Chapter 6: Fractures in the Mind

Chapter 6: Fractures in the Mind

Section 1 — Fractures in the Glass

The interrogation room was empty now, but Nathan could still feel the weight of the prisoner’s words lingering like smoke that clung to his clothes. The amber light above flickered faintly, throwing the steel table into a jagged shadow. He’d sat in that chair for what felt like hours, yet time had been a blur — moments stretching and collapsing until they no longer made sense.

The door hissed open, and Raze stepped inside. His usual sharp, disciplined movements were softer this time, but there was something in his eyes that told Nathan he’d been watching closely during the interrogation.

“Corvus wants you in the debriefing room,” Raze said, his voice low.

Nathan followed him down the corridor — sterile walls lined with faintly glowing panels that pulsed every few seconds, like the heartbeat of the compound itself. The air was cool, recycled, with a faint metallic tang that reminded him of the Enhanced’s scent. He caught himself clenching his fists.

The debriefing room was already half full. Corvus stood at the head of the table, flanked by two senior operatives — Lyra, with her ever-calculating eyes, and Kael, whose expression betrayed nothing but quiet judgment. Screens along the wall displayed footage from the interrogation, paused mid-frame on the prisoner’s unsettling smile.

“Sit,” Corvus ordered without looking at him.

Nathan obeyed, his gaze flicking briefly toward Lyra. She didn’t smile, but there was something in her eyes — an acknowledgment, maybe even concern.

Corvus pressed a button, and the room filled with the prisoner’s voice.
“Because you’re incomplete. And because when you finish changing, you’ll be the only one who can stop what’s coming — or the one who ensures it happens.”

The silence afterward was heavier than the words themselves.

Kael broke it first. “We don’t know what that means yet. Could be manipulation, could be prophecy. Could be nothing.”

Nathan leaned forward. “It wasn’t nothing.”

Corvus’s gaze snapped to him, sharp and cutting. “Explain.”

“I could feel it,” Nathan said. “Every word. He wasn’t guessing. He knew something about me — something I don’t even know yet.”

“You’re not the first Enhanced to think an enemy prisoner was speaking truth,” Kael replied. “It’s what they’re trained to do. Get in your head. Make you doubt your command.”

Nathan met his gaze, unflinching. “Then why did he know things no one outside this facility should know?”

Kael didn’t answer.

Corvus finally spoke. “We’ll continue the analysis. For now, your training intensifies. No missions until further notice.”

Nathan froze. “You’re sidelining me?”

“You’re unpredictable,” Corvus said flatly. “That makes you dangerous to the mission — and to yourself.”

The words stung more than he expected. He glanced toward Lyra again, hoping for some sign she disagreed, but her face had gone cold, unreadable.

Section 2 — The Spark and the Fuse

They took his weapons first.

“Hands,” Raze said, tossing Nathan a pair of low-profile shock gloves. “We’re going old school.”

The training hall had been rearranged overnight. The spring floors were gone, replaced by a grid of pressure plates and foamless mats that turned every misstep into a bruise. Drones traced quiet arcs overhead, their optics blinking in metronomic time. Along the catwalk, Lyra and Kael watched with the measured stillness of statues, datapads turned to him like mirrors.

“Three-on-one,” Raze called. “Rotating partners. No breaks.”

They came hard. Fast footwork, feints that would fool most operators, angles designed to steal breath and balance. Nathan slipped, pivoted, cut space. The world narrowed to vectors and timing—micro-tilts in shoulders, a twitch at the corner of a mouth, the tiny flood of breath before a strike. He was there before they were. Palms rode forearms, hips turned, weight vanished beneath him. A heel hooked; a body went weightless and then thudded down. Another opponent knifed in from the blindside—Nathan wasn’t there anymore.

“Again,” Raze said, voice flat.

Again. And again. The drones dipped lower, projecting faint light-frames around Nathan’s silhouette, tracing latency, reaction, balance, intent. On Lyra’s screen, his profile turned strange: response curves flattening, deltas collapsing toward zero, a line where there should be noise.

“Listen to your breath,” Raze said. “Not the room.”

He did. Breath in—three counts; breath out—five. But the room snuck back in anyway: the hiss of hydraulics behind the west wall, the camera servo complaining in the far corner, the minute pressure change of a door opening two corridors away. He could taste the copper in the air from someone’s split lip. He didn’t have to look to know it wasn’t his.

The third rotation broke formation. A taller recruit with a boxer’s rhythm—Merrin—circled closer than the drill called for. “What are you, Reyes?” he said under his breath. “Raze’s pet project? Or Corvus’s new collectible?”

“Eyes on hands,” Raze snapped from the edge. “Not on feelings.”

Merrin smiled without warmth. “Just asking the man a question.”

They clashed; Merrin tried to crowd him, to make the fight ugly. Nathan let him in, then took the space away—elbow, turn, shoulder-drag—Merrin stumbled, swore, came back hotter.

