Thea’s breath caught as Karania noticed her staring, turning to her with a raised eyebrow and an amused glint in her eye. “Everything alright, Thea? Do I have something on my face or…?”

  “Yes,” Thea blurted out reflexively, only to furrow her brow and quickly backtrack. “No. Well… actually… Maybe…?”

  She felt heat rise to her cheeks, realising she was fumbling badly.

  Taking a steadying breath, she tried again. “Maybe to the first one, and no to the second.”

  Karania’s eyes lit up with a light chuckle as she turned her body fully to face Thea, making it easier for them to talk.

  “Aaaalright then. Maybe and No it is. Anything I can help with on that first part? Still worried about your placements?” she asked with a small, playful smirk. “Or maybe you’re worried about mine, what with that Emperor’s Touch Award passing by and me not being called up yet…?”

  Thea’s heart clenched as she noticed Karania’s grin slowly fade away when their eyes locked.

  The determined look on Thea’s face must have spoken volumes because Karania’s playful expression hardened into a neutral mask, her natural composure returning like an iron gate being drawn.

  The initial lightheartedness of their conversation evaporated as Karania’s eyes bore into Thea’s, seeking answers in the silence that followed. The unspoken question between them was palpable: What’s really going on here?

  “I… I just wanted you to know that I’m here. Like… if you want to talk,” Thea stammered, her voice somehow still steadier than she felt. Corvus’s advice echoed in her mind, but it felt thoroughly foreign on her tongue.

  She clenched her cybernetic hand, trying to stave off the tremor that the coiling anxiety in her chest was radiating through her, each beat of her heart a reminder of how vulnerable she felt in moments like these.

  The warm, sticky sensation of sweat gathered in the hand still entwined with Kara’s, but the more she tried to ignore it, the more aware of it she became.

  She would have much rather been entrenched in a hopeless firefight than have this conversation, right here, right now; that much Thea was certain of.

  Karania’s gaze softened, her eyes holding Thea’s for a moment longer than expected, searching for something beneath the nervous exterior. A small, understanding smile curved Karania’s lips, but something was slightly off on it, that Thea couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  All she knew was that it wasn’t Karania’s usual, cheeky smile.

  “I know. I brought you here, remember?” Karania said, her voice quiet but certain.

  She lifted their clasped hands, letting Thea feel the subtle squeeze as if to remind her, That’s why we’re doing this.

  Thea swallowed, a knot forming in her throat as she tried to recall Corvus’s words: “Listen first. Make them feel heard. Don’t push too hard.”

  It was easier said than done when sitting across from Karania, who had far more experience with this whole social-interaction business than her, easily able to deflect conversations with an ease that she envied. But this time, Thea needed to somehow keep control of the conversation, even if it felt like trying to catch smoke.

  “Yeah, you did,” Thea began, her voice wavering before she forced herself to push through. “And I’m… I mean, I’m really grateful. For your help, I mean. I wasn’t really myself back then, and… I just, um…” She swallowed, her mouth feeling dry. “I wanted to say that, you know, if you ever need to… like… talk or anything…”

  Karania’s response was quick, fluid, like a breeze sweeping past. “Sure, if you’re that bored.”

  She shrugged lightly, tilting her head as if assessing Thea’s level of interest. “Though, you know, the Forward Leadership Award is going on up there right now; probably Corvus’. Figured you’d be more interested in that than whatever else we could talk about.”

  Karania waited for a moment, leaving enough space for Thea to interject to say that she did, in-fact, want to see if Corvus would win anything.

  But when she didn’t, she continued, her tone casual, but her words very precise, leading the conversation right back to Thea. “But you do seem very stressed out, I’ll give you that. So, anything on your mind, then? What’s weighing you down today? That thing earlier, where you kind of lost it for a bit…?”

  Thea blinked, momentarily swept up in the way Karania turned the question on her.

  The temptation to talk about the strange emotional spikes she’d been experiencing lately welled up. It would be so easy to just tell her; to maybe even get some answers from her genius friend on what might be happening to Thea… but then she caught herself, suddenly realising she was about to take the bait.

  ‘No! She’s doing it again. This is… she’s deflecting,’ Thea reminded herself, though her confidence wavered.

