Steam blurred the mirrors and softened the tile edges into gray.

  Kaden stood under a spray head in the middle of the row, head tipped forward, letting lukewarm water pound across the back of his neck. It wasn’t hot, it wasn’t luxurious, but after drills and physio and another lap of “make sure you know your ship,” it felt like something close to decent.

  He dragged his hands through his hair, rinsed out the soap, and blinked water from his eyes.

  “Liang finally stopped glaring at my leg,” Tanaka said two heads down. His voice rolled easily over the hiss of the water. “Cleared for duty as of oh-six-hundred.”

  “About time,” Navarro said from the other side. “The brace was ruining your whole aesthetic.”

  Kaden turned his head just enough to look.

  Without armor, Tanaka was all height and muscle and scars. Old knife lines on his ribs and shoulder. The newer, jagged spray around his hip where grenade fragments had bitten in and failed to finish the job. The leg that had been wrapped and braced for weeks moved almost smoothly now under the water.

  “Feels okay?” Kaden asked.

  “Feels like it remembers getting blown up,” Tanaka said. “But it holds when I tell it to. Liang says that counts.”

  Vos snorted one head over from Kaden. “Liang says a lot of things,” he said. “Most of them scary.”

  “She’s not scary,” Navarro said. “She’s just disappointed.”

  “That’s worse,” Vos said. “I’d take screaming over that look she gives you when you do something stupid.”

  Kaden smiled despite himself. Steam curled around them, muting the hard edges of the room. Somewhere farther down, somebody hummed a fragment of a song before getting shushed.

  He tipped his chin back into the spray for one last rinse, then glanced toward the far end of the row.

  Jax had taken the corner shower by the wall. No armor, no tags, just skin and muscle and a map of old damage. Thin pale lines crossed her shoulders and upper arms. A starburst scar sat high on her side like someone had pressed a burning hand there and left it. A cluster of overlapping marks along one bicep ran together so tightly they could have been ink from a distance, a rough band of pale etched into darker skin.

  In the shifting steam, it all looked almost deliberate. Not art. Just the record of every time something had tried to take a piece of her and failed.

  Kaden looked away before he made it obvious he was staring. Jax didn’t seem like the type to appreciate that kind of curiosity.

  “Quit daydreaming, Mercer,” Navarro said quietly. “You’re going to grow moss.”

  He snorted and shut the water off. The sudden absence of spray made the ship’s ever-present hum feel louder.

  He stepped out into the cooler air of the drying area, grabbed his towel from the hook, and scrubbed the water off his hair and shoulders. Around him, Theta-3 moved through the routine: towels, quick dry-off, uniforms pulled from the benches in practiced sequence.

  Tanaka followed him out, towel slung around his neck like a cape. He rolled his ankle once, testing, then started dressing.

  “Liang really cut you loose?” Kaden asked, pulling his own towel down around his waist.

  “Said if I baby it again, she’ll put me back on crutches and make me do laps in front of the whole bay,” Tanaka said. “I believe her.”

  “That tracks,” Navarro said, emerging from the steam, hair slicked back. “She had you doing those little rubber band exercises like you were a grandma.”

  “Grandma Tanaka could still bench more than you,” Vos said, stepping out, towel around his hips, hair plastered to his head.

  “At least three of you,” Navarro shot back.

  Jax shut off her shower and stepped out last. She wrapped a towel around herself and crossed to the benches, expression already shifting from “getting clean” to “running a squad.”

  “All right,” she said. “Enough bonding with the plumbing. Dress. Some of you have places to be, whether you like it or not.”

  Kaden dropped onto the bench, dragged on underwear and shipboard pants, then pulled his gray shirt over his head. The fabric clung for a second before settling.

  He sat to pull on socks and boots. His left hand hesitated briefly on the laces—two synthetic fingers pinching a little too hard—then adjusted, finding the right pressure. It didn’t feel natural yet, not completely, but it also didn’t feel like someone else’s hand.

