They ran the next session like it was routine.
That was the lie.
Kam felt it the moment they clipped the badge back onto his shirt — the small tug of adhesive and authority.
TEMPORARY ACCESS — CONDITIONAL.
The word conditional wasn’t a warning. It was a leash.
They escorted him through the same corridors, the same deliberately boring architecture designed to make urgency feel childish. Doors opening early. Floors that never scuffed. Air that smelled like nothing.
This time, they didn’t take him to the procedure bay.
They took him to Training.
A room that looked like a gym built by people who hated sport. No mirrors. No posters. No music. Just mats, fixed rigs, and a ceiling grid packed with sensors.
Two technicians waited inside. Grey coats. Soft gloves. One held a tablet. The other a case.
Maya stood near the wall again, arms folded, already watching data that hadn’t been generated yet.
Taylor was there. Not pacing. Still. Leaning into the corner like he was trying to disappear.
Kam clocked it immediately. Taylor didn’t meet his eyes.
Leo came in behind them, tablet hugged to his chest. He looked worse than yesterday — not sleep debt, but mental debt. The kind you couldn’t clear with rest.
“Subject present,” one technician said.
Kam almost laughed.
They guided him to the center mat. No chair. No clamps. Just space. Which should have felt like freedom. It didn’t.
A thin cable ran from the ceiling to a collar they fitted around his neck — not tight, not choking. Just present. A monitor line worn on the outside.
“Baseline scan.”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
The ceiling grid flickered to life. The air leaned in.
Kam stood still. Heat banked low inside him, coals raked apart, waiting. He kept his breathing slow. He didn’t want to give them a graph worth printing.
Maya watched the data scroll. Leo watched Kam. Taylor watched nothing.
The technician opened the case.
Inside was Kam’s left-arm assembly. The canvas sleeve folded back to expose the industrial plates Silas had bolted on. The lead lining looked different.
The old fracture line was still there — but bridged. Not smoothly. Not with pride. With layers.
Thin sheets stacked like scales, riveted over the break. Crude. Redundant. Heavy. Like a hull patched mid-storm.
Kam’s throat tightened. He didn’t ask.
“Hold still.”
The arm locked into place. Familiar pressure. But the interface felt duller. Less direct. Like a glove inside a glove.
The technician scanned the seam. Paused. Scanned again.
Leo noticed. “What?” Too fast.
“Nothing.”
Maya’s eyes flicked to the assembly. She didn’t step forward. She registered.
“Begin low exertion protocol.”
A resistance rig unfolded along the far wall. No plates. Just measured load.
Kam stepped up. Right hand. Then left. The new lining creaked — not metal. Layered material shifting.
He pulled.
The bar resisted. His shoulders engaged. Warmth stirred — the engine waking.
Numbers climbed. The ceiling grid hummed.
Kam pulled steadily, keeping the heat down. It built anyway — not a surge, but pressure. Steam in a pipe.
His left arm trembled. Not weakness. Restraint.
The limiter pushed back. Permission denied, translated into force.
“Thermal rise observed.”
“Containment ready.”
Kam braced for the familiar choke-point.
It didn’t come.
The warmth spread sideways. Across. Not out.
The sensation was wrong. Less pain. More drag. Like running with a parachute tied to your back.
The graphs spiked — then flattened. Not absence. Suppression.
Leo frowned. Swiped. Swiped again.
“Wait. That decay curve—”
“Observe.”
Leo stopped.
The heat ticked louder now, irritated. The limiter strained. Sharp pulses flared. The patch held. Not elegantly. Stubbornly.
A faint hiss near his wrist. Coolant. Sharper. Industrial.
The technician leaned in, scanning again. This time, the frown stayed.
“This isn’t standard laminate.”
Maya’s head tilted. Barely. “What is it?”
“Layered shielding. Multi-failure design. Not… elegant.”
Kam’s arms shook now. Cost replacing damage.
“Stop.”
Kam released the bar and staggered back half a step.
Vapor vented from the elbow plate. Logged. Noted.
They weren’t scared. They were unsettled.
Leo spoke carefully. “That shielding is sacrificial.”
No one corrected him.
Taylor shifted his weight.
Maya stepped closer to the tablet. Studied the graphs. Then the arm.
“Run the next stage.”
The technicians exchanged a look.
“Run it.”
Kam’s stomach dropped. He met Maya’s eyes. She held them, then returned to the data.
“Okay,” Kam rasped. “Let’s do it.”
The rig reset. Slightly more resistance.
Kam pulled.
The heat surged harder. The limiter slammed back. Pain flickered like a live wire.
The lining hissed. The patch flexed. A small internal ping — not a crack. A piece giving way on purpose.
Heat bled into that failure point and died there.
The ceiling stayed calm. The graphs climbed — then plateaued again. Ugly. Stable.
Leo went pale. He didn’t look at the technicians.
He looked at Taylor.
Taylor met his eyes for half a second. That was enough.
Kam held for three seconds. Four. Five.
Then his knee buckled.
“Stop. Enough.”
One sacrificial strip burned black. The main lining held. The fracture hadn’t grown.
Maya stared at the data. Then the arm.
“This reduces peak risk.”
“Yes.”
“It increases material turnover.”
“Yes.”
Maya glanced at the badge. TEMPORARY ACCESS — CONDITIONAL. Then at Taylor. Just registering.
Kam stood slowly. His arm felt dead. His body heavy.
He didn’t know who had touched the lining. Only that it wasn’t the Guild — and the system had kept him alive without approving the method.
“Escort. Back to rest.”
Leo fell into step beside Taylor. No words.
Taylor’s phone buzzed once. He ignored it.
Maya stayed behind.
?The graphs showed the trade-off.
?Material cost: Elevated.
?Catastrophic risk: Null.
?She didn't flag the unauthorized repair.
?She updated the maintenance schedule.