  “Oh, it’s… it’s not really about me,” she mumbled, glancing down, feeling herself sink further under Karania’s gaze. Corvus’ words rang in her ears, reminding her not to push too hard. It was all about listening, he had said. “I mean, I just wanted to… to talk, like… if you wanted. We don’t have to, of course… I just thought if you needed…”

  Karania’s eyes softened, and she leaned in, her smile warm. “Thea, you’re too sweet, honestly. If there’s something you need to talk about, I’m right here. We can figure it out together; whatever is on your mind.”

  Thea opened her mouth, her throat tight as if her words were caught in a snare.

  Karania’s expression was so calm, so controlled, that it made Thea’s own struggle feel even messier.

  She wanted to insist, to directly ask what was really going on with Karania, but every time she thought of doing so, Corvus’ advice echoed in her mind, stopping her dead in her tracks.

  A helpless thought flitted through her mind: ‘I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I’m even saying the right things to begin with…’

  The buzz of the ceremony around them seemed to grow louder as another round of cheers and applause rang out for the Gold-medal winner, the sounds only further seeming to amplify her own inadequacy, making the quiet between her and Karania feel somehow both close and distant, as if separated by an invisible wall she couldn’t break through.

  ‘I don’t even know if even Corvus could handle this,’ she thought, disheartened. ‘So how could someone like me…?’

  Unable to bear the weight of Karania’s gaze any longer, Thea’s eyes drifted back to the podium, hoping to gather her thoughts, even as her mind raced. She needed a moment to breathe, to somehow find a way forward through this mire of uncertainty.

  ‘Corvus said to be subtle… to just let her know I’m here. But Kara’s deflecting—hard—even I can tell that much,’ she thought, wrestling with herself. ‘Do I push a little harder, ask something more direct, like he mentioned about… pointing out that I noticed she’s not herself right now? Or is that too much if she’s already deflecting…?’

  The dynamics felt almost impossible to unravel.

  She wished desperately that she could run back to Corvus for more guidance, for a precise step-by-step outline of what to say and how. But at the same time, a stubborn part of her resisted that urge.

  It wasn’t just pure pride either—though that was certainly in the mix.

  It was that competitive streak in her, the one that always pushed against her anxiety and social ineptitude. Thea wanted—needed—to do this on her own, to prove that she could be a real friend to Karania, the way Karania had been for her countless times.

  Thea knew there was a debt of sorts piling up between them, an unspoken weight of gratitude that she had yet to even begin to repay. If she couldn’t even be there for Kara when she needed it—one of the exceedingly few times she actually seemed vulnerable—then what sort of friend was she even? She wanted to be more than just a mimic, parroting Corvus’s words back to Kara.

  She wanted to be there for Karania in a way that felt genuine, that came from her. While yes, she was going to try and use Corvus’ prior advice, in her own words; she would not go as far as to ask for a full play-by-play rundown to use.

  ‘No… I can’t ask Corvus this time. Not for this conversation. I’ll go to him after, maybe, to learn… but not now,’ she resolved, feeling a small flame of determination push back against the wall of her anxiety.

  Her hand, still linked with Karania’s, felt clammy and tense. But even as nerves clawed at her, she took a breath, holding on to that flicker of courage.

  She would find the right words somehow.

  Major Quinn’s voice filled the hall, announcing the winner of the Platinum-medal for the Forward Leadership Award—a Marine named Kas Locke, leader of Adage Squad.

  Part of Thea felt she should look over to Corvus, see how he felt about the award, maybe even ask if he thought he had a shot at one of the higher placements.

  But she could barely even process Major Quinn’s words; her thoughts kept spiralling around Karania and Corvus’ earlier advice.

  ‘Everyone’s different… understand first,’ she repeated to herself, clinging to the phrase like a lifeline. What did she actually know about Karania? She was a perfectionist, a genius, practically infallible in everything she did.

  But that was mostly a mask.

  She had seen Karania’s other side as well, a more natural, less perfect version.

  If someone that purposefully, outwardly polished was suddenly off, wasn’t it her job as a friend to gently point it out? Karania was bound to want to fix her mask if it had a crack, at the very least. That’s what a good friend would do, right?

  Thea felt that the logic tracked. It reminded her that it seemed similar to those moments in the GalacticNet games where her own online-friends had needed to shake her out of stubborn tactics.

  Longtime gaming buddies had been able to tell her she was messing up, and she’d listened.

  Randoms who tried it? She’d crushed them for daring to tell her how to play.

  But with friends, though, it had always been different. She’d never really minded them telling her what she was doing wrong.