  Tanaka zipped his shirt and bent to tie his boots. The motion was smooth. No brace. No hitch. Just a big man doing something his body remembered.

  “Security pinged me,” he said as he worked the laces. “Wanted a heavy to help with close-quarters drills later. I guess I’m the cautionary tale for ‘this is why you respect blast radius.’”

  Navarro laughed. “You’re going to be throwing around baby marines in the mats all afternoon,” she said. “I’m so sorry for them.”

  “Maybe I’ll go easy,” Tanaka said.

  “No you won’t,” Vos said.

  “At least they’ll get good stories out of it,” Navarro said.

  Vos sat on the bench backward, towel draped around his neck, pulling on his socks with exaggerated care. “Engineering snagged me,” he said. “Something about ‘numbers on a diagnostic look wrong’ and ‘we’d like someone who’s used to seeing the ship from the bullet end to tell us if we should worry.’”

  “Translation,” Navarro said, “they found a reading they don’t want to admit they don’t understand.”

  “Translation,” Vos said, “I get to sit in a chair and argue with a console instead of doing burpees. I accept this fate.”

  Kaden tugged his left glove on, flexing his fingers inside it. The fabric hugged the prosthetics the same as the rest.

  “Liang wants me,” he said. “One more check before she officially signs off on ‘fully functional’ or ‘please bubble-wrap this idiot.’”

  “She’ll frame that form,” Navarro said.

  Jax pulled her own shirt on and sat to lace her boots, listening without interrupting. When everyone was mostly dressed, she stood and slung her towel over her shoulder.

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  “Since you’re all accidentally heading somewhere useful,” she said dryly, “let’s pretend I planned it that way. Navarro, you’ve got a range slot—use it. I want your grouping in the black, not flirting with the edges. No playing games with weird shot patterns. This is maintenance, not performance art.”

  “Understood, Sergeant,” Navarro said.

  “Vos,” Jax went on, “go be engineering’s emotional support marine. Smile, nod, tell them if their scary numbers are actually scary or just a sensor burp. Don’t touch anything that looks like it might explode if you sneeze on it.”

  Vos put a hand to his chest. “Sergeant, I would never,” he said.

  “You absolutely would,” Jax said. “Don’t.”

  She turned to Tanaka. “Security wants a heavy to rough up some of their people and remind them what close contact feels like,” she said. “You’re cleared, so you’re it. Don’t break anyone’s spine. We have a finite number of ratings.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Tanaka said. “I’ll only bruise them a little.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Jax said.

  Finally, she looked at Kaden. “Liang pinged me,” she said. “She wants one last look at your hand before she signs off on your file. You go straight there. Don’t let Navarro drag you to the range first. Don’t let Vos talk you into ‘just stopping by’ engineering because they have a problem that looks interesting.”

  “I’m wounded,” Vos said.

  “You will be if you keep delaying people’s med checks,” Jax said. “Mercer, once Liang’s done with you, light work only. Range, bay, whatever, but no record attempts, no loading yourself up like a pack mule and pretending you don’t feel it.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Kaden said.

  Jax’s gaze flicked over all four of them, quick and measuring. “Ship’s quiet,” she said. “Take advantage of it. Get your reps in, get your checks done, eat something that’s not pure caffeine. Next time we get a lull, it might not last this long.”

  “Optimistic,” Navarro murmured.

  “Practical,” Jax said. “Move out.”

  They walked together as far as the first main junction, boots ringing lightly on the deck. The air in the corridor was cooler than the showers, dry and faintly metallic.

  At the intersection, they broke like they always did.

  Navarro peeled off toward the range decks, already rolling her shoulders like she could feel the rifle stock settling into place. Vos headed for the nearest lift, muttering something about “if they hand me a data pad with a crack in it, I’m walking.” Tanaka turned toward Security’s section, big frame eating the corridor.