From the catwalk, Kael’s voice drifted down. “His anticipatory index just spiked again.”

Lyra didn’t answer. She was watching Nathan’s jaw, not his feet.

Another pair rotated in. Sweat turned the floor slick; the drones recalibrated with a faint chirp. Nathan’s hands moved almost lazily now, the way current moves around a stone. He countered before impact was born, cut angles before intent had a name.

“Enough,” Raze called, stepping forward. “Cool down laps.”

The room exhaled. Nathan did not. His lungs were working, but the pressure under his ribs wouldn’t move; the word the prisoner had left in him—incomplete—had swollen into something with edges.

On the second lap, Merrin drifted alongside him. Not by accident.

“Eight months, right?” Merrin said, just loud enough. “Since your place burned? Heard the whispers. Heard you ran.”

Nathan’s pace didn’t change. The hall ticked by in measured panels of light.

“Some of us fought to keep ours breathing,” Merrin went on. “Some of us weren’t fast enough. But we didn’t run.”

Raze’s head turned, a subtle warning. Merrin didn’t see it. Or didn’t care.

“Tell me, Reyes—when it mattered, did you hide behind a wall and listen?”

The thing under Nathan’s ribs turned.

“It’s done,” Raze said, voice cutting across the track. “Hit the showers.”

Merrin took one more step. “Or maybe you’re just good at surviving other people’s endings.”

The lights seemed to draw closer. Sound flattened into a single tone. Nathan’s breath went silent in his own ears. He didn’t remember choosing to stop. He remembered Merrin’s eyes, the small flare of triumph in them, like a match struck in a crowded room.

Then he moved.

It wasn’t the clean geometry of drills. It was rupture. Space folded; distance disappeared. Nathan’s forearm met Merrin’s throat—not crushing, but establishing. A heel pinned a toe; a shoulder erased balance. The wall met Merrin’s back with a hollow drum-sound. The drones screamed objection and climbed.

“Nathan.” Raze’s voice, closer now.

Merrin swung from panic, wild, and Nathan was already elsewhere, slapping the force aside, returning it in two short, disciplined bursts to ribs and solar plexus. The shock gloves snapped, blue-white along the knuckles. The sound was small. Merrin bent, airless.

“Nathan.” Firmer.

Another hand reached in to pull him off—one of the other recruits—and Nathan’s body rejected the contact before mind caught up. He pivoted, caught the wrist, locked the elbow in a mechanical hinge that promised damage if it continued. The recruit gasped, went still.

“Reyes.” Raze was at his shoulder now, not touching, not yet. “Stand down.”

The room returned in shivers: the burn of his forearms, the clean terror in the recruit’s breath, the metallic scent of the shock gloves cooling, the drone optics like tiny moons overhead. Nathan released the arm. Merrin slid down the wall, coughing.

Silence held. Then a door opened on the catwalk.

“Everyone out,” Corvus said.

Feet scraped. No one argued. Raze didn’t move.

Corvus descended the stairs without hurry, the space making room for him. He stopped an arm’s length away from Nathan. Those iron-gray eyes took everything in—the posture, the hands still open and empty, the twitch at the angle of a jaw, the brightness that hadn’t yet left Nathan’s pupils.

“What did you hear?” Corvus asked quietly.

Nathan blinked. “What?”

“Just now. What did you hear, before you moved?”

Nathan looked at Merrin, then back. “Nothing.” He swallowed. “Everything.”

Corvus nodded once, as if that was an answer worth keeping. “Raze.”

Raze stepped in. “Bag, gloves. Walk.”

They crossed the corridor in a close formation that wasn’t quite an escort and wasn’t quite trust. Through the glass, the base went about its rotations: shipments rolling, med techs charting vitals, two scouts arguing softly over a map that refused to obey roads. Nathan cataloged it without wanting to. He could feel the temperature gradient shift between junctions, could tell which door seals were newer by the octave of their hiss.

In the ready room, Raze set the gloves down, not unkindly. “He wanted under your skin,” he said. “He got what he wanted. Don’t give freebies.”

Nathan stared at his hands. They looked the same. They didn’t feel the same.

Corvus leaned against the table’s edge. “You have a choice,” he said. “Let what’s changing in you make you a weapon other people aim. Or make it a craft you choose.”

Nathan felt the ramp rippling inside him again, the sense that if he didn’t run he would break and if he didn’t break he would burn. “He said I ran.”

Corvus’s answer was immediate. “You lived.”

Raze scratched at the old scar along his knuckles. “Merrin’s got a mouth. I’ll close it. But the next time someone reaches in there—” he tapped Nathan’s sternum, one knuckle gentle, “—they don’t get to decide who walks out.”

The door clicked. Elara stood in the frame, eyes sweeping the room in one fast cut. She took in Merrin’s absence, the gloves, Nathan’s posture. No judgment. Just math, and something else beneath it.

