The artificial sky above the Delta Zone was a soft shade of blue, clouds drifting lazily overhead. The temperature was perfect—too perfect. Controlled climate settings ensured that the air never felt too humid, too dry, or too cold.

  Yet, despite the pleasant atmosphere, Claire didn’t look comfortable.

  She walked beside William, hands tucked into the pockets of her sleek black jacket. Her posture was relaxed, but her eyes were constantly scanning their surroundings through her damaged helmet. Even in a place designed for rest, she never let her guard down completely.

  William, on the other hand, was clearly debating whether or not to speak.

  It wasn’t obvious—he wasn’t shifting awkwardly or fidgeting with his hands. But Claire had spent enough time around soldiers and warriors to recognize the signs. The slight tightening of his jaw. The way his fingers curled just a bit before relaxing again.

  He wanted to ask her something.

  And, eventually, he did.

  “Can I ask you something?” he started, voice careful.

  Claire raised an eyebrow. “You just did.”

  William hesitated for half a second before huffing out a quiet laugh. “Alright. Can I ask you something else?”

  She gave a small shrug, her usual nonchalance in place. “Depends on what it is.”

  William didn’t ask right away. He took a breath, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

  “…Your past. With the Sentinels.”

  Claire’s steps slowed slightly.

  It wasn’t obvious—not enough for most people to notice. But William did.

  She didn’t snap at him. Didn’t immediately shut him down.

  Instead, she went silent.

  William braced himself for her usual dismissal, but then—for some reason, she spoke.

  “I was born into them,” she said.

  William blinked. “What?”

  Claire exhaled through her nose, not quite a sigh, but close. “My family—Miles. You’ve probably never heard of them, but they’re old money. First Ring, high status, lots of power.” She glanced at him. “And, naturally, they wanted me to follow the family tradition. So, I joined the Sentinels.”

  William listened quietly.

  Claire looked straight ahead, her tone unreadable. “I didn’t care, at first. It was just a job. Just another role to play.” She paused, fingers twitching slightly. “And then… we were sent to the Ninth Ring.”

  William’s expression shifted, a flicker of unease crossing his face.

  “The mission was simple,” Claire continued. “We were supposed to subdue a Warden group. Just another op. Another fight. I didn’t question it.”

  Her golden eyes darkened slightly.

  “But the longer we were there, the more things stopped adding up. We weren’t just eliminating Wardens. We were preying on them.”

  William’s brow furrowed.

  “It was… systematic,” Claire murmured. “We weren’t sent there to destroy an enemy. We were sent there to eradicate them. To remove them from existence. And not just them—their families. Their contacts. Anyone who had ever helped them.”

  William swallowed.

  The Sentinels were always brutal. That much was common knowledge. But hearing it from her—from someone who had fought alongside them—made it feel heavier.

  “…So what happened?” he asked.

  Claire’s lips pressed into a thin line.

  “I hesitated,” she said. “I questioned it. I showed doubt.”

  And then, for the first time since she started speaking—her voice wavered.

  “They discarded me.”

  William stiffened.

  “My own team,” Claire said, her words slow, deliberate, like she was forcing herself to say them aloud. “People I fought with, bled with, trusted with my life. The moment I hesitated, the moment I wasn’t useful to them anymore—they turned on me.”

  William felt something twist in his chest.

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  “They left me for dead,” Claire said. “They didn’t even hesitate.”

  A heavy silence followed.

  For a long time, neither of them spoke.

  Then—a neon-lit storefront came into view.

  The shop stood between two massive buildings, its bold sign flashing above the entrance:

  LTT – Luxury Tech & Tuning

  The front display was filled with high-end electronic components, cutting-edge modification kits, and an overwhelming amount of overclocked equipment that practically screamed unnecessary excess.

  Claire immediately stopped talking.

  Her posture changed just slightly—not enough for an average person to notice, but William caught it. The way her shoulders stiffened. The slight shift in her stance.

  There were other participants inside.

  People browsing, inspecting, talking amongst themselves—too many ears. Too many eyes.

  William knew she wouldn’t say another word here.

  As they stepped inside, a man greeted them from behind the counter.

  His outfit was… questionable.

  He wore a pair of bright orange sandals—with socks. His worn-out cargo shorts were paired with an oversized, incredibly outdated-looking T-shirt that had a faded logo across the front. His glasses were slightly askew, and his hair was a mess—a perfect combination of genius and complete disaster.

  The man grinned. “Welcome to LTT! What can I get for you two?”

  William glanced at Claire’s helmet. “We need spare parts. Internal circuits for a Thunderstrike-09 helmet.”

  The man let out a low whistle. “Oof. You’re rocking a Thunderstrike? That thing’s got some crazy shielding tech. Not bad, not bad.”

  He adjusted his glasses, peering at them over the frames. “You frying the processors too fast, or did you actually manage to break it?”

  Claire, still not in the mood to talk, just crossed her arms.

  William smiled awkwardly. “Uh… let’s just say it’s seen better days.”

