Jeremiah leaned back, his mind racing to keep up.
A "Soma" unit. He'd never even heard the term until a moment ago, but judging by the sudden, heavy silence in the room, it was a massive deal.
Mariah hadn't spoken since Selene doubled down. Tessa had gone quiet too, which told him more than anything else.
He found his gaze drifting, tracing the contrast between them. Mariah was a picture of poised composure, her focus so absolute she didn't even notice him staring. Then there was Tessa—relaxed in a way that felt effortless, wearing her confidence like a polished blade. Both were striking, though in ways that felt worlds apart.
Jeremiah turned his attention back to the table, a slight frown tugging at his mouth.
Great, he thought, the weight of the silence pressing in. A brand-new unit, and I'm sandwiched between two women who are as lethal as they are stunning.
The sharp rap of Selene's knuckles against the table snapped him out of it.
"Now that introductions are out of the way," she said, her gaze sweeping over them, "you're probably wondering where the rest of your unit is."
Tessa leaned forward, "I was, actually."
"Two of them are still in Aetheria," Selene replied. "They'll arrive within the week."
Jeremiah felt it immediately. His gaze sharpened, his focus pulling inward as he turned the implications over in his mind.
He kept his expression neutral, but the mention of Aetheria stirred something cold and unpleasant beneath his ribs.
That realm was governed by bloodlines and laws that only bent for the powerful. It was a land of clans. In Aetheria, power didn't belong to institutions like it did in the Alliance; it belonged to ancient houses that traced their lineage through mana itself. Some cooperated, some tolerated the Alliance, and others it remains to be seen but Jeremiah wasn't stupid not everyone agrees with the alliance.
If Selene was pulling recruits directly from there, they weren't just skilled—they were political. And maybe, in due time, they'd have the answers he was looking for.
Aetheria… Clans… Bloodlines.
Jeremiah's focus began to fray.
Mariah sat across from him, posture straight, focus locked on Selene. To anyone else, she was just another practitioner listening to a briefing. To him, she was noise. Too much of it. He could see it beneath her skin—the faint, rhythmic pulse at her throat, blood moving through her veins with steady confidence. Her heartbeat wasn't loud, but it was clear and impossibly precise. Once he noticed it, it was hard not to follow.
His fingers curled slowly against the edge of the table.
No, no. Not here… not now, he told himself. The thought was more of a plea than anything. Don't listen. Focus. Clear it out.
He forced his gaze down, counting the seconds between each breath—the way Selene had taught him years ago. In. Hold. Out. The hunger receded, but slower than it should have, leaving a dull pressure behind his eyes.
He straightened, smoothing his expression before anyone could look too closely. The fatigue he felt wasn't from a lack of sleep; it was the exhaustion of constant restraint.
Jeremiah glanced briefly at Mariah, then Tessa. Both focused on Selene, engaged, and unaware of the quiet storm running behind his calm exterior. They saw a quadra-elemental mage. A swordsman. An asset Selene kept close.
They didn't see the otherhalf of him—and they wouldn't, if he had any say in it.
"And the last?" Mariah asked, her voice cutting through his internal fog.
Selene's eyes flicked to her. "We'll get to that in a minute." She rose, waving a hand to ignite a projection above the table—a shimmering web of symbols and shifting maps. "You already know what SOMA is supposed to be. Officially."
Jeremiah and Mariah shared a silent, weary look.
"SOMA units operate where conventional forces can't," Selene continued. "Deep incursions. High-value extractions or eliminations. We observe, we intervene, and we contain." She paused, her eyes glinting. "Now… fuck all that."
Tessa snorted, a sharp, appreciative sound.
"You know who I am," Selene said, a thin smile playing on her lips. "I am a Magus. I am an Overseer. When I decide something needs handling, I don't ask permission—I authorize it. There will be missions that don't exist on paper. Objectives that shift the balance of power. Outcomes people will argue about for decades."
"But," Selene continued, "before any of that, you need experience."
She flicked her wrist, and the projection shifted to a single profile. A beautiful young woman stared back at them—perhaps in her late teens or early 20s, with dark hair framing a face dominated by eyes the color of deep violet.
"Nyx Althaea," Selene said.
Jeremiah leaned forward despite himself.
"Rescue and escort," Selene continued. "Simple on the surface. Complicated underneath."
Tessa squinted at the girl's image. "She doesn't look like a soldier."
"She isn't," Selene replied. "She's the closest thing we have to a saint."
That got their attention.
Selene's eyes remained on the image. "Nyx isn't valuable because she fights. She's valuable because of what she is. What she represents. There are very few people like her left."
Mariah frowned slightly. "You're saying she's an asset."
"I'm saying she's irreplaceable," Selene corrected. "And she is the final member of this unit."
Jeremiah's brow furrowed. "She's joining us?"
Selene nodded. "Which is why you're retrieving her."
The data streams shifted, scrolling beneath Nyx's image like a digital death warrant.
"There's a ten-million credit bounty on her head," Selene said, her voice dropping into a professional chill. "Posted through the underworld and broadcast to every major criminal network. The minor ones are already scrambling. That alone would be enough to bring the world down on her."
Tessa exhaled a slow, sharp breath. "But of course, it doesn't stop there."
"No," Selene agreed. "It doesn't. Cults in the Human Realm want her for what she symbolizes. Factions in Aetheria want her for what they believe she can become. Different dogmas, same outcome."
"They want her alive," Mariah murmured, her mind already cataloging the threats.
"Some do," Selene countered. "Others don't care if she's breathing, as long as no one else has her."
Jeremiah leaned back, his eyes fixed on the violet-eyed girl. "And she's alone?"
"Protected," Selene replied. "But no longer secure. The location is compromised, and once that happens, it's only a countdown." She folded her hands, the projection reflecting in her eyes. "Your objective is simple: Locate Nyx Althaea. Secure her. Escort her back to headquarters."
"And if someone gets in the way?" Tessa asked, her tone suggesting she already knew the answer.
Selene's gaze flicked briefly toward