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The scanner's the size of a briefcase and older than half the instructors here. Keira can see the manufacturer stamp from across the med bay. Helix-Tac. Military grade. The kind that doesn't just read your vitals—it pulls up every implant, every augmentation, every modification you've ever had drilled into your bones.
She needs to not be in this room.
The med tech is calibrating the interface. Taren's leaning against the wall by the door, arms crossed. He hasn't looked away from her since they walked in. The other trainees from the sparring incident are already cleared—minor contusions, nothing interesting. She's last in line. Lucky her.
"Morris." The tech waves her forward. "Let's make this quick."
Keira takes one step. Then Rian Cole shoves through the door like he's being chased.
"Instructor Vex." Rian's breathing hard. His uniform's streaked with mud and something that smells like burned plastic. "We got a problem in Bay Four. Servo rig collapsed. Got two people under it and the safety release is jammed."
Taren straightens. "How long?"
"Three minutes ago. Vkari's holding the frame but it's slipping."
"Show me." Taren's already moving. He stops at the threshold and glances back at Keira. "You. Stay here. Get scanned. Don't go anywhere."
She nods. Keeps her face blank.
Taren and Rian disappear into the corridor. The med tech sighs and starts shutting down the scanner. "Great. Guess we're doing this later. Wait here until someone clears you."
He walks out. Leaves the door open.
Keira counts to ten. Then she's moving. Not out the door—that's too obvious and Taren would catch her in the hall. She goes for the supply cabinet. There's always a back exit in Coalition med bays. Regulation. She finds the maintenance hatch behind a shelf of sterile packs and pops it open. Slips through.
The service corridor is narrow and smells like disinfectant and old air filters. She's halfway to the junction when footsteps echo behind her.
"Really?" Rian's voice. "You couldn't wait five more seconds?"
She turns. He's standing there, hands in his pockets, not even pretending to be surprised.
"There's no collapsed rig," Keira says.
"Nope." Rian grins. "But there will be in about two minutes. Taren's gonna be pissed when he figures it out. You're welcome, by the way."
"I didn't ask for help."
"You didn't have to. That scanner would've lit you up like a Solstice tree." He takes a step closer. "So here's the deal. You owe me."
Keira's hand twitches toward her hip. No blade there. She left it in her bunk because she's supposed to be a nobody.
"I don't owe you anything," she says.
"Sure you do. I just saved your fake ID. Whatever you're hiding, it's big enough that you'd rather crawl through a maintenance shaft than sit still for ten seconds." Rian's still smiling but his eyes are sharp. "I'm not asking for much. Just a little mutual cooperation."
"Cooperation."
"Yeah. I keep Taren off your back. You help me with something when I need it."
"What something?"
"Don't know yet." He shrugs. "But when I do, you'll say yes. That's the deal."
Keira wants to tell him to go to hell. Wants to walk away. But Rian's not stupid and he's not bluffing. He knows enough to bury her. She can see it in the way he's standing—relaxed, confident, like he's holding all the cards.
"Fine," she says. "One favor. Then we're even."
"Deal."
He holds out his hand. She doesn't take it.
"Where's this fake rig collapse?" she asks.
"Bay Four. Should be happening right about now."
They hear the crash from three corridors away. Metal shrieking. Someone yelling. Then alarms.
Rian's grin widens. "Right on time. Come on. If we're not there, it looks weird."
They run. Keira lets him lead. They hit Bay Four and it's chaos. A massive servo rig—the kind they use for loading cargo—has tipped sideways and crushed a stack of supply crates. Two trainees are pinned under the frame. Not fully—there's a gap—but the rig's sliding and the gap's getting smaller.
Vkari's braced under the frame, holding it with both hands. She's a Valkan, built like a tank, but even she's shaking. Taren's barking orders. Three other trainees are trying to work the manual release but the lever's bent and won't move.
"Get a plasma torch," Taren snaps. "Now."
One of the trainees sprints off. The two pinned underneath are starting to panic. One's human—a guy named Sato. The other's Valkan, younger, looks barely old enough to be here. Her leg's twisted wrong.
"Instructor, I can't hold it." Vkari's voice is strained.
"Thirty seconds," Taren says. "Torch is coming."
Keira's watching the rig. The frame's hydraulic. It's not going to wait thirty seconds. The pressure seal's already leaking. She can see the fluid pooling under the base. When it goes, it'll drop fast.
Vkari grunts. Her knees buckle. She catches herself but the frame drops another inch. Sato screams.
Keira moves before she can stop herself. She shoves past two trainees and grabs the edge of the frame. Not to hold it—she's not strong enough for that and it would blow her cover. She goes for the side panel. The access hatch. It's sealed with an alloy bolt that's been torqued down too tight and half-welded shut from the impact.
She needs to open it. Needs to get to the manual override inside. But the bolt won't turn. Won't budge.
She looks at Sato. At the Valkan girl. At the frame dropping.
Then she stops thinking.
Her hands move. She jams her fingers into the seam of the panel and pulls. The alloy groans. She shifts her grip. Digs in. The edge of the panel bites into her palms. She feels something pop in her wrist. Doesn't matter.
She rips the panel off.
The sound is loud. Metal shrieking. The panel tears free and she's inside the guts of the rig. She finds the override—a red lever buried under a nest of cables—and yanks it. The hydraulic seal disengages. The frame locks in place. Stops sliding.
Vkari lets out a shaky breath. The trainees with the bent lever finally get it loose and the frame starts lifting. Sato and the Valkan girl are dragged clear. Medics swarm in.
Keira steps back. Her hands are bleeding. The panel's on the floor. She dropped it. Everyone's staring at her.
Taren's staring at her.
"Morris," he says. His voice is quiet. "Did you just rip an alloy panel off a servo rig with your bare hands?"
She looks down at the panel. At her hands. At the blood.
"It was already loose," she says.
No one believes her.
Vkari's looking at her like she's insane. The other trainees are whispering. Rian's in the back, leaning against the wall, and he's not smiling anymore. He's watching her like he's recalculating everything.
Taren walks over. He picks up the panel. Turns it over. The bolt holes are sheared clean. The edges are bent outward. He looks at her.
"Loose," he says.
"Yeah."
"Get your hands looked at. Then report to my office. One hour."
He walks away. The crowd starts breaking up. Keira's left standing there with blood dripping off her fingers.
Rian appears beside her. "So," he says. "That was subtle."
"Shut up."
"Just saying. You're really bad at lying low."
She wants to hit him. Wants to disappear. Wants to go back ten minutes and let Taren drag her to the scanner because at least that would've been a clean problem.
Rian pulls something from his pocket. A small device. Looks like a comm unit but older. Burner tech. Unregistered. The screen flickers.
He glances at it. Goes very still.
Then he shows it to her.
The message is short. No sender ID. Just six words in white text on a black screen.
GHOST SEVEN. CONFIRM YOU'RE ALIVE.