  The shop owner adjusted his glasses, peering curiously at Claire’s helmet. “So, what exactly happened to it?”

  Claire shrugged, her tone flat. “It took a hit.”

  The man raised an eyebrow. “That’s… vague.”

  William scratched the back of his head. “Well, it wasn’t just any hit. The internal circuits got fried pretty badly. I had to bypass some of the core connections just to get the vision lenses barely working again, but it’s a temporary fix at best. The whole system will shut down soon if we don’t replace the damaged parts.”

  The owner let out a low whistle. “Damn. You know your way around tech, huh?” He studied William for a moment, then nodded approvingly. “Alright, I think I’ve got just what you need. Wait here.”

  He disappeared into the back of the store, leaving Claire and William alone among the towering shelves of high-end tech. Claire remained silent, arms crossed, scanning the store with vague disinterest.

  William, on the other hand, couldn’t help but feel a little proud that the owner had acknowledged his skills. It wasn’t often that people outside his team noticed what he could do.

  A few minutes later, the owner returned, holding a small metal case. He set it on the counter and flipped it open. Inside, several sleek, custom-made circuit boards rested in a protective foam lining.

  “This should do the trick,” the man said, handing them to William. “Top-of-the-line stuff. They’re adaptable, so you shouldn’t have any compatibility issues with the Thunderstrike-09.”

  William carefully picked up one of the boards, inspecting it. High efficiency, minimal latency—these were excellent.

  The owner leaned on the counter. “If you wanna do the repairs here, I’ve got a private workroom in the back. No charge. Just keep things clean.”

  William opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, Claire spoke first.

  “We’ll take it.”

  William blinked. “Wait, what?”

  Claire had already grabbed the case and was heading toward the back. She didn’t even hesitate.

  William exchanged a quick glance with the owner, who simply shrugged with an amused smirk.

  “Well, alright then,” William muttered, following after her.

  The workroom was small but well-equipped. A sturdy workbench sat in the middle, surrounded by neatly arranged tools and spare parts. A soft, overhead light illuminated the space, giving it an almost clinical feel.

  Claire set the case down and pulled up a chair. William did the same, placing his tool kit on the table and exhaling softly.

  Then, he glanced at her.

  “…You’re gonna have to take off your helmet,” he said.

  Claire hesitated. Not long, but enough for him to notice.

  Then, without a word, she reached up and unlatched the helmet’s locks.

  A soft hiss escaped as the pressure seal released. She lifted it off, setting it gently on the table beside her.

  Her eyes remained closed.

  William swallowed. Even though he had already caught glimpses of her face before, seeing her like this—fully unmasked, completely vulnerable—was something else entirely.

  Her skin was smooth, pale, almost flawless. Her long red hair cascaded over her shoulders, illuminated slightly by the workroom’s lighting. And those markings—faint, almost like veins, glowing softly beneath her skin—confirmed something he had suspected but never dared to say aloud.

  “…You’re an Arkanyte.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  It was half-stated, half-asked—an automatic realization slipping out before he could stop himself. And the moment he did, he regretted it.

  Shit.

  He had no idea if that was something she wanted to talk about, or if he had just stepped over an invisible boundary.

  But to his surprise, Claire didn’t seem bothered.

  “Yes,” she said simply.

  William blinked. That was… easy.

  Claire adjusted slightly in her chair, opening her golden eyes at last. “I assume you already knew?”

  “…I had my suspicions,” William admitted. “Arkanyte genetic markers aren’t exactly subtle.”

  Claire smirked faintly. “No, they aren’t.”

  A brief silence passed before she spoke again.

  “I wasn’t always like this,” she murmured, looking down at her hands. “I had… have a genetic disease. Rare, even among Arkanytes.”

  William’s brows furrowed.

  Claire leaned back slightly, her gaze distant. “It degenerates cells over time. The body weakens, slowly but surely. Medicine helped delay it, but it was never a cure.” She flexed her fingers absently. “So I had two options. Slowly fall apart, or stop it permanently.”

  Her hand lifted to her helmet. “The exoskeleton wasn’t just a choice. It was my only option.”

  William didn’t realize he was clenching his fists.

  “…Did it work?” he asked quietly.

  Claire gave a short, dry laugh. “Yes and no. The disease is still there, but the progression is… frozen. It won’t kill me, but it won’t ever be gone, either.”

  William studied her expression carefully. She wasn’t bitter. Not angry.

  Just… accepting.

  Like she had made peace with it a long time ago. William wasn’t sure why, but he hated that.

  Something about it felt wrong.

  Like there had to be another way—something she hadn’t considered.

  His mind was already running through possibilities.

  Data. Research. Synthetic stabilizers. Gene therapy. There had to be something.

  Claire noticed his silence and arched an eyebrow. “What?”

  “…Nothing,” William said quickly, shaking himself out of his thoughts. “Just… thinking.”

  She smirked. “Try not to overheat that brain of yours.”

  William chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “No promises.”

  But in the back of his mind—the idea wouldn’t leave.

  If there was even a small chance he could help her…

  He was going to find a way.