Kaelen POV
The mission log won't write itself.
I've been staring at the blank screen for twenty minutes, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, unable to type the words that should come easily: Target acquired. Initial contact successful. Subject showing expected vulnerability. Proceeding with manipulation phase.
Simple. Clinical. Exactly what Mother wants to read.
So why can't I write it?
My hands are shaking. That's the first problem. Enforcers don't shake. We're genetically designed for perfect motor control, enhanced with cybernetics that eliminate all involuntary movements.
But my hands are shaking like I'm afraid.
Of what? A Fringe girl with silver hair and storm-gray eyes who codes like she's composing symphonies?
"Write the report," I tell myself aloud. My voice sounds strange in the empty quarters—tight, strained. Wrong.
I force my fingers to move: Subject Nyxara Solene, Day One Contact Report—
I stop. Delete it. Try again.
Target shows high intelligence and—
Delete.
Manipulation proceeding as—
Delete. Delete. Delete.
"What is wrong with you?" I slam my fist on the desk, and pain shoots up my arm. Good. Pain is normal. Pain I understand.
But this feeling in my chest—this tight, burning thing that appeared when Nyxara smiled at me in the library—that's not normal. That shouldn't exist.
My neural implants flash warning messages across my vision: EMOTIONAL IRREGULARITY DETECTED. ELEVATED STRESS HORMONES. RECOMMEND SYSTEM DIAGNOSTIC.
I dismiss the warnings before they can upload to Mother's monitoring systems. If she sees these alerts, she'll know something's wrong with me. She'll know I'm compromised.
She'll terminate the mission and kill us both.
I need to write this report. Need to prove I'm still the perfect weapon she created.
But all I can think about is the way Nyxara's face lit up when I helped her access the medical files. The desperate hope in her eyes when she talked about saving her brother. The sound of her voice when she said, "You're the first person who's treated me like a human being."
Stop it. She's a target. An assignment. Nothing more.
I pull up the recording of our conversation—standard protocol for all mission contacts. Mother will review this later, analyzing every word, every gesture, looking for weaknesses to exploit.
I should watch it clinically. Take notes. Plan my next manipulation.
Instead, I just... watch her.
The way she pushes her silver hair behind her ear when she's thinking. The ink stains on her fingers from hours of coding. The hole in her sleeve she tried to sew but didn't quite fix. The fierce protectiveness in her voice when she talks about Zephyr.
She's so real. So completely, messily, beautifully human.
And I'm supposed to destroy her.
My communicator buzzes. Mother's personal line.
My blood turns to ice.
"Report," Seraphine's voice is sharp through the speaker.
"Initial contact successful." I make my voice flat, mechanical. "Subject responded positively to assistance with medical database access. Trust-building phase initiated."
"Excellent. And your assessment?"
Tell her the target is vulnerable and easy to manipulate. Tell her everything is going according to plan.
"She's intelligent," I hear myself say. "More than her file indicated. Her coding skills are—"
"I don't care about her skills, Kaelen. I care about her weaknesses." Mother's tone turns dangerous. "You sound almost... impressed."
"I'm being thorough. Knowing her strengths helps me exploit her weaknesses more effectively."
Silence. I can practically hear Mother's mind working, analyzing my words for signs of compromise.
"Your biometric readings are elevated," she says finally. "Heart rate, stress hormones, neural activity. Why?"
Because I'm breaking. Because something inside me is waking up and I don't know how to stop it.
"First mission nerves," I lie smoothly. "I want to perform well."
"You've executed training missions perfectly since age fifteen. You don't get nervous." Her voice drops to a whisper. "Are you developing feelings for the target, Kaelen?"
"No." The word comes out too fast. Too defensive.
"Good. Because if you were, I'd have to scrub you. Start over with a new Enforcer. And you know what happens to defective Celestials."
The Culling Zones. Where they strip away your enhancements and throw you in with the humans to die slowly, painfully, watching your perfect body decay.
"I understand, Mother."
"Do you? Because this test isn't just about destroying one Fringe girl, Kaelen. It's about proving you're capable of doing what's necessary without emotional interference. If you can't pass this exam, you're worthless to me. To the Celestials. To everything we've built."
The words hit like physical blows. Worthless. Defective. Failure.
"I won't fail," I force out.
"See that you don't. I expect weekly reports. And Kaelen?" Her voice turns to ice. "Next time, make her fall for you harder. Make it hurt when we take her down. That's how I'll know you're truly ready."
The call ends.
I sit in silence, staring at my shaking hands.
Make her fall for me harder. Make it hurt.
I should feel nothing about that order. Should accept it as tactical necessity.
Instead, I feel sick.
My fingers move across the keyboard without conscious thought, typing words I shouldn't think, shouldn't feel:
She deserves better than this. Better than me. Better than what I'm going to do to her.
I stare at the words for five full seconds before panic hits.
I delete them frantically, scrubbing the file, clearing the cache, erasing any evidence that Kaelen Voss—perfect Enforcer, emotionless weapon—just had a thought that could get him killed.
But I can't delete it from my mind.
Can't unsee the hope in Nyxara's eyes when I promised to help her.
Can't unhear her voice saying, "You're different."
I'm not different. I'm exactly what Mother made me: a monster in human skin.
But for one terrible, beautiful moment in that library, when Nyxara touched my arm and smiled...
I wanted to be different.
I wanted to be the person she thinks I am.
My communicator lights up with Nyxara's message: I'll be there.
Three words that seal both our fates.
Because tomorrow night, I'll meet her. I'll smile and pretend to care and take another step toward her destruction. I'll do what Mother trained me to do.
But tonight—just for tonight—I let myself imagine a different world.
One where I'm not a weapon.
Where she's not a target.
Where a broken Celestial and a brilliant Fringe girl could sit in a library at midnight and just... talk.
About code. About dreams. About making broken systems better.
The fantasy lasts exactly twelve seconds before reality crushes it.
I'm Kaelen Voss. High Enforcer in training. The perfect weapon.
And tomorrow night, I'll prove it by destroying the first person who's made me feel human in nine years.
My hands finally stop shaking.
Not because I'm calm.
But because I've made a choice.
I open a new file—hidden, encrypted, accessible only to me. And I start typing a different kind of log. Not for Mother. Not for the mission.
For me.
Day One: Met Nyxara Solene. She codes like she's painting constellations. Makes me remember what hope feels like. This is going to be harder than I thought. Not because she's difficult to manipulate. But because I don't want to.
I save the file and bury it deep in my system where Mother will never find it.
Then I write the official report—cold, clinical, perfect—and send it to Seraphine.
Two reports. Two versions of reality.
One for the monster I'm supposed to be.
One for the boy who's starting to remember he used to be human.
I don't know which one is real anymore.
But tomorrow night, when Nyxara shows up with that hopeful smile, trusting me with her brother's life...
I'll have to choose.