“You’re needed in Comms,” she told Corvus. Then, to Nathan, softer: “Walk?”

Corvus waved them out. “Ten minutes. Then back here.”

They took the long corridor that cut along the outer wall. Beyond the polyglass, rain stitched silver lines over the city’s spine. Elara didn’t speak until they hit the alcove by the east stair, a pocket of quiet where the hum of the base dimmed.

“He shouldn’t have said it,” she murmured.

“I shouldn’t have answered.” Nathan’s voice was rawer than he liked.

“Maybe.” She tilted her head, studying him. “Did it help?”

“No.”

“Then we try something else.” A beat. “What did it feel like? Right before.”

He had to hunt for words. “Like the room narrowed to a wire. Like—I could step on it, or it would cut me.”

Elara’s mouth tipped in acknowledgment. “When it happens again—and it will—step off the wire. Not back. Sideways. Find an anchor.”

“What anchor?”

“You tell me.” She looked out at the rain. “For me, it’s numbers. For Raze, it’s breath. For Corvus—” she shrugged, “—it’s duty. For you… maybe it’s names.”

He knew which names she meant. The wire eased a hair.

Footsteps approached. Lyra slowed, eyeing them both. “Raze wants Reyes for sensor calibration,” she said. “And Merrin will live.” Her gaze held on Nathan. “Next time, prove you can hear without answering.”

After she left, Elara touched the door frame with one knuckle, a soft percussion. “You’re not broken,” she said. “You’re loud. We’ll tune it.”

He nodded, and for the first time all day the pressure under his ribs receded far enough to let him breathe without counting.

Back in the hall, the drones dipped as he passed, optics tracking. Somewhere deeper in the compound, a lock cycled—a tone he now recognized as coming from the cell block. Without meaning to, Nathan mapped the distance, the angle, the time on feet. The path from here to there lived in him like a thread.

He didn’t pull it.

Not yet.

Section 3 – Shadows Between Allies
The rain hadn’t let up by the time Nathan found himself in the mess hall. The overhead lamps cast a warm amber over the rows of steel tables, the air heavy with the scent of something vaguely resembling stew. Conversation hummed low, punctuated by the clink of cutlery and the occasional laugh from the corner table where the recon unit sat.

He picked the farthest seat along the wall. Old habits—eyes to the room, back to something solid.

Across the hall, Lyra slid into a seat beside Elara. They spoke in low tones, glancing toward him twice—once quickly, once longer. Raze sat near the food line, arms folded, as if deciding whether to eat or break up a fight that hadn’t happened yet. Merrin wasn’t anywhere in sight, though Nathan could feel the ghost of his earlier words like smoke clinging to the back of his throat.

A tray clattered down beside him. He looked up to find Kael sitting there, a crooked half-smile pulling at his face.

“You’ve got a look,” Kael said, stabbing his fork into the stew. “Like you’re chewing glass.”

“I’m fine,” Nathan said.

Kael snorted. “That’s what everyone says before they start flipping tables.”

Nathan smirked despite himself, but it faded quickly. “You ever… not know if you’re the same person you were yesterday?”

“All the time.” Kael’s gaze flicked to the side. “But here’s the trick—you’re not. None of us are. Pretending we are is how we go crazy.”

Nathan rolled that over in his mind. “What about when it’s not just change—when it feels like something’s being built inside you, whether you want it or not?”

Kael’s fork paused midair. “Then you better make sure you’re the one deciding what it’s for.”

From across the hall, Elara rose and started toward them. Her steps were steady, unhurried, but her eyes were locked on Nathan like she could see the turbulence under his skin.

“You didn’t eat,” she said when she reached the table.

“I will.”

“You won’t.” She pulled the empty seat across from him, leaning forward on her elbows. “So I’m sitting here until you do.”

He wanted to tell her she didn’t need to babysit him, but something in the quiet firmness of her voice stopped him. He picked up his spoon.

“That’s better,” she said, but she didn’t look away. “Kael, switch.”

Kael grinned. “Bossy,” he muttered, sliding over one seat.

They ate in silence for a while, but it wasn’t awkward. Elara had a way of being present without pressing, like she could occupy the space without making it feel crowded. Nathan realized he liked that.

Halfway through, she said softly, “I saw you in training.”

“I figured.”

Her eyes searched his face. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Then I’ll wait.”

That should’ve been the end of it, but the words stuck with him, warm in a way that unsettled him. He wondered if she’d always been like that, or if she was making a choice with him.

From the other side of the room, Lyra’s voice cut through the hum. “Reyes. With me.”

He glanced at Elara, who gave a small nod, then rose and followed Lyra down a side corridor.

The corridor was dimmer here, the hum of the base quieter, as if the walls themselves were listening. Lyra didn’t speak until they turned into a narrow observation deck overlooking the lower training floor.

“You’re better than you think,” she said without preamble. “But you’re also more dangerous than you realize.”

