One month.

  The number sat in Valoris's consciousness like a stone. Four weeks until summoning. Twenty-eight days until they'd reach into dimensional space and pull forth the things that would define the rest of their lives, or fail trying and prove themselves unworthy of everything they'd worked toward for two years.

  One month until they discovered if all the preparation had been enough.

  The academy's schedule shifted to reflect the proximity of summoning. Combat training reduced to maintenance level, keeping skills sharp without risking injury. Academic coursework focused exclusively on summoning mechanics, post-bonding integration, and neural management protocols. Physical conditioning became gentler, preparing bodies for neural integration without exhausting them before the main event.

  But the real focus was meditation.

  Four hours daily now, minimum. Some students pushed to six or eight, desperate to maximize their dimensional contact preparation, convinced that extra hours would make the difference.

  The meditation chambers ran constantly. Students cycled through in shifts, reaching toward the dimensional boundary repeatedly, building tolerance for that vast cold awareness. It was as though they could condition themselves to maintain coherence despite proximity to something fundamentally incomprehensible. The chambers smelled like sweat and fear and the peculiar metallic scent that came from prolonged dimensional exposure. Reality itself began to wear thin under constant contact.

  Valoris entered Chamber Seven at 06:00, joining fifteen other students for the morning deep meditation session. The room was already dark, air thick with the kind of silence that pressed against eardrums. She found her designated position on the thin padding that did nothing to cushion the cold floor and began the breathing pattern that had become automatic through two years of practice.

  Four counts in. Hold for seven. Eight counts out.

  Around her, she sensed other students sinking into meditation states with varying degrees of success. Someone to her left, probably Saren based on the precise breathing pattern, achieving technically perfect form without actually reaching very deep. Someone behind her breathing too fast, anxiety interfering with proper technique. And to her right, barely breathing at all, Quinn descending into meditation with obsessive focus that suggested they'd been awake all night preparing for this session.

  "Reach," Instructor Kael's voice floated through the chamber, barely audible. "Approach the boundary. Hold contact as long as you can maintain coherence. Build your tolerance. Make the dimensional space familiar."

  Valoris let consciousness spread outward and inward simultaneously, past physical sensation, past surface thoughts, past even the structured meditation techniques. To the space beneath everything.

  The dimensional boundary waited where it always waited.

  Cold.

  The kind of cold that existed in gaps between atoms, in moments between heartbeats, in spaces where reality stretched thin and something vast pressed against existence from directions that shouldn't exist.

  She'd touched this boundary hundreds of times now. Thousands. Daily meditation for months, each session building familiarity, each contact conditioning her consciousness to tolerate proximity to something her brain wasn't designed to comprehend.

  It never stopped being terrifying.

  Valoris pushed her awareness forward carefully, extending consciousness toward the boundary like reaching into darkness without knowing what waited there. The cold intensified. That sense of vast awareness oriented toward her attention. Ancient, alien, utterly indifferent to human concerns.

  It noticed her.

  It always did. Every time. That was the part nobody warned you about during intake orientation. The dimensional space wasn't just empty void waiting passively. It was aware. Not conscious like humans were conscious, but aware in some fundamental way that made human awareness seem like shadows on cave walls.

  And it remembered.

  Valoris held contact, consciousness extended toward the boundary, counting seconds. Sixty. One hundred twenty. One hundred eighty. Forty-five minutes of sustained contact now. Up from forty-seven seconds during first year. Progress measured in how long you could endure proximity to incomprehensible vastness without your mind fracturing.

  This is what we'll cross during summoning, she thought. We'll push through this boundary and enter that space. We'll reach into the cold and the dark and pull something forth. Whatever exists there. Something that operates under rules we don't understand.

  The boundary shifted slightly, attention focusing more completely on her extended consciousness. Impossible to read intent in something so fundamentally alien.

  Forty-five minutes. Her personal record. She'd never held contact this long before. The cold was becoming overwhelming, consciousness starting to blur at the edges, coherence beginning to slip.

  Valoris pulled back carefully, withdrawing awareness from the boundary, returning to physical sensation. The meditation chamber snapped back into focus. Cold floor, dark walls, her own body breathing steadily despite internal terror. Her hands were shaking.

  "Good," Kael said quietly. "Kade, forty-five minutes sustained. Excellent tolerance. Continue daily practice at this depth."