  Kaden watched them go for a heartbeat, feeling the familiar, taut little thread that always appeared when Theta-3 scattered.

  Then he turned the other way.

  Med Deck Two was two levels down and a few corridors over. He took the stairs instead of the lift, partly for the habit of it, partly because it gave his legs something to do that wasn’t pacing.

  The Valiant felt normal. The steady hum through the soles of his boots. The occasional vibration when some system cycled a little harder. Snatches of conversation from crew and marines moving about their business. No alarms. No red lights. Just ship day.

  He passed a pair of engineers arguing quietly over a schematic, voices low and focused. A logistics rating with a grav-sled stacked in neat rows: rations, med packs, some crate labeled with a code his HUD politely offered to decode if he wanted it to. He left it alone.

  Med Deck Two’s doors stood open.

  Inside, the air shifted: cooler, controlled, carrying the clean sharpness of antiseptic and the faint underlying smell of people. Beds lined the bay, some empty, some not. A marine with his arm in a regrowth frame. A tech with a wrap around his ribs. A security rating dozing with a portable monitor clipped to his finger.

  Aurora floated muted vitals in Kaden’s peripheral vision. He ignored them.

  Liang stood at a central station, scrolling through a board of names and values. A mug sat near her elbow. Her clinic jacket was half-zipped, sleeves rolled to her forearms.

  “Mercer,” she said, without looking up. “Right on schedule. Beginning to suspect timekeeping might actually be contagious.”

  “Jax yelled at me once about being late,” Kaden said. “I learn fast.”

  “That’s what I like to hear,” Liang said. She took a last look at the board, dismissed it with a flick, and nodded toward a side room. “Exam three. Glove off. Let’s see if you’re still attached properly.”

  Exam three was the same as always: chair, counter, sink, wall-mounted display asleep in a pale blue glow.

  Kaden sat, tugged his left glove off, and flexed his fingers.

  The synthetic digits looked like they belonged there now. Same color as the rest of his hand, same faint creases where they flexed. Up close, the surface was a little too smooth, the joints a little too precise, but you had to look for it.

  Liang rolled a stool over and took his hand, turning it palm up.

  “Any weirdness?” she asked. “And don’t say ‘define weirdness,’ I’m not in the mood.”

  He huffed. “Phantoms are quieter,” he said. “Still get the occasional ‘hey, remember when there were five of us?’ jolt if I stare at it too long. No drops. No dead spots.”

  “Pain?” she asked, pressing her thumb along the base of each finger.

  “Only when I do something dumb with it,” he said. “Stiff if I overuse it. Otherwise just… there.”

  “Good,” she said. “If it’s sulking, that means it’s alive.”

  She picked up a small clamp and pinched the pad of his artificial ring finger. “Feel that?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Dull press.”

  She moved to the pinky. “And there?”

  “Yeah.”

  She repeated the test on his natural fingers, then set the clamp aside and grabbed a handgrip tester.

  “Squeeze,” she said, setting it in his palm.

  He wrapped his fingers around it and squeezed until his forearm burned. Numbers climbed on the built-in display. She checked them, nodding.

  “You’re within acceptable range,” she said. “You’re not going to impress anyone at a strongman competition, but you can hold your own gear and someone else’s if you have to.”

  “That’s all I’m aiming for,” he said.

  “Good,” she said. “Fine motor.”

  She set a suture pad on the tray and handed him a curved needle and thread. “Straight cut,” she said. “Close it. Imagine it’s someone you don’t hate.”

  He set the point just off the edge of the artificial “wound” and pushed through. The first throw was careful. The second came easier. By the fifth knot, his shoulders had loosened and his fingers moved without him having to think about each individual joint.

  Liang watched, expression somewhere between critical and satisfied.

  “Not pretty,” she said when he was done. “But solid. And pretty is overrated when you’re doing this in a corridor full of smoke.”

  She took the pad away, picked up a small metal cube, and held it between thumb and forefinger.