“Dangerous to who?”

She studied him for a beat too long. “That depends on you.”

Nathan leaned against the glass. “You sound like Corvus.”

Lyra’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. “Corvus sees what you could become. I see what you are now. And right now, you’re teetering.”

“That’s not news.”

She stepped closer. “It’s not a warning, either. It’s an invitation.”

The air between them shifted—charged, but not threatening. Nathan was suddenly aware of how close she stood, how her eyes, usually so unreadable, seemed to hold something unspoken. He looked away first.

“What kind of invitation?” he asked.

“One you’re not ready to answer,” she said. Then she stepped back, the moment closing like a door. “You should rest.”

When she left, the air felt cooler. Nathan stayed there a long moment, staring at the empty training floor below. It felt like the whole base was pressing in—not with weight, but with possibilities he hadn’t asked for.

That night, sleep didn’t come easily. He lay in the narrow bunk, staring at the ceiling. His mind kept running over the day—Merrin’s smirk, the snap of the gloves, Elara’s steady gaze, Lyra’s unreadable eyes. Somewhere beneath it all, the memory of his family lingered—not sharp enough to cut, but deep enough to ache.

And for the first time in months, he wasn’t sure if he wanted the ache to fade.

Section 4 – Corvus’s Warning
The base had gone quiet by the time Nathan left the bunk.

He wasn’t sure what dragged him out of bed — the restlessness in his chest, the gnawing ache in his jaw from grinding his teeth, or the distant hum of the ventilation system that suddenly felt too loud, too constant. He wandered the corridors barefoot, the cold floor biting into his skin, until he reached the observation deck again.

The training floor below was empty, the dim safety lights painting the mats in dull stripes of shadow. He leaned against the railing, fingers drumming, trying to focus on the simple rhythm of movement. But the stillness in his mind didn’t come.

Instead, memories began to leak in.

He saw the kitchen table from a year ago, sunlight spilling in through the blinds, his mother’s hands wrapped around a coffee mug she never finished. His father’s laugh, low and warm, filling the space. His sister’s messy hair and the way she always hummed when she ate breakfast. A thousand tiny details — small enough to forget if you didn’t cling to them, big enough to crush him if he did.

He pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes, forcing the images down.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

He turned sharply. Elara was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, a faint smile ghosting her lips. She was dressed down — no armor, no weapons, just a loose shirt and worn joggers — but she still carried herself like she could take on a small army without breaking stride.

“Something like that,” he muttered.

She stepped in, her footsteps quiet against the metal floor. “You’ve been… off, since the interrogation.”

Nathan let out a short laugh. “You noticed.”

“I notice everything.” She moved to stand beside him at the railing, close enough for her shoulder to almost brush his. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He hesitated. He’d been dodging this moment for weeks — months, if you counted the time before he met her. The rule had always been simple: keep it buried, keep moving. But her presence chipped at the edges of that resolve, and suddenly he was too tired to hold the pieces together.

“They’re gone,” he said quietly.

Elara glanced at him. “Your family?”

He nodded. “Almost a year now. I’ve been pretending it’s not there, that I can just… run forward and not look back. But it’s always there. Waiting.”

Her voice softened. “What happened?”

Nathan’s throat tightened. “They didn’t make it out when Sector 3 fell. I wasn’t even there. I was on the other side of the city. By the time I got back…” He stopped. The words weren’t enough.

Her hand touched his arm lightly. “Nathan—”

Something inside him cracked. The pressure that had been building — all the grief, the rage, the guilt — surged up and burned through his restraint.

“I should have been there!” His voice rose, echoing in the empty room. “I could have stopped it. I could have—” He slammed a fist into the railing hard enough to rattle the glass. “Instead I’m here, playing soldier, letting people like Merrin poke at me like I’m some broken toy. And you all wonder why I’m on edge.”

Elara didn’t flinch. “No one thinks you’re broken.”

He gave a bitter laugh. “You think I don’t hear it? The whispers? That I’m unstable? Dangerous? Maybe they’re right. Maybe I am.”

Before she could answer, the door hissed open behind them. Merrin stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Well,” Merrin drawled, “looks like I caught the golden boy having a meltdown.”

Nathan’s pulse spiked. “Not now.”

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” Merrin said, stepping forward. “Go ahead. Let it out. Show us all what a liability you really are.”

Something in Nathan’s vision narrowed — the corridor, the glass, the lights — all of it dimmed until there was only Merrin’s face and that damn smirk.

He moved before he realized it, crossing the space in two steps, grabbing Merrin by the collar and slamming him into the wall.

“You want to see it?” Nathan’s voice was low, dangerous. “You really want to see what happens when I stop holding back?”

Merrin’s smirk faltered, just slightly. “You’re proving my point.”

Nathan’s grip tightened, his knuckles white. A part of him screamed to stop, but the larger part — the louder part — wanted to hit him until that smug look never came back.

