“Nya… Nya?” Jack rasped, his voice raw.

  “Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. Who else would it be?”

  Jack climbed out of the sim pod slowly—then his steps quickened. And suddenly he was there, wrapping Nya in a crushing hug like she was family. No speeches. No extra words. He just held her tight. In his head, fragments of the past flickered like film reels.

  Nya froze for a heartbeat.

  She hadn’t imagined this version of the reunion. She’d pictured it more than once—Jack seeing her again and reacting with shock, with joy, with disbelief… maybe even dropping to his knees and sobbing into her legs.

  None of that happened.

  He just held her with that huge, warm body, as if she truly belonged to him—like blood.

  When he finally let go, he stared at her face with painful attention, refusing to miss a single detail. Her eyes, her nose, her lips… and then his gaze drifted to her deep red hair.

  Something in Jack’s expression softened. His eyes grew deep and gentle, and the fat on his cheeks pulled back into a small curve—almost a smile.

  “Last time I saw you, your hair was black,” he said. “Why is it red now?”

  “Because Meadow’s hair is black,” Nya replied. “Last time I was on escort duty, so I changed it. I wasn’t going to let my red hair turn me into a walking target for enemy sights, Fatty.”

  “Red suits you,” Jack said. And his eyes reddened slightly.

  “Fatty,” Nya asked, “you like red?”

  “I…” Jack stopped mid-word. Then he forced the topic away from the edge he didn’t want to touch. “How did you even find me? I thought I’d never see you or Meadow again.”

  Nya tilted her head toward the back.

  Jack followed her gesture and saw Nova standing in the doorway, arms crossed. Her expression was colder than a vacuum, one perfect eyebrow arched.

  “Nova… you know Nya?” Jack asked, eyes on Nova.

  “Fatty,” Nova said, voice sharpened with mock sweetness, “your acting just now was excellent. Right in front of me, you managed to stage a whole tear-jerking reunion scene. That hug looked pretty enjoyable. How did it feel?”

  “What a tragedy,” Jack said, wearing his most innocent face. “I didn’t mean it like that. It was… genuine emotion. Nova. Believe me.”

  He hadn’t even finished the sentence when Nova’s hand moved. Smooth. Calm. Trained.

  The pistol that had been tucked behind her hip slid out, emitting a faint electric hum that made Jack’s scalp go tight.

  “Keep pretending, Fatty,” she said, low and teasing. “Nya is my best friend. And I watched every single move you just made.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  The hum of the pistol filled the lab. Jack’s throat went dry. He threw up both hands, trying to speak—

  Then the lab door hissed open again.

  Nya stepped aside. Several soldiers in crisp uniforms entered. Their faces were blank.

  Jack’s heart nearly punched through his ribs. One word locked in his brain like a trigger: execution.

  They found my record. Thirteen unauthorized retreats. They finally came to arrest me. Court-martial. Prison.

  His mind ran ahead in brutal snapshots: interrogation rooms, beatings, a hood pulled over his head—then the crack of a gunshot and everything going black.

  He panicked. Instinct took over.

  His legs stopped supporting him. He sank to his knees like a puppet whose strings had been cut, sweat breaking across his scalp. His hands clawed at empty air like a drowning man.

  Nova stepped closer, about to check what was wrong with him—

  And Jack grabbed her legs with both hands like his life depended on it.

  “Help me—help me— I… I don’t want to die!”

  The words burst out—half-truth, half-desperation, all terror. His massive body trembled uncontrollably.

  Nova blinked. Then she gave two short laughs and flicked her knuckles against his forehead.

  “Fatty, who are you performing for now?” she said. “Who said anything about arresting you?”

  Then she glanced toward Nya, struggling not to laugh even harder.

  “You’re telling me this… this cowardly Fatty is the ‘Federation hero’ who wiped out a Draconian Imperium command post?”

  Nya nodded—then looked away when she noticed Jack still clinging to Nova’s legs.

  Jack kept muttering nonsense under his breath, while Nova called down at him again, louder this time:

  “Hero! Hero! Are you seriously going to accept your reward like this?”

  “Hero…?” Jack finally seemed to register the word—Nova wasn’t calling him Fatty anymore. She was calling him a hero. His voice came out small, disbelieving.

  He pointed shakily at his own chest.

  “Me?”

  One of the soldiers stepped forward, face expressionless but eyes openly contemptuous.

  “Are you Corporal Jack Harlan, service number TC9527, attached to Logistics Unit 666 as a mech maintenance specialist?”

  Jack nodded slowly, dazed.

  The officer gave a short nod in return.

  “Then, Corporal Harlan—come with us.”

  Four months earlier.

  After Nya and Meadow returned, they’d been isolated and interrogated for weeks. Their account sounded like a bad joke:

  A crazed mechanic piloting a skeleton mech had carried them across thousands of kilometers of Imperial-occupied territory.

  Their combat recorders had been confiscated by the Empire. The only living witness—Jack—had vanished.

  Then Jack’s own field recorder surfaced and was delivered to Internal Military Investigations. When analysts pulled the footage, it confirmed everything the women had reported.

  The data trail also revealed thirteen entries labeled “Unauthorized Tactical Withdrawals.” It painted the portrait of a chronic coward.

  But each “fall back,” each escape, had also brought back intel a recon unit could only dream of: enemy mech specifications, patrol routes, weapons data.

  Then they reached the final record:

  Jack’s “fireworks” footage outside the Imperial forward base at Atlas Station.

  The officers in the command center had practically jumped out of their seats.

  That stupid little distraction attempt—pure accident—had wiped out an entire Imperial intelligence command hub at the exact moment the Federation launched a covert counterstrike.

  Chaos ripped through the Imperial line. A massacre was avoided. A decisive victory was secured.

  The annotation in the file was brief:

  We’ve found him.

  We’ve found our hero.

  But they still had to find Jack himself.

  A month later, on a rare surface supply run, Nova ran into Nya—an old classmate. After a few meetings, Nya finally described the fat mechanic who had saved them.

  Nova stitched the truth together immediately.

  But The Crucible was entering its most critical phase. Jack was too valuable. Dr. Thorne would never let him go.

  Nova told Nya to wait.

  Of course, Jack already knew the truth.

  Sitting in the rear of the transport ship as it carried him away, he couldn’t stop shaking.

  Hero? he thought bitterly.

  Yes, he was a soldier. Yes, his genes had been modified. But no enhancement could erase his fear of death. All he’d ever done was run. Run, hide, run again.

  And somehow… somehow that had ended up saving other people.

  A crooked smile tugged at his mouth—half self-mockery, half a strange, dizzying thrill.

  If this was what counted as a hero…

  Then God help the Federation.

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