  “Catch,” she said, and flipped it toward him without warning.

  His left hand moved on reflex. Fingers closed around the cube. It was a little heavier than it looked, edges smooth against his palm.

  She tossed it again, higher, off-angle. He caught it, a little clumsier this time, but still got it.

  “Good,” she said. “I’m not going to bother with a third. You can grab things out of the air. That puts you ahead of half the people in this bay.”

  She dropped the cube back on the tray and grabbed her tablet from the counter. Aurora brought up his file, lines and icons in tidy columns.

  “Mechanically,” she said, eyes scanning the data, “you’re fine. Integration’s clean. Strength and dex are where I want them. Aurora’s not complaining. That means I have to start trusting your judgment instead of your numbers, and frankly that’s terrifying, but I don’t get a vote.”

  “I can pretend to be responsible,” Kaden said.

  Liang snorted. “You’ve been pretending pretty well so far,” she said.

  Her gaze softened a fraction as she scrolled.

  “You know how this works, Mercer,” she said. “You come aboard, you end up in one of my beds, you go on my list. From that point on, you’re one of my kids.”

  “I’m nineteen,” he said. “Pretty sure I’m older than some of your med techs.”

  “Techs are trainees,” she said. “You’re the ones who come back with holes in you. Until you rotate off this ship or I have to sign your name on something made of metal instead of a screen, you’re mine.”

  He looked down at his hand in hers, at the thin line where the natural skin met the synthetic.

  “I’m trying very hard not to end up on metal,” he said quietly.

  “Good,” Liang said. “That’s the correct attitude. Makes my life easier.”

  She found the clearance field and hovered her thumb over it.

  “From where I’m sitting,” she said, “K. Mercer, Combat Medic, is ready for full duty. No restrictions. You treat the hand like it’s yours, you’re honest when it complains, and you don’t try to prove anything to anyone who isn’t bleeding out in front of you.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  “Excellent,” she said. “In that case, as of now you are officially—”

  The deck lurched.

  The exam chair jumped under him. Instruments rattled in their tray and slid, clanging onto the floor. Liang’s mug tipped off the counter and exploded into shards, lukewarm coffee splashing across the tiles.

  Kaden grabbed the armrests on instinct. The overhead lights flickered once, twice, then snapped over to hard red.

  The klaxons hit a heartbeat later, a rising wail that bored straight into his spine.

  ALERT // IMPACT DETECTED

  ALERT // ALL HANDS TO STATIONS

  The messages stamped themselves across his HUD, bright and insistent.

  Out in the main bay, someone shouted. Another voice barked orders. A bedframe squealed as it was shoved.

  Liang braced one hand on the counter to steady herself. The tablet swung on its strap, thumping against her hip.

  “What the—” she started.

  A second impact slammed into the Valiant, deeper and closer. The floor heaved sideways. Kaden’s shoulder smacked into the back of the chair as he was sent tumbling. Somewhere overhead, something groaned in a long, ugly way metal wasn’t supposed to.

  Emergency lights kicked on just as the primary lights flickered. The alarm tone shifted, higher and sharper. New alerts overlaid the first in his vision.

  ALERT // HULL BREACH – DECK THREE

  ALERT // HULL BREACH – DECK FOUR

  ALERT // MULTIPLE INSTANCES OF PRESSURE LOSS

  A final line flashed, bright and urgent.

  ALERT // MULTIPLE BOARDING ACTION DETECTED

  For one frozen second, all Kaden could hear was the klaxon and the pulse in his ears.

  Then Med Deck Two erupted into motion.

  Liang’s eyes snapped to his, all softness gone.

  “Well,” she said, voice suddenly very steady. “Looks like your paperwork just signed itself.”

  She snatched the tablet off his chest and slammed it down on the counter, already turning toward the doorway.

  “Glove on, Mercer,” she snapped over her shoulder. “You wanted full duty? Congratulations.”