It was Elara’s voice that cut through.

“Nathan. Enough.”

Her tone wasn’t a shout, but it was sharp enough to pierce the haze. He released Merrin abruptly, stepping back. His hands shook. His chest heaved.

Merrin straightened his shirt, glaring. “This isn’t over.”

Nathan didn’t answer. He just turned and walked out, the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Section 5 – Ghosts in the Room
Nathan didn’t remember walking to the training hall.
One moment he was storming down the corridor, rage knotting in his chest like barbed wire, and the next he was standing barefoot on the cold mat, staring at the heavy bag like it had personally wronged him.

The room was dim, lit only by the pale strip lights along the upper walls. Shadows stretched across the floor, moving as if they breathed with him. It was silent. No other recruits. No noise. Just space to hit something until his body gave out.

He didn’t warm up. He went straight to the bag, planting his feet and slamming his fist into the thick leather. The chain rattled overhead. His knuckles ached immediately, but it didn’t slow him down.

Again.
Again.
Again.

Every strike was harder than the last, the sound of each impact mixing with the pounding in his ears. He thought of Merrin’s smirk, the prisoner’s cryptic words in Sector 12, the sound of his mother’s voice fading from memory. He thought of the fire, the smoke, the weight of loss pressing on his ribs.

The leather was slick under his knuckles now — sweat, maybe blood. He didn’t care.

“You’re going to tear something,” a voice said behind him. Smooth, low, but with a steel edge.

Nathan ignored it, landing another punishing blow that made the bag swing violently.

“I said—” the voice was closer now “—you’re going to tear something.”

Nathan turned sharply, chest heaving. Raze stood there in the shadows, her dark hair tied back, arms folded across her chest. The scar along her jaw caught the light for just a moment.

“You think I care?” he shot back.

Raze stepped onto the mat, boots silent. “I think you’re not training right now. You’re just bleeding your anger into something that can’t hit back.”

“Maybe that’s the point.”

She stopped a few paces away, looking him up and down. “You keep hitting like that, you won’t last a week. This place doesn’t reward self-destruction, Nathan — it eats it.”

His fists tightened. “You think you know what’s in my head?”

“I don’t need to. I can see it in your stance. In the way you don’t blink when you swing.” Her tone softened, but only slightly. “You’re carrying more weight than your muscles can bear. I’ve been there.”

Nathan laughed without humor. “And what did you do? Meditate? Breathe it out?”

Raze shook her head. “I learned how to aim it. You can’t kill the fire, Nathan. You can only decide where you let it burn.”

He looked at his hands, at the blood starting to bead on his knuckles. His pulse still roared in his ears, and underneath it all, he felt… off. Like the air in the room had shifted, stretched. He could hear the faint tick of a clock in a distant room, the metallic click of Raze’s belt buckle as she shifted her stance. He could smell the gun oil clinging to her gloves from the day’s drills.

It was all too much. Too sharp.

“I don’t know if I can control it,” he admitted.

She took another step forward. “Then let’s find out.”

With one smooth motion, Raze drew two practice knives from the rack and tossed them at him. Nathan caught them without looking, his fingers curling around the hilts like they belonged there.

“Hit me,” she said simply.

Section 6 – Raze’s Line in the Sand
The knives felt light in his hands — too light.
Like they were part of him, not just weapons. His pulse still thundered, but it wasn’t just rage anymore. It was… focus. A dangerous, electric focus that made every nerve feel alive.

Raze slid one foot back, lowering her center of gravity. “You’ve been walking around like a live wire waiting to snap. Let’s see if you’re as sharp as you think you are.”

Nathan didn’t wait for a count. He moved first.

He came in with a quick feint to her left side, then a sharp upward slash to her right. She caught the motion mid-swing, her blade flashing in the dim light as she deflected it. The clash of steel echoed in the training hall, sharp and final.

She didn’t hesitate — she countered with a strike aimed for his ribs. Nathan twisted, the blade missing by inches. He didn’t even think about it. His body was moving before his mind could process.

Raze smiled faintly. “Better. You’re reading me.”

“I’m not reading,” Nathan shot back. “I just know where you’re going to be.”

They circled each other. Nathan’s eyes locked on hers, and for a moment, the world around them blurred. He could hear the scrape of her boots on the mat, the shift of her breathing when she prepared to strike. He could see the faint twitch of her wrist before she moved — a tell before the attack even began.

When she lunged, he sidestepped and hooked his foot around hers, sending her stumbling forward. She recovered instantly, whipping around with a spinning slash that forced him to duck low.

“Good,” she said between breaths. “But you’re hesitating. You want to win? You can’t hold back for my sake.”

Her words stung — not because she was wrong, but because part of him was holding back. Somewhere deep down, he was afraid of what might happen if he didn’t.

