A-Block's mess hall smelled like recycled heat and synthetic protein.
Elias sat at a corner table with his tray pushed away. The ration block had already gone cold, not that warmth would have helped it. His hands rested flat on the scratched metal surface. Bruises darkened the knuckles. The binder around his ribs kept every breath small.
Across from him, Faye sat with one elbow on the table and her eyes closed. The rest of the hall had gone quiet in the way A-Block got quiet after a bad mission. Recruits still ate, still muttered, still scraped trays against metal, but nobody laughed at the wrong volume. Everyone was listening for the next order.
Her avian Ikona hovered near her ear. The feathers were not quite feathers, more like sound given a bird's shape, all faint pink and blue shimmer around the edges.
