The assignment was simple.
Sector 5 had gone quiet after the meteor event. No major resources there—just a weather relay, some deflection nodes, and a scatter of wind turbines. Low risk. Ideal for calibration runs.
Toren sent Grum.
And—against Mira's initial suggestion—he sent Tarn with him.
"Pair him with someone new," Toren said. "Someone who hasn't decided what he is yet."
So they added Tali. Sixteen, whip-smart, overeager. Carried a coil pistol she hadn't fired in months.
They left at dawn.
By noon, comms went silent.
The system pinged a terrain anomaly.
Possible sinkhole detected – Location: 5.3 km southeast perimeterUnit Link: Disrupted
Toren arrived twenty minutes later on a glider with Mira, tension riding between them like a second passenger.
They found the crash trail fast—broken scrub, shredded vines, one turbine toppled sideways.
Then came the shouting.
Tarn was in the sinkhole, chest-deep in mud and root tangles, holding up a slab of sheared alloy with his bare arms.
Beneath it: Grum, pinned but breathing.
Tali hovered on the edge, arm bloody, eyes wide.
"Pull him out!" Tarn yelled, not turning. "Now!"
Toren leapt in. Mira followed. Together, they dragged Grum free, then hauled Tarn up last.
Once safe, Tarn fell back, panting.
"You were ordered to observe only," Mira snapped. "Why'd you dive in?"
Tarn didn't blink.
"Because he needed me."
Toren stared at him.
No hesitation. No calculation.
Just truth.
"Understood," he said.
Mira didn't reply.
But she didn't argue either.