He didn’t get a chance to dwell on it. She came at him hard this time, faster than before. The blows rained down in a flurry of steel and motion, each one precise enough to cut if they’d been real blades. Nathan parried, deflected, ducked — but his vision was narrowing, the edges of the room fading into shadow.

Then she said the one thing she shouldn’t have.

“You’re still the boy who couldn’t save them.”

Something in him broke.

The red haze came fast. It wasn’t just anger — it was grief, pain, helplessness all tangled together and set on fire. His body moved without thought, without restraint. His strikes were heavier, faster, sharper. The blades in his hands blurred, the air around them hissing from their speed.

Raze blocked the first two, but the third grazed her arm, slicing the fabric of her sleeve. She backed up, her eyes narrowing. “Nathan—”

He didn’t stop. The sound of metal clashing filled the hall, each strike more brutal than the last. He drove her back step after step until her boot hit the edge of the mat. His chest was heaving, his knuckles white around the hilts.

Raze’s knife came up in a guard position, but she didn’t attack. “Enough.”

The word cut through the fog in his mind like a blade. He froze.

The hall was silent except for their breathing. Nathan stared at her, at the thin line of red on her arm where his blade had kissed skin.

His stomach dropped. “I—”

“You lost yourself,” Raze said quietly, lowering her knife. “And if I’d been your enemy, you would have killed me.”

Nathan’s voice was hoarse. “I didn’t mean to—”

“That’s the point,” she interrupted. “You didn’t mean to. And yet…” She glanced at the cut, then back at him. “This is what I’ve been trying to warn you about. Whatever’s waking up in you — if you don’t master it, it will master you.”

Nathan dropped the knives. They hit the mat with a dull thud. His hands were trembling.

“I don’t know if I can control it,” he whispered.

“You will,” Raze said, stepping closer. “Because you have to. The alternative isn’t living — it’s just destruction.”

She turned away, tossing her blade back onto the rack. “Clean up and get your head straight. Tomorrow, we start over.”

Nathan stood there alone for a long moment, listening to the faint hum of the lights. The rage was gone, but what replaced it was something worse — the knowledge that he’d just seen a glimpse of what he could become, and it terrified him.

Section 7 – The Weight of Silence
The locker room was empty when Nathan walked in.
Empty was good. Empty meant no eyes, no voices, no chance of someone catching the tremor still running through his hands.

He turned on the tap, letting cold water run over his palms until the sting in his knuckles dulled. He wasn’t sure if it was from the fight or from the way he’d gripped those knives like they were the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

In the reflection of the metal wall, he saw himself — hair damp with sweat, jaw tight, eyes darker than they had any right to be. He barely recognized the man staring back.

“Hey.”

Nathan turned, startled. Elara was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. She wasn’t in her combat gear anymore — just a dark hoodie and fitted cargo pants — but there was still that aura about her, like she could take on anyone in the building without breaking a sweat.

He sighed. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”

“I wasn’t sneaking,” she said, stepping inside. “You were too lost in your head to notice me.”

Nathan went back to washing his hands, focusing on the swirl of water down the drain. “Shouldn’t you be doing… something else?”

“I am,” she replied. “Checking on you.”

“I don’t need checking on.”

“That’s a lie,” she said bluntly.

His jaw clenched. “You were watching?”

She shrugged. “Word gets around fast when someone almost takes Raze’s arm off.”

“It wasn’t—” He cut himself off, gripping the edge of the sink. “I wasn’t thinking. She said something and… I just…” He trailed off, the words refusing to form.

Elara’s voice softened. “She hit a nerve.”

Nathan stayed quiet.

She moved closer, close enough that he could feel her presence at his side. “Nathan… how long has it been since you lost them?”

The question hit like a punch. He swallowed hard. “…Six months. Almost to the day.”

Elara nodded slowly, her gaze fixed on the floor. “That’s not long. Not for something like that.”

He laughed bitterly. “Feels like a lifetime. Feels like yesterday.”

“Both can be true,” she said. “But if you keep bottling it up, if you keep pretending you’re fine… it’s going to eat you alive.”

Her hand brushed his — a small, fleeting touch, but enough to jolt him out of the spiral for a moment. “You’re not alone here, Nathan. You don’t have to be.”

For a moment, he let himself meet her eyes. There was no judgment there, no pity. Just quiet understanding.

But then he pulled back, grabbing a towel to dry his hands. “I’m fine.”

She didn’t push. Just gave him a faint, knowing smile. “If you ever decide you’re not… you know where to find me.”

With that, she turned and left, the door swinging shut behind her.

Nathan stood in the silence, the echo of her words lingering. He told himself it didn’t matter. That connection was dangerous. Attachments were dangerous.

But as he sat down on the bench, head in his hands, he couldn’t shake the thought that maybe — just maybe — having someone to pull him back from the edge was the only thing keeping him from falling.

