The infirmary smelled like steel and antiseptic. Too clean to be comforting.
Oliver sat by Lira's bed, arms folded, watching the medical scanner blink rhythmically over her unconscious form. Two cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder, moderate blood loss—she'd be fine. Eventually. But seeing her laid out like that reminded him: even with the system, even with power, they were still human. Still breakable.
A curtain rustled nearby. Aria stepped in, her jacket tied around her waist, eyes flicking toward Lira and then back to him.
"She'll be okay," she said, voice soft.
"I know."
Silence stretched between them like a drawn blade.
"You didn't ask," Aria said finally.
"Ask what?"
"About… what I did. During the fight."
"I figured you'd tell me when you were ready."
Another silence.
"I didn't think anyone saw it," she said quietly. "Guess I underestimated you."
Oliver gave a small shrug. "You underestimated yourself."
She smiled faintly, then looked away.
"She's strong," Aria said. "Lira. She took a blade to the ribs and still fought."
"They're all strong," he said. "You included."
She hesitated.
"I wasn't supposed to use it," she said. "That ability. It's… not from the academy."
He turned toward her.
"Then where is it from?"
A long pause. Her jaw tightened.
"Somewhere I'd rather not talk about. Not yet."
He nodded once. "Okay."
Another moment passed. She blinked. "That's it?"
"You'll tell me when you're ready. Until then, I'll keep watching your back."
Her breath caught, just a little. Not that he noticed—or pretended not to.
Footsteps approached. Garek's heavy frame stomped into view, an ice pack pressed to his jaw.
"Lira still sleeping?" he asked.
"Yeah," Oliver said.
Garek looked between Oliver and Aria. He squinted. "Did I interrupt something?"
"No," they both said, a little too quickly.
He raised an eyebrow, but mercifully let it go.
"They posted the bracket for the second round," Garek said, voice gravelly. "We're up against Squad Falcron. Tomorrow morning."
Oliver nodded. He hadn't heard of them.
"They're a surprise dark horse. From one of the outer districts," Garek said. "Nobody took them seriously. But they tore through the first round in under two minutes."
Aria frowned. "Any footage?"
"Conveniently deleted," Garek muttered. "Like someone doesn't want us to know what we're walking into."
Oliver stood, stretching his arms. "Then we prep for everything."
"But not like today," Aria said suddenly. "We need to work better as a unit."
"You mean trust each other," Garek said.
"Exactly."
She turned to Oliver. "Especially you. I know you're holding back."
His gaze darkened for just a second.
"I'm just calculating risk," he replied.
"Next time, maybe calculate a little faster," she said, half-smiling.
Behind them, Lira groaned softly. "If you're gonna flirt, do it quieter…"
Aria flushed crimson. Garek wheezed.
Oliver? He didn't even blink.
Instead, he turned away and headed for the exit. "We train at dawn."
As he stepped into the hallway, he spotted someone leaning against the far wall.
Captain Kaien Deros.
His eyes locked with Oliver's.
There was no smile. No greeting. Just quiet, tactical scrutiny.
"You've made quite an impression," Deros said.
"Just doing what I was trained to do."
Deros stepped forward, his boots echoing slightly on the metal floor. "Your team is outperforming projections. Not just you. All of them. Even the girl."
Oliver's face didn't move. "Is that a problem?"
Deros chuckled. "Not at all. But performance without explanation tends to draw attention. From me. From others."
"What kind of attention?"
"The kind that peels things open. Whether you want them peeled or not."
Oliver remained silent.
Deros leaned in, voice low. "Just a warning. Whatever you're hiding, keep it airtight. Because if someone else finds it first… they won't be nearly as polite."
Then he was gone, striding down the hallway like a ghost in military uniform.
Oliver stood still for a long time.
Elsewhere…
A darkened office flickered to life.
A tall man with steel-gray hair stood before a holo-display of the tournament bracket. His eyes weren't on the names, but the biometric data underneath.
Squad 7: Oliver Vale. Baseline readings: inconclusive.
Too perfect. Too even.
The kind of data someone would forge.
His fingers tapped against the screen. "Interesting."
A voice crackled behind him. "Want me to investigate?"
"No. Not yet. But keep an eye on that one."
He leaned closer to the display. "The one with the eyes that don't blink."