  They had a pass to say what others couldn’t.

  ‘Is that what friendship really is…? Being able to say what you’d usually block someone, or fully commit to a dive for, despite it being a bad tactical play…?’

  Taking a steadying breath, Thea turned back to Karania and tugged at her arm, catching her attention just as Major Quinn’s voice introduced the next award. She barely registered that it was the Ace Squad Award, recognising the biggest uphill victory of a squad in the Assessment.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Even as her squad buzzed excitedly in her peripheral vision, her focus remained locked on Karania.

  “Kara, listen,” she started, surprised at the force in her own voice.

  Even Karania blinked, the surprise flashing in her eyes as she turned her full attention to Thea—mission success, somehow.

  “I… I can tell you’re not yourself, okay?” she continued, her words clumsy, but resolute. “The way you said you were fine… you don’t… you don’t repeat yourself like that, not normally. We’ve been around each other for, like, a month or so—I can tell. If you don’t want to talk, that’s okay. But… stop deflecting. Even I can tell you’re doing it; that should tell you something, no? And I mean we’re friends. I… I just wanted you to know that I know, and I’m here… If you want to talk, I mean. I won’t push you, because… Well… Honestly, mostly because Corvus said I shouldn’t. I don’t know why pushing people on something like this is a bad idea, but I trust him. So… ehh, yeah. Just… I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere, so… Whenever you feel like it. I’m even fine with just sitting and being quiet; but… Be honest with me, okay…?”

  By the end, her voice wavered, and her hand tightened around Karania’s, the last of her words unsteady as anxiety spiked.

  But she held Karania’s gaze, feeling her heart pound in her chest.

  There was no backing down now.

  Karania studied Thea in silence, her expression unreadable, though her eyes held an intensity that made Thea’s pulse race. It was as though Karania was carefully measuring each word Thea had just said, weighing them for something she couldn’t quite see.

  Thea fidgeted, struggling against the instinct to fill the silence with something—anything—but before she could falter further, Karania’s lips curled into a faint smile.

  “You know, I’m genuinely surprised,” Karania said softly. “You’ve grown so fast—faster than I could have ever expected. But I’m not sure how I feel about Corvus being such a bad influence on you. Clearly, he’ll need a lesson on staying out of people’s business,” she teased dangerously, her voice light and playful.

  Thea opened her mouth, ready to jump to Corvus’s defence, words already spilling to explain that she had been the one who’d asked for his help.

  But Karania only shook her head, waving it off with a soft chuckle.

  “Relax, Thea. I was only joking,” Karania reassured her, squeezing Thea’s hand gently. But then her expression shifted ever so slightly, the playfulness melting into something deeper.

  “Honestly… sometimes I can’t help feeling envious of you.”

  ‘Envious?’ Thea’s mind stumbled at the word. ‘Envious of me?’

  It made no sense to her.

  Karania was the steady one, the genius, always in control. The one that never made a mistake and always knew exactly what to do in any given situation, without fail.

  What could someone like Karania possibly envy in her?

  Karania sighed, and for just a moment, her carefully maintained mask cracked, revealing a flash of the grief and anger Thea had glimpsed earlier.

  The rawness in her friend’s face was almost startling, and Thea’s chest tightened at the sight. But just as quickly, Karania reassembled her mask, smoothing her expression back into the ever-present neutrality that everyone knew her for.

  “I owe you an apology,” Karania said, her voice quieter, more serious. “You’re right. I have been deflecting you on purpose, Thea. I used the fact that social stuff doesn’t come naturally to you to keep you at arm’s length… And that’s frankly not acceptable. Forgive me for this, please. You might not want to believe this, but I’m not exactly… good with emotions and conversations, either. Not the ones I can’t fully control, at least.”

  Thea opened her mouth, struggling to understand, but Karania pressed on, her tone firm but gentle. “I promise, I’ll talk to you about it all, just… not right now. This isn’t really the place for it, and, well, it’s honestly still too fresh.”

  Thea nodded slowly, feeling an odd mix of relief and disappointment—both in herself for failing to keep up with Karania’s words once again, and also that she wasn’t going to get any closure on this for the foreseeable future.

  “But for now…” Karania’s gaze flickered to the rest of Alpha Squad, who were engaged in an animated discussion about the Ace Squad Award, debating their own chances with gleeful energy.

