The Elite Dormitory was alive.
Not chaotic.
Not loud in the careless way it used to be.
But full.
Every corridor carried motion—doors opening and closing, voices layered over one another, footsteps crossing paths with purpose instead of drift. The air itself felt different, charged with something between preparation and restraint, like no one wanted to waste even a second of what little time was left.
Inside the rooms—
it showed.
Some cadets sat on the edges of their beds, voices softer than usual as they spoke through open comm lines. Family calls. Short conversations. No one lingered too long on them, but no one rushed them either. There was a weight to those moments now, something unspoken threading through every word.
Others worked.
Checking gear.
Rechecking it.
Opening cases, closing them, opening them again like something might change if they looked one more time. Supplies were laid out in clean lines—patches, wraps, tools, personal items that suddenly felt more important than they should.
Across the main common area—
Aria, Rafe, and Lucian had taken over one of the central displays.
A star map hovered between them, rotating slowly, light shifting across their faces as projections updated in real time.
"…if they stagger the jump windows even slightly," Rafe was saying, eyes tracking movement vectors, "we're going to get fragmentation across the outer line."
Lucian adjusted his glasses, zooming in on a section of the map with precise finger movements.
"They won't," he replied. "Not intentionally."
"Not intentionally doesn't mean it won't happen," Aria said, leaning forward, arms crossed, her gaze sharper than usual. "Seventeen seconds is tight. Someone's going to miss."
"They won't," Lucian repeated, quieter this time.
Aria exhaled slowly.
"…then something else will break."
None of them argued that.
Because something always did.
Behind them—
Torres was on the floor.
Surrounded.
Not by people.
By drones.
"…easy, easy—careful—no, not you—YOU stay right there—"
He moved between them with practiced familiarity, lifting one unit and slotting it into a case, then another, checking connections, tightening fasteners, adjusting micro-components like he was handling something far more delicate than combat hardware.
"They're not equipment," he muttered under his breath. "They're precision instruments."
Aria didn't even turn around.
"They're tools."
"They're my girls," Torres corrected immediately.
That got her.
She turned her head just enough to glare at him.
"Stop calling them that."
"They respond better to it."
"They do not respond to anything."
"They respond to me."
"That's because you won't stop talking to them."
Torres looked genuinely offended.
"They deserve respect."
"They're drones."
"They're elite operational support units."
"They're drones."
Torres paused.
Then pointed at one of them as he carefully secured it into place.
"…she heard that."
Aria stared at him.
Then looked at Rafe.
"…if he doesn't come back, I'm not going to miss this part."
Rafe didn't even try to hide his smile.
"…statistically unlikely."
Lucian didn't comment.
But his shoulders shifted slightly.
That was enough.
Down the hall—
Mei's room was quieter.
Not empty.
But controlled.
The difference was immediate the moment you stepped inside.
No raised voices.
No scattered movement.
Everything here had purpose.
Hana stood near the center, posture straight but not rigid, her attention locked on Mei. Ava and Eva stood slightly behind her, both focused in their own ways—Eva watching everything, Ava already processing faster than she let on. Camille leaned against the wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable but present. Jack Mito stood closer to the door, hands in his pockets, gaze shifting between the datapads laid out on the surface in front of Mei.
Mei didn't rush.
She never did.
Her datapad was active, multiple partitions open as she sorted through years of compiled data—training modules, combat logs, adaptation scenarios, failure analyses layered with correction patterns.
She handed the first set over.
Then another.
Then another.
Not randomly.
Precisely.
"These are training modules," she said.
Her voice wasn't loud.
Didn't need to be.
"They're structured for progression. Do not skip ahead."
Ava nodded immediately.
Eva followed.
Camille didn't move—
but her eyes sharpened slightly.
Jack stepped closer, taking one of the datasets and flipping through it, brow furrowing as he realized just how much information was there.
"…this is—"
"Condensed," Mei said.
Jack blinked.
"…this is condensed?"
"Yes."
That alone told him everything he needed to know.
Then—
Mei paused.
Looked at Hana.
And handed her the bulk of it.
Not slightly more.
Not evenly distributed.
The majority.
Hana didn't flinch.
She took it.
Both hands.
Weight settling into her posture immediately.
"You will oversee them," Mei said.
Not a request.
Not a suggestion.
A statement.
Hana met her gaze.
"…okay."
Mei turned her attention to the rest of them.
"Support her," she said simply.
Camille nodded once.
Ava and Eva responded immediately.
Jack didn't speak—
but he shifted closer.
That was his answer.
For a moment—
no one said anything.
The room held it.
That understanding.
Then Hana spoke.
"…be safe out there."
Mei didn't respond right away.
Then—
"…I will."
It wasn't reassurance.
It was certainty.
And somehow—
that made it heavier.
They stepped out into the hallway together.
Movement resumed around them, the dormitory still alive with preparation, voices, motion.
And right on cue—
Torres saw them.
He froze mid-step, one drone case half-secured in his hands, eyes narrowing as he took in the group.
The silence between them.
The way they stood.
The way they looked.
Then—
he said it.
"Who died?"
Camille didn't react.
Ava blinked.
Eva looked mildly confused.
Hana—
almost smiled.
Before she could say anything—
Aria walked past.
Didn't slow.
Didn't hesitate.
And kicked Torres clean in the shin.
Hard.
"OW—"
"Read the room," she snapped without even looking back.
Torres grabbed his leg, hopping once.
"…I was asking a valid question!"
"No, you weren't."
"It felt valid!"
"Everything feels valid to you!"
Torres straightened, offended.
"…I bring emotional awareness to this group."
Aria turned slightly.
"…you bring chaos."
"Same thing."
"It's not."
"Agree to disagree."
Aria shook her head and kept walking.
Torres muttered something under his breath, rubbing his shin before going back to his drones.
"…ungrateful."
The perspective shifted.
Down a level.
Across the dormitory wing.
Into the tactical room on the Torch floor.
This space felt different.
Less personal.
More—
focused.
Tables arranged in structured clusters, projections hovering above them, walls lined with tactical displays. The air here carried less noise but more intensity—conversation built on analysis, not reaction.
And they were already waiting.
The Torch.
Octavian's crew.
The Sprouts.
Camille's team.
The Cracks.
Grouped.
Not loosely.
Organized.
Watching the entrance.
Waiting.
When the door opened—
everything hit at once.
"Hana—what did Mei give you—"
"Are we getting updated modules—"
"Did she adjust the fleet models—"
"Is this for evaluation prep—"
"Do we run it tonight—"
Questions layered over each other, fast, overlapping, urgent.
No hesitation.
No holding back.
Hana stepped forward.
Didn't raise her voice.
Didn't force control.
She just—
stood.
And the room adjusted.
Not silent.
But focused.
She held up the datapad.
"…we're running everything."
That stopped them.
Just enough.
Camille stepped in beside her.
"We don't have time to sort it slowly," she added.
Ava moved to the side display, already linking the data.
Eva started splitting the modules into categories without being asked.
Jack leaned over the projection, scanning through structures and muttering—
"…this is insane…"
Octavian crossed his arms.
"…good."
Hana looked around the room.
At all of them.
Then said—
"We start now."
No countdown.
No hesitation.
The system lit up.
And just like that—
the next phase began.
Because while the seniors prepared to leave—
the ones staying behind
were already learning how to fill the space they would leave behind.