Chapter 10 · Blood Check

The med bay smells like antiseptic and lies.

Keira stands in line with fifteen other trainees, all of them slouching and bored because quarterly blood panels are routine. No one cares. Except the photo's still burning a hole in her pocket, and Taren's three meters away, leaning against the wall by the scanner tech's station.

He shouldn't be here. Instructors don't supervise med checks.

She keeps her face neutral, watches Rian go through ahead of her. The tech swabs his finger, feeds it into the little gray box, waits for the ping. Green light. Next.

Taren's watching her now. Not obvious. Just his eyes.

She steps up.

"Hand," the tech says, already bored.

Keira gives him her left. He swabs the pad of her index finger, alcohol sting and rough cotton. She's done this a dozen times since she got here. The scanner reads genetic markers, blood oxygen, stress hormones, whatever the Coalition thinks might flag a security risk. She's always come back clean.

Because Ghost Seven's file says deceased. KIA. Closed.

The swab goes into the slot.