  Valoris opened her eyes slowly, adjusting to the dim light. Around her, other students were emerging from meditation with varying reactions. Most looked exhausted, consciousness strained by dimensional contact. Some looked terrified, shaken by proximity to something their minds rejected at fundamental levels.

  Quinn looked hungry.

  They sat perfectly still, eyes closed, breathing so shallow it was almost imperceptible. Still meditating. Still reaching. Pushing toward the boundary with an intensity that suggested they had no intention of pulling back until forcibly extracted.

  "Sterling," Kael said, more sharply. "Withdraw. The session's over."

  Quinn didn't respond. Didn't move. Just sat there, consciousness clearly extended toward dimensional space, maintaining contact beyond what was safe or recommended.

  "Sterling. Withdraw."

  Nothing.

  Kael moved quickly, professional concern replacing instructional calm. He placed hands on Quinn's shoulders and applied gentle pressure. Physical contact often helped pull students back from deep meditation. "Come back. You're too deep. Withdraw now."

  Quinn's eyes opened slowly, unfocused, pupils dilated beyond normal parameters. For several seconds they looked at Kael without recognition, consciousness still partially extended toward dimensional space. Then awareness returned in stages. Confusion, then reorientation, then something like disappointment.

  "I was close," Quinn said, voice flat but containing unusual emotion. "So close. Could almost see beyond the boundary. Could almost perceive what exists there. Need to go deeper."

  "You need to learn control," Kael said firmly. "Meditation is preparation, not the goal itself. Pushing too deep before summoning risks psychological damage. You could fracture your consciousness permanently."

  "The risk is acceptable if it increases summoning success probability."

  "The risk is not acceptable. I'm noting this session in your psychological evaluation. Obsessive approach to dimensional contact suggests potential instability. You'll need additional counseling before summoning clearance."

  Quinn's expression didn't change but something flickered in their eyes. Fear, maybe, or frustration. Being flagged for psychological evaluation was serious. It could delay summoning consideration. It could even disqualify them entirely if concerns weren't resolved.

  Valoris watched this exchange with growing unease. Quinn had been pushing too hard for weeks now with meditation sessions that lasted longer than recommended. They had an obsessive focus that suggested their need to understand the dimensional space had become compulsive rather than strategic.

  The session ended. Students filed out slowly, exhausted from hours of dimensional contact, consciousness strained by proximity to something incomprehensible. Valoris caught Quinn as they exited, falling into step beside them in the corridor.

  "You're pushing too hard," she said quietly.

  "Insufficient preparation is worse than excessive preparation."

  "There's no such thing as excessive preparation when you're risking psychological fracture. Kael's right. You could damage yourself permanently."

  "Acceptable risk for increased success probability."

  "It's not acceptable. Not to me. Not to the squad." Valoris stopped walking, forcing Quinn to stop too. "We need you functional during summoning. We need you sane. Pushing yourself past breaking point doesn't help anyone."

  Quinn's expression remained flat but something shifted in their eyes. That desperate hunger, that obsessive need to understand, to connect, to become real through dimensional contact. "I need to go deeper. Need to understand what exists beyond the boundary. It's important."

  "Why? Why is understanding it more important than surviving it?"

  "Because..." Quinn hesitated, unusual vulnerability showing through their typical emotional flatness. "Because when I meditate, when I reach toward the boundary, I feel real. More real than any other time. Like I'm touching something true. Something fundamental. And during summoning, when we cross the boundary, that's when I'll finally be completely real. Nothing else matters except being real."

  The raw need in those words made Valoris's chest tighten. Quinn wasn't just preparing for summoning. They were desperate for it. Convinced that dimensional contact was the only way to achieve authentic existence. That was dangerous. That was the kind of psychological state that led to people taking risks they shouldn't, pushing boundaries they shouldn't cross, breaking themselves in pursuit of something they thought would make them whole.

  "You're real now," Valoris said firmly. "You're Quinn Sterling. You're Chimera Squad. You're my squadmate and you matter. Not because of summoning. Not because of dimensional contact. Because you're you."

  Quinn looked at her for several long seconds, processing this statement with their typical analytical approach. "Insufficient evidence," they said finally. "But... appreciated."

  They walked away before Valoris could respond, heading toward the academic wing for post-meditation debriefing. Valoris watched them go, worry settling in her stomach like a lead weight.

  One month until summoning. And Quinn was approaching it with desperate obsession that suggested they'd risk everything, including their own sanity, for the chance to cross that boundary.