  “Why don’t we go join in? I don’t think they’d mind having your opinion thrown in there too,” she said, nodding toward the group. Her lips curled into a small smile as she added, “I think they’d welcome it, actually. A lot of the Squad’s greatest accomplishments were directly under your command, after all.”

  Thea let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, feeling the tension ease just a bit.

  “Yeah, let’s,” she replied, squeezing Karania’s hand once before releasing it.

  As they turned toward the rest of the squad, Thea couldn’t shake the thought of Karania’s unexpected vulnerability. It made her wonder just how many other hidden cracks might lie beneath her friend’s otherwise flawless exterior.

  An impenetrable barrier was one thing, but an impenetrable barrier with even a single crack?

  That was an illusion waiting to shatter.

  And if there was one crack, it stood to reason there could be many more, concealed just out of sight, merely requiring a different situation or perspective to find.

  The thought lingered in Thea’s mind, gnawing at her as she shifted her attention back to the lively scene unfolding in front of her.

  The heated exchange between Isabella and Desmond filled the air, their voices tinged with competitive banter.

  “We will definitely get one of the Assessment Awards. Nobody else fucked up a duo of Psykers,” Isabella declared confidently, arms crossed as if daring anyone to argue.

  Desmond scoffed and rolled his eyes dramatically. “Nobody else that we know of, you lumbering meat-sack! We have no idea what the other squads were up to while we were getting our asses handed to us by those freaks. They could have killed an Ace for all we know!”

  A toothy grin spread across Isabella’s face. “I remember only one of us getting ‘our asses handed to us,’ Mister Two-Resolve. The rest of us handled it just fine, including their guards. And that was without our Drone Specialist because he was napping on the top floor, last I checked.”

  Desmond leaned forward, animated and defiant. “You should be thankful I sacrificed myself to give you all intel on the Psyker Freaks’ capabilities, you meathead! If I hadn’t gone down, you would’ve been next. Karania barely jumped in to stop you from doing whatever reckless shit you were doing at their command that would have easily gotten the entire squad wiped out! So, you’re very welcome for taking the hit first and saving your idiot hide!”

  The banter drew a chuckle from Lucas, who was watching the scene unfold with a relaxed smile. Even Corvus seemed amused, a subtle, approving glint in his eyes as he watched his squad engage in their playful argument.

  Karania shot Thea a knowing glance, her eyes subtly saying, “See? Everything’s normal.”

  Thea exhaled, a small smile tugging at her lips as she took comfort in the momentary calm, surrounded by her squad and their lively chatter.

  The next few dozen minutes passed in a blur as Major Quinn moved through the ceremony, introducing one medal after another and honouring the three Ace Squads aboard the Sovereign.

  It wasn’t a surprise to Alpha Squad that their name wasn’t called—not here, not yet.

  They were certain they’d be featured in the Recruit Awards, especially after their victory over the Psykers. Even Corvus, who usually maintained a more realistic, downright pessimistic, view on their chances, admitted as much, though he still held doubts about being called up for the Forward Leadership Award himself.

  Corvus had been practical, detailing how the award’s criteria focused on direct and lasting battlefield impacts resulting from strategic decisions made by the squad leader.

  Throughout most of the assessment, he hadn’t been in a position to make such calls, given the chaos of their infiltration mission and his unexpected involvement with the Caliburn in the industrial sector of Nova Tertius.

  Yet, the rest of Alpha Squad had no doubt he had done his job admirably.

  His sacrifice, in particular, had led to significant gains for the entire squad, with Thea being alive at the control station resulting in drawing in the duo of Psykers and ultimately earning them their prized Gold-rarity Accomplishments.

  As Major Quinn called up Beta Squad to receive the Platinum Ace Squad medal, Thea couldn’t help but notice the tension rippling through the group as they walked up to the stage.

  The squad’s Defensive Heavy, Masters, wore a stoic expression—devoid of any joy, just a silent acceptance of the recognition she had fought so hard for, but clearly expected to gain.

  Thea’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

  ‘I suppose humility isn’t something that comes naturally to everyone…’

  The room settled as Major Quinn’s voice rose with renewed energy, drawing attention back to the stage. “Now, we finally get to the final category of today’s awards. The one everyone has undoubtedly been waiting for… The Most Valuable Marine, aka, the MVM Awards!”

  A wave of excitement swept through the hall—applause, cheers, and a palpable ripple of tension that electrified the room.