Section 8 – Edges and Fault Lines

The hallway outside Nathan’s quarters seemed longer tonight, as if the shadows themselves were stretching, reaching toward him with invisible fingers. Dim strips of amber lighting pulsed faintly along the walls, casting his reflection in jagged fragments on the polished black floor. The hum of the ventilation system filled the silence, an almost comforting white noise—until it wasn’t. Tonight, every sound seemed amplified. Every flicker of light felt deliberate.

Nathan walked with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black fatigues, head down, eyes scanning the floor but never quite focused on it. His mind wasn’t here. It was back in the training hall earlier that day—Raze’s voice echoing in his ears, her sharp words hitting harder than any punch. You’re hesitating again.

She’d been right, and it infuriated him. He’d hesitated, not because he didn’t know the move, but because he’d seen it before it happened and still stopped himself. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was fear of what was changing inside him. Or maybe it was because part of him had started to wonder if he could trust anyone in this place at all.

He passed a side corridor and caught sight of movement—a figure leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed. It was Varric, one of the older operatives, a man whose reputation for cruelty was as legendary as his efficiency. His eyes were sharp and cold, like broken glass. Nathan didn’t like the way they followed him.

“Reyes,” Varric called, voice low and taunting. “Still playing soldier? Or are you just here because they need another warm body to throw at the fire?”

Nathan stopped. The muscles in his jaw tightened. He’d learned to ignore provocations before—they were common in this place—but there was something different about the way Varric said it tonight. It wasn’t just mockery. There was venom in it.

“You’ve been here what, three months? Four? And you think you’re one of us?” Varric pushed away from the wall, taking a slow step forward. “You’re a project, Reyes. A little science experiment in boots. When you break—and you will break—they’ll toss you aside and find another one.”

Nathan turned, finally meeting his gaze. “Is there a point to this, or are you just bored?”

Varric’s grin widened. “Oh, there’s a point. I want to see what happens when the little ghost from Sector 12 finally snaps.”

Something inside Nathan shifted—like a wire pulled too tight finally giving way. It was sudden, dangerous, and impossible to stop. For weeks, maybe months, he’d been holding it all back: the grief for his family, the anger at the constant manipulations, the creeping fear that he was becoming something unrecognizable. And now, with Varric standing there, needling him with every word, it all came spilling out at once.

Nathan didn’t remember crossing the distance. One second Varric was smirking, and the next he was slammed hard against the wall, Nathan’s forearm across his throat. The other man’s eyes went wide—not with fear exactly, but with surprise.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me,” Nathan growled, his voice low, dangerous. “You think you can stand there and tell me who I am? What I’ll become? You have no idea what I’ve already lost. What I’ve survived.”

Varric’s hands came up, gripping Nathan’s arm, but Nathan only pressed harder. His vision tunneled, narrowing until all he could see was the man in front of him—the challenge in his eyes, the smirk still trying to form even as his air was cut off. Somewhere deep down, a voice in Nathan’s head whispered that this wasn’t him, that this was the kind of loss of control Corvus had warned him about. But the voice was drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears and the thundering pulse of rage.

He could’ve ended it right there. He wanted to. For a moment, the temptation was almost intoxicating—just to stop holding back, to let every ounce of fury spill into the world and burn away anyone who stood in his way.

Then a hand clamped hard on his shoulder.

“Nathan!”

It was Raze. Her voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding. He turned just enough to see her, her expression a mix of fury and… something else. Concern.

“Let him go,” she said, every word a quiet order.

For a few heartbeats, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, he released Varric, stepping back. The older man coughed, rubbing his throat, but didn’t look away from Nathan. There was no fear now—only a strange, unreadable curiosity.

“You’re not ready for what’s coming,” Varric rasped, his grin returning in a smaller, darker form. “But maybe one day, you will be.”

He walked away without another word.

Nathan stood there, chest heaving, his hands trembling slightly despite the effort to still them. Raze watched him for a long moment before finally speaking.

“Next time you lose control like that,” she said, her tone softer now, “make sure it’s worth it.”

Nathan didn’t answer. He just turned and kept walking, the shadows of the corridor swallowing him whole.

Section 9 – Heat Beneath the Ice

The training hall was empty when Nathan stepped inside later that night, but it didn’t feel empty.
Not really.

The echo of his footsteps against the reinforced floor carried too far, bouncing off the steel-paneled walls like accusations. The air smelled faintly of sweat, ozone, and the rubber tang of the mats—residual traces of hours of drills and sparring matches. Normally, this space was his refuge, the one place where movement could drown out thought. Tonight, it felt… different. The room was too still, as if holding its breath, waiting for him to make the next move.

He dropped his jacket on the bench, the fabric hitting the wood with a dull thud, and stepped onto the mat. His muscles were still tense from the encounter with Varric—every nerve on high alert, like a predator expecting another ambush. He started with basic forms, letting muscle memory guide him through strikes and counters. But the longer he moved, the more erratic his rhythm became, until the routine dissolved into something raw and unstructured.