  Chimera Squad's final rankings were posted at 14:00, displayed on every interface across the academy for everyone to see.

  #4 Overall.

  Fourth place. Not bad. Respectable. Solid positioning going into summoning. But also: expectation. Pressure. The knowledge that everyone was watching, waiting to see if Chimera Squad could maintain their trajectory or if they'd crack under final-month pressure like so many squads did.

  Valoris pulled up the detailed breakdown, studying the numbers:

  Squad Apex: #1 (of course, always, consistently excellent across all metrics)

  Squad Adeyemi-32: #2 (jumped two places, aggressive improvement, clearly pushing hard)

  Squad Glacier: #3 (dropped one place, still strong but showing strain)

  Squad Chimera: #4 (dropped from third, concerning trend)

  Squad Crowe-01: #5 (consistent, reliable, no dramatic changes)

  "We dropped," Zee said, appearing beside Valoris in the common area where rankings were displayed on the main screen. "From third to fourth."

  "I noticed."

  "Crowe improved. Adeyemi jumped. We fell."

  "We didn't fall," Saren corrected, joining them with her tablet showing detailed metric analysis. "We maintained stable performance while other squads improved around us. Different problem. They're accelerating. We're plateauing."

  "Feels like falling," Zee muttered.

  "Feelings don't change numerical reality. Our scores are consistent with last month. Other squads simply performed better. The question is: why are they improving while we're stagnant?"

  "Because we're exhausted," Milo said, slumping into a nearby chair with boneless fatigue that suggested he'd pushed through another brutal engineering session. His glasses sat crooked on his face, smudged with whatever compound he'd been working with. "We've been operating at maximum capacity for months. No improvement left in the tank. Just maintaining what we have while slowly burning out."

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  "Unacceptable," Quinn said flatly, emerging from wherever they'd been since meditation. "Exhaustion is an obstacle, not inevitability. Other squads are experiencing the same pressure. Success requires pushing past perceived limitations."

  "Other squads are also breaking," Valoris pointed out. "We're not the only ones showing strain. The question is whether we break before summoning or hold together long enough to make it through."

  Silence settled over their group, heavy with implications nobody wanted to acknowledge explicitly.

  They were all breaking. Different ways, different speeds, but definitely breaking. Quinn pushing too deep into dimensional contact, risking psychological fracture. Zee training relentlessly, channeling terror into physical exhaustion. Saren creating endless protocols and charts, seeking control where none existed. Milo building and rebuilding things compulsively, processing anxiety through creation. Valoris having panic attacks in the middle of the night, watching hair come out in the shower, unable to eat properly.

  All of them fracturing under pressure that had been building for months and was now approaching unbearable levels.

  "One month," Zee said quietly. "We just need to survive one more month. Hold together that long. Then we'll summon and either we'll succeed or we won't, but at least the waiting will be over."

  "And if we don't hold together?" Milo asked.

  "Then we wash out. Fail summoning consideration. Go home and explain to our families that we weren't strong enough, weren't compatible enough, couldn't handle the pressure." Zee's voice was flat, emotionless, but her hands were clenched into fists. "That's not happening. I will not fail. I will not fail."

  The intensity in those last words made everyone look at her. Zee stared at the rankings display, jaw set, eyes hard. She was terrified. They all were. But Zee's terror had crystallized into something sharp and determined and slightly dangerous. The kind of fear that drove people to push past limits they shouldn't cross, to sacrifice things they shouldn't sacrifice, to break themselves rather than admit defeat.

  "We're not failing," Valoris said firmly, speaking to all of them. "We're Chimera Squad. We've survived everything the academy's thrown at us. We'll survive this too. One month. We can hold together for one month."

  "Can we though?" Saren asked quietly. "Can we really?"

  Nobody had a reassuring answer.

  They approached the final month differently, each developing their own coping mechanisms, their own ways of processing terror that was becoming overwhelming.

  Valoris spent hours in the archives, watching footage of past Kade summonings with obsessive attention to detail.

  Kiana’s legendary summoning: forty-three minutes of sustained dimensional contact, the longest successful summoning on record. The footage showed her standing in the reservoir chamber, consciousness extended toward the boundary for nearly an hour while dimensional energy poured through her, shaping itself into the entity that would become Sovereign. Near the end, she'd started screaming. Blood running from her nose, dimensional exposure scars forming in real-time, body rejecting the strain even as she maintained contact through sheer willpower.

  But she'd succeeded. Pulled forth one of the most legendary mechs in academy history. Became a hero. Served for eight years before corruption took her.

  Her grandmother's summoning: eight minutes. Remarkably quick. She'd approached the boundary, crossed it decisively, pulled forth Aegis with efficient precision that suggested perfect compatibility. Minimal struggle. Clean execution. The kind of summoning everyone hoped for but few achieved.

  But she'd still ended up with half her face scarred, one eye corrupted, hands trembling with dimensional exposure damage after fifteen years of service.

  Her mother's summoning: standard. Twelve minutes. Legacy gleaming clean and perfect above her.

  Five generations of Kades reaching into dimensional space. Five generations of successful summonings. Five generations of legendary service ending in corruption or death.

  What will mine be? Valoris wondered, watching the footage loop for the hundredth time. Quick like grandmother's? Long like Kiana’s? Standard like my mother? Or will I be the Kade who breaks the pattern? The one who fails? The one whose summoning attempt ends in catastrophic failure that makes family shame permanent?

  She could recite every detail of these summonings now. Every micro-expression, every physical reaction, every sign of struggle or success. Studied them like they contained answers to questions she couldn't articulate.

  But the footage never told her what she needed to know: whether she'd succeed.

  Zee trained relentlessly, converting terror into physical exertion with single-minded intensity.

  Valoris found her at 05:00 one morning in the combat training facility, already drenched in sweat despite the early hour. She was fighting training dummies at maximum difficulty, moving through forms with aggressive precision, hitting harder than necessary, faster than safe.

  "How long have you been here?" Valoris asked.

  "Since three." Zee didn't stop moving, flowing through a series of strikes that should have been controlled but came out violent. "Couldn't sleep. Kept thinking about summoning. Kept imagining failure. Needed to move."

  "You've been training for two hours? On three hours of sleep?"

  "Better than lying in bed imagining everything that could go wrong." Zee spun, elbow strike connecting with dummy's head hard enough to crack the reinforced padding. "I'm not weak. I'm not fragile. I can handle this. I just need to be strong enough."

  "Strength isn't the issue. You're already strong."

  "Not strong enough. Never strong enough. There's always someone stronger, always someone better, always someone more deserving." Another strike, harder this time. "My whole family's future depends on my success. If I fail summoning, their faith in me was misplaced. Their sacrifices were wasted. I prove every doubter right."

  "That's not true. You've proven yourself already. Multiple times. You've earned your position."

  "Fourth isn't first. Respectable isn't legendary. And summoning erases all previous achievements. One failure and nothing else matters." Zee finally stopped, breathing hard, knuckles bleeding where she'd hit the dummy too hard. "I will not fail. I WILL NOT FAIL. Whatever it takes. However hard I need to push. I will not let my family down. I will not prove the doubters right. I will not be weak."

  She resumed training before Valoris could respond, channeling fear into fury into focus with desperate intensity.

  Saren created protocols and charts with obsessive dedication, seeking control through comprehensive knowledge.

  Her corner of their barracks looked like a command center. Multiple screens displaying data. Summoning statistics, success factors, failure analysis, medical outcomes, psychological profiles. Charts tracking variables across hundreds of past summonings. Detailed timelines correlating preparation approaches with final results. Everything quantified, everything analyzed, everything organized into systems that promised answers if she could just study them thoroughly enough.

  "I've identified forty-seven distinct variables that correlate with summoning success," she told Valoris during one evening study session. "Dimensional resonance strength, meditation depth, physical conditioning, psychological stability, neural plasticity, genetic predisposition, environmental factors, timing within an annual cycle. I'm tracking all of them. Building a predictive model."

  "You can't predict summoning outcomes, Saren. There are too many unknowns."

  "Insufficient data is not the same as unpredictability. Every system has patterns if you analyze thoroughly enough. I just need to identify the correct variables, weight them appropriately, account for interaction effects."

  "It's not a math problem. It's touching something incomprehensible and hoping your consciousness doesn't shatter."

  "Everything is solvable with sufficient analysis." But Saren's voice carried unusual strain, frustration bleeding through her typical control. "I need to understand this. Need to know exactly what determines success versus failure. If I understand the system completely, I can optimize my approach, maximize success probability, ensure a positive outcome."

  "You're trying to control something that can't be controlled."

  "Then what's the point?" Saren's composure cracked slightly, desperation showing through. "If effort doesn't matter, if preparation doesn't matter, if understanding the system doesn't matter, then what determines who succeeds? Random chance? Genetic lottery? Arbitrary compatibility? That's not acceptable. There has to be a pattern. There has to be a system. There has to be something I can control."

  She returned to her charts, adding more data, adjusting more variables, seeking certainty in systems that promised answers they couldn't provide.

  Quinn meditated constantly, disappearing into dimensional contact for eight, ten, twelve hours daily.

  They barely ate. Barely slept. Barely engaged with physical reality except when forced. Just sat in the meditation chambers or their bunk or anywhere quiet enough to reach toward the dimensional boundary, consciousness extending toward that vast cold awareness with obsessive hunger.

  "You're going to damage yourself permanently," Valoris warned after finding Quinn in their bunk at midnight, still meditating despite exhaustion that made their hands shake.

  "Damage is temporary. Understanding is permanent."

  "Psychological fracture isn't temporary. It's your mind breaking. Consciousness fragmenting beyond repair."

  "Acceptable risk."

  "It's not acceptable. You're my squadmate. I need you functional, not broken from pushing too hard beforehand."

  Quinn's eyes opened slowly, unfocused, pupils dilated. "I'm almost there. Can almost perceive what exists beyond the boundary. Can almost understand the dimensional space. Just need to go deeper. Need to maintain contact longer. Need to–"

  "You need to rest. You need to eat. You need to exist in physical reality occasionally instead of spending every moment reaching toward something that's breaking you."

  "Physical reality isn't real. Only the dimensional space is real. Only what exists beyond the boundary. That's where I'll finally be real. That's where I'll finally exist properly. Just need to reach it. Just need to cross. Just need–"

  "Quinn." Valoris sat on the edge of their bunk, forcing them to focus. "Listen to me. You are real. Right now. In physical reality. You're Quinn Sterling. You're Chimera Squad. You matter. You exist. You don't need to cross the dimensional boundary to be real. You already are."

  Quinn stared at her with those dilated pupils, processing, analyzing, trying to reconcile this statement with their internal conviction.

  They closed their eyes again, sinking back into meditation despite Valoris's protests.

  Milo built things compulsively, processing anxiety through creation with increasing desperation.

  Small projects at first; gear modifications, equipment improvements, component repairs. But as pressure mounted, the projects became more frantic. Building and rebuilding the same things multiple times. Taking apart perfectly functional equipment just to reassemble it. Creating tools nobody needed for problems that didn't exist.

  His corner of the barracks filled with half-finished projects. Components scattered everywhere, tools arranged and rearranged compulsively. His glasses cleaned and adjusted dozens of times daily, perfect maintenance becoming ritual comfort.

  "What are you building?" Valoris asked, watching him work on something that looked like environmental seal modification.

  "Don't know yet. Just building. Helps me think. Helps me not think. Helps me exist without constantly imagining failure." His hands moved rapidly, precise despite shaking slightly. "During summoning, I'll reach into dimensional space and pull forth a mech. Something I'll be neurally bonded to. Something that will fundamentally change what I am."

  "Yes."

  "What if it's dangerous? What if I pull out something volatile or unstable? What if my mech is the thing that finally makes my intelligence dangerous to others instead of just myself?"

  "Then we'll handle it. Together. That's what squad means."

  "But what if I can't control it? What if it magnifies my worst qualities instead of my best? What if–" He stopped, hands finally still, staring at the component he'd been modifying without purpose. "What if I'm not good enough? What if my genius isn't sufficient? What if I try and fail and prove that even being exceptionally intelligent doesn't matter when you're fundamentally inadequate?"

  "You're not inadequate. You're brilliant. And whatever you summon, we'll face it together."

  Milo resumed working, hands moving again, building something, anything, maintaining illusion of control through creation that served no purpose except providing activity that wasn't panicking.

  The final week arrived with inevitable momentum that made resistance pointless.

  No more regular training. Just meditation and rest. Physical conditioning reduced to gentle maintenance. Academic coursework suspended entirely. The academy recognized that final-week pressure was already overwhelming. Adding additional requirements would push students past breaking point.

  So they simply... existed. Preparing mentally and physically. Waiting for summoning day. Counting down hours that passed both too quickly and too slowly.

  Chimera Squad spent that week together.

  Not talking about summoning constantly. Not studying footage or creating charts or meditating obsessively. Just... being together in the last moments before everything changed irrevocably.

  They played cards in their common room. Badly, because none of them could focus properly, but it gave their hands something to do. Shared stories from first year, laughing about training disasters that seemed funny now despite being terrifying then. Remembered the first squad coordination exercise when they'd failed so spectacularly they'd earned their lowest rating ever. The first successful simulation that proved they could actually function together. The moment they'd chosen their name and become Chimera Squad officially.

  "We've come so far," Zee said during one quiet evening, cards forgotten on the table between them. "From strangers who couldn't coordinate to save our lives to... this. Whatever this is."

  "Family," Milo said simply. "This is family. Chosen family. Squad."

  "Fractured but functional," Saren added.

  "Mismatched pieces that somehow fit together anyway," Quinn offered.

  "Chimera Squad," Valoris said. "Monsters who became legends. Or at least monsters who became competent."

  "Still working on the legend part," Zee said with something approaching her old grin.

  "We'll get there. After summoning. After we prove we can actually do this."

  "If we prove we can do this," Saren corrected.

  "When," Zee insisted. "Not if. When. We're Chimera Squad. We don't fail."

  But the uncertainty hung between them anyway. Because they might fail. Some of them might fail. Statistics suggested maybe three or four would successfully summon. Maybe all five. Maybe none. No way to know until they tried.

  The night before summoning, they gathered in their common room one final time.

  Quiet intimacy. No grand speeches. No dramatic declarations. Just five people who'd chosen each other, facing the biggest challenge of their lives, acknowledging what they meant to each other before everything changed.

  "Whatever happens tomorrow," Zee said into the comfortable silence, "we're squad. That doesn't change. Success or failure, we're Chimera. We're family. That remains true regardless of outcome."

  "The statistical probability of complete squad success is moderate," Quinn said with their typical analytical flatness. "But the probability of maintaining squad cohesion regardless of individual outcomes remains high."

  "I'm glad I'm doing this with you," Milo said quietly. "All of you. Even though I'm terrified. Even though I have no idea what tomorrow brings. I'm glad we're facing it together instead of alone."

  Valoris looked at each of them. Zee with her desperate determination, Saren with her need for control, Quinn with their obsessive hunger for reality, Milo with his anxious brilliance. Her squad. Her family. The people she'd fought alongside for two years, who'd become more important than legacy or pressure or fear.

  "Tomorrow we become pilots," she said. "Or we don't. Either way, we face it together. We support each other through it. We stay Squad regardless of what happens. Because Chimera isn't about individual success. It's about all of us."

  They sat together in their common room, not sleeping despite exhaustion, too anxious and afraid and excited to rest. Watching the hours count down toward morning. Toward summoning day. Toward the moment when they'd cross the dimensional boundary and discover what waited on the other side.

  Toward the moment when everything would change.

  The night passed slowly. Time thick and heavy, each minute stretching impossibly long. They talked quietly about nothing important. Favorite foods, childhood memories, hopes for post-summoning assignments. Avoiding the topic that consumed their thoughts because talking about it made fear more real.

  Around 04:00, Quinn finally fell asleep sitting upright, exhaustion overcoming anxiety. Milo dozed off shortly after, glasses still on, hand still clutching the component he'd been fidgeting with. Saren lasted until 05:00 before her eyes finally closed, tablet sliding from her lap.

  Zee and Valoris remained awake, sitting in comfortable silence, watching their squad sleep.

  "Are you ready?" Zee asked quietly.

  "No," Valoris admitted. "Are you?"

  "No. But I don't think anyone really is. Ready suggests confidence. I'm just... determined. Committed. Whatever happens, I'm going through with it."

  "Same. Because what else can we do? We've prepared as much as humanly possible. Trained for two years. Studied everything. Practiced until dimensional contact became familiar. Now we just have to trust that it was enough."

  "And if it wasn't?"

  "Then we tried. That's all anyone can do. Try. Hope. Trust. And face whatever comes."

  Zee nodded slowly. "I'm scared."

  "Me too. But I'm glad we're together."

  "Me too."

  They sat in comfortable silence, watching dawn approach through the barracks windows. Light slowly filling the sky, gray becoming blue, darkness receding before the inevitable day.

  Summoning day.

  Finally, impossibly, here.