As soon as they're gone, the atmosphere in the room relaxes noticeably. Several people shift positions or postures, no longer maintaining the formal bearing they showed in the Admiral's presence.

  "So," says Lopez, leaning forward with a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes, "now that the brass is gone, let's talk about what they're not telling you."

  Voss shoots him a warning look. "Carlos—"

  "Oh, come on, Reyna," he interrupts. "You know as well as I do that Thorn is playing his cards close to the chest. The new guy deserves to know what he's really in for."

  "And you think alienating our best advocate with the Admiral is the way to go about that?" Commander Wells asks pointedly.

  Lopez subsides with a mutter that sounds suspiciously like profanity.

  "What aren't they telling me?" I ask, looking from face to face. "I know there's something. The Admiral practically admitted as much."

  The fourteen exchange glances, some kind of silent communication passing between them that I can't quite read yet. Finally, Commander Wells sighs.

  "It's not so much what they're not telling you, but what they don't fully understand themselves," she says carefully. "Each of us is unique in how our abilities manifested. But there are... patterns. Commonalities in our neural architecture that existed before Nexari exposure."

  Dr. Chen picks up the thread. "The working theory is that certain humans are born with a predisposition to developing these abilities. Something in our genetic makeup or early neural development that creates the potential, which is then activated by contact with the hive mind."

  "Like a key turning a lock," adds Dr. Okafor. "The question is: where did the lock come from in the first place? And why do only some humans have it?"

  I struggle to process the implications. "You're saying we were different before the Nexari? That we had some kind of... what, psychic potential lying dormant?"

  Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

  "That's one theory," Voss acknowledges. "And it's the one Border Command officially supports in their research."

  "But you don't believe it," I realize, sensing the reservation in her tone.

  "Let's just say I keep an open mind about alternative explanations," she replies diplomatically.

  "Like the possibility that we're not entirely human to begin with," Lopez interjects, earning another glare from Voss.

  "That's pure speculation, Carlos," she says sharply. "Based on nothing but conspiracy theories and misinterpreted data."

  "Is it?" he challenges. "Then why did my DNA analysis show markers that don't match any known human genome? Markers that all seventeen of us share to some degree?"

  A ripple of unease passes through the room. Clearly, this is a divisive topic among them.

  "Genetic anomalies exist throughout the human population," Dr. Chen points out reasonably. "Correlation doesn't imply alien origin."

  "And yet, here we are," Lopez counters, "developing abilities no human should have after contact with a non-human consciousness. Quite a coincidence, don't you think?"

  Before the argument can escalate further, I feel it again—that distinctive mental signature I sensed aboard the ship. But stronger now, clearer. Close.

  I stand abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor. "Someone's coming," I announce, my attention fixed on the door. "Someone like us, but... different."

  The others fall silent, several of them exchanging concerned glances.

  "That's impossible," Commander Wells says finally. "All remaining Nexari-resistants are in this room except for—"

  The door slides open, cutting off her words. A woman stands in the entrance—tall, athletic, with dark skin and striking features. She wears a modified Border Command uniform with insignia I don't recognize. But it's her eyes that capture my attention—storm-gray with flecks of amber that seem to shift and change in the light.

  And her mind... her mind is a mirror of my own. The pressure that's been building in my consciousness since the Nexari ship surges forward, recognizing, connecting.

  "I felt you arrive," she says, her voice resonant with an accent I can't place. "From three levels away, I felt your mind reaching."

  The room has gone completely still. The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife.

  "Andrew," Voss says carefully, standing to position herself between us, "this is Elara Voss. My daughter. The seventeenth Nexari-resistant."

  Elara steps fully into the room, her gaze never leaving mine. "Hello, Andrew. I've been waiting for someone like you for a very long time."

  And just like that, the constant seeking pressure in my mind finally finds what it's been looking for.