Punch. Pivot. Kick. Again. Again. Harder.

He didn’t even hear the door open.

“Trying to burn off the guilt?” Raze’s voice was low, carrying just enough edge to let him know she wasn’t here for casual conversation.

Nathan stopped mid-combo, turning to see her leaning against the doorframe. She’d changed out of her training gear into something more casual—dark jeans, a fitted black shirt—but her posture was still that of a fighter. Even here, even now, she radiated control.

“I’m not guilty,” Nathan said flatly.

Raze stepped forward, her boots whispering against the mat. “You almost crushed Varric’s windpipe tonight. That’s not guilt?”

“It’s restraint,” he shot back. “If I didn’t have any, he wouldn’t be walking right now.”

That earned him the faintest smirk, but it didn’t last. “You’re walking a line, Reyes. I’ve seen people fall off it before. They don’t come back.”

Nathan looked away, his fists curling and uncurling at his sides. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t feel it?”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Raze stepped closer, lowering her voice. “You’ve been here four months. That’s just long enough for the cracks to start showing. You’re not the first to lose control, but if you want to last, you have to learn where to put all that fire.”

“Where would you put it?” Nathan asked, finally meeting her eyes.

“In the right direction,” she said without hesitation. “Against the real enemy. Not against ghosts in the hallway.”

Her words lingered as she turned to leave, but before she reached the door, she paused. “And Nathan… if you need to talk about your family, find someone who’ll listen. Because bottling it up? That’s not strength. That’s just slow suicide.”

The door shut behind her, and the silence returned—thicker now, heavier. Nathan stood alone on the mat, the ghosts of her words twisting around his thoughts. He wanted to believe she was wrong. He wanted to believe he could keep carrying it all without breaking.

But somewhere deep down, he knew that every time someone like Varric pushed him, the cracks in his armor grew just a little wider.

Section 10 – Aftershocks

Sleep didn’t come.

Nathan lay on his bunk long after the barracks lights went dark, staring at the faint glow of the ventilation slit above him. The hum of machinery was constant, almost hypnotic, but it wasn’t enough to quiet his thoughts. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw their faces—his mother’s tired smile, his sister’s laugh—flashes of the life torn away. The edges of those memories had started to fray, and that terrified him more than anything else. He could survive losing them. But forgetting them? That would be the real death.

Somewhere down the hall, a muffled laugh broke the silence. It was followed by low voices—too far away to make out the words, but close enough to pull Nathan back into the present. He rolled onto his side, his jaw tightening.

It was Varric’s voice.

Nathan sat up slowly, the thin mattress groaning under his weight. He didn’t think. He didn’t weigh the consequences. By the time his bare feet hit the cold concrete, his body was already moving toward the sound.

The lounge was dimly lit, shadows spilling across the cracked leather couches. Varric was leaning against the back of one, talking to two other recruits. His grin widened when he saw Nathan.

“Look who decided to join us,” Varric said, his tone dripping with mockery. “Couldn’t sleep, Reyes? Or just lonely?”

Nathan didn’t answer. He stepped closer, every muscle coiled.

Varric’s grin sharpened. “Careful. Wouldn’t want you to have another… episode. Raze isn’t here to pull you off me this time.”

It wasn’t the words. It was the way Varric said them—like he was digging his fingers into an open wound and twisting.

Nathan’s hand shot out before he realized it, grabbing Varric by the front of his shirt and slamming him into the wall hard enough to rattle the picture frames. The other recruits scrambled back, their eyes wide.

“You think this is a game?” Nathan’s voice was low, almost calm, but his pulse thundered in his ears. “Say one more thing about my family. One more.”

Varric tried to shove him off, but Nathan’s grip didn’t budge. Something inside him had cracked wide open, and the heat pouring through his veins drowned out everything else. He didn’t just want to hurt Varric—he wanted to erase him.

Footsteps thundered in from the corridor.

“Nathan!” Raze’s voice cut through the haze, sharp as a blade.

He didn’t let go. Not until she was close enough to grab his wrist, her fingers digging into his skin with surprising strength. “Let. Go.”

For a moment, he thought he might refuse. Then, slowly, his grip loosened. Varric sagged against the wall, coughing.

Raze didn’t say anything until the others had cleared the room. Then she turned to Nathan, her eyes hard but not without a glint of something else—concern, maybe.

“This is what I was talking about,” she said. “You’re letting it own you.”

Nathan met her gaze, his voice low. “Maybe I don’t care anymore.”

“Then you’d better start,” she said, stepping back. “Because whatever’s coming… if you lose yourself before it gets here, you’ll never survive it.”

She left him standing alone in the empty lounge. The silence that followed wasn’t peace—it was the kind of silence that felt like the seconds before a storm hit.

And somewhere, buried deep beneath his anger, Nathan realized he wasn’t sure which he feared more—losing control, or what might happen if he didn’t.