  Thea’s heart pounded as she straightened in her seat, anticipation thrumming through her veins. This was the kind of award she always craved—the irrefutable validation that she belonged, that she was the best. It was recognition that all her hard work had paid off, that every effort she had poured into each mission had not gone unnoticed.

  It wasn’t just an award; it was undeniable proof that she had earned her place and that someone out there—someone important—had seen her and acknowledged her worth.

  “This is the award for the true Aces of this drive. The Marines who have gone above and beyond what the UHF demands, leaving their mark on the battlefield in ways that words and videos barely capture. The criteria are simple: Be the best. We evaluated everything you could imagine, from strategic decision-making and the effectiveness of your actions to the outcomes and ripples of your impact on the field—both among your fellow Marines and in the faces of your enemies. If your name is called for an MVM medal, know that you stand among the very pinnacle of this drive’s talent.”

  Major Quinn’s gaze shifted to Alpha Squad, her sharp eyes landing on Thea, sending a shiver down her spine as their eyes met.

  The moment felt heavy, and Thea’s pulse quickened.

  “One more thing to note,” Major Quinn continued, eyes glinting with intent as she turned to the entire room. “Alpha Squad is composed of the best recruits from this drive, those who excelled during the Cube Trial that led to your induction into the UHF Marines. But, as I stated when you first joined just over a month ago, this is not a permanent assignment. This award, the MVM, serves as the first true test of their standing.

  “Unlike the other awards presented so far, which only grant points toward challenging an Alpha Squad member for their spot, the MVM Award is different. Any Marine who earns an MVM medal has the privilege to directly challenge any member of Alpha Squad for their position, bypassing all other requirements. Many of you have dreamt of this moment, sought a way to claim a spot in Alpha—this is your chance. Win an MVM medal, and you will get your shot.”

  A palpable tension filled the hall, eyes zeroing in on Alpha Squad like spotlights.

  Thea felt a cold sweat run down her back, the heat of countless stares pressing on her like a physical weight.

  She forced herself to keep her focus on Major Quinn, fighting the growing panic within.

  With a practised flick of her wrist, Major Quinn unveiled the emblem of the MVM Award.

  It was stark in its simplicity, threes brooches with a bold “#1” cast in the varying metals for each of the three medals: Silver, Gold, Platinum. The medal’s significance made its simplistic design all the more striking, as it represented the most coveted prize in the room.

  “However,” Major Quinn added with a sly smile, silencing the rising murmurs, “if an Alpha Squad member earns an MVM Medal, they are exempt from being challenged in any way until the next Assessment in three months time, regardless of their standing.”

  The noise in the hall surged, a wave of gasps and whispers spreading like wildfire.

  But Thea heard nothing beyond the echo of Major Quinn’s last sentence.

  ‘I have to get an MVM medal… I need to be safe,’ Thea thought, the pressure in her chest squeezing tighter as a mix of determination and desperation coursed through her.

  The echoes of whispers and the sideways glares from her peers were reminders enough—she knew there was no shortage of Marines in that room who would jump at the chance to unseat her—to “unmask” her, to embarrass her.

  The hostile undercurrents she’d felt walking into the hall earlier had been a stark reminder of how fiercely competitive and, at times, bitterly hateful her fellow Recruits could be.

  While Thea held confidence in her abilities, knowing she could outmatch many in a straight-up test of marksmanship or battlefield acumen, she was painfully aware that staying in Alpha Squad likely meant more than just proving herself on paper.

  She didn’t know how the promotion or demotion challenges worked to begin with—whether it was purely a matter of past performance, direct head-to-head competitions, or even physical combat.

  If it came down to close-quarters fights or roles beyond sniping, her chances might crumble fast. She was an exceptional sniper, but her close combat skills were unremarkable compared to the heavy hitters in the drive. Her medical knowledge was limited to the basics she’d learned through Kara, and while she could contribute to squad tactics, she lacked the leadership finesse of Corvus.

  The idea of having to take on roles she relied on her squadmates for—like Lucas’s steadfast defence, Isabella’s raw offensive power, or Desmond’s technical expertise—made her stomach knot.

  There were bound to be more blind spots in her skillset that she wasn’t aware of.

  Blind spots that other Recruits would almost certainly be able to find, if they, themselves, excelled at them.

  Blind spots that they could exploit and cost her her spot in this new, strange and very odd family she had found…

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