsed from its surface, rhythmic, steady. The same pulse she had seen on Mars, the night the Imperium came.
She stared at the screen, her fingers digging into the slate's edges.
The video feed zoomed in. The chip's glow intensified, and for a moment, she could almost hear it—a hum, faint but familiar, like a voice calling from a great distance.
Then the feed cut to black.
New text appeared on the slate:
*Your father's chip is still active. It's waiting for you. But you can't reach it alone. Six days left. Today was interesting. You're learning to trust your instincts. Keep that.*
Renne stared at the slate. Her mind was a storm of questions, but one thought rose above the rest.
'Six days. A noble's clearance.'
Her thoughts went to Zade. The way he had watched her today. The way he had covered for her. The way he had pulled her back from the edge.
'Can I trust him?'
She didn't know. But she was running out of time. And whoever was sending these messages knew more about her than anyone should.
She set the slate down and lay back, staring at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, she would ask a noble for help.
And that might be the most dangerous thing she had done yet.
Trust was a risk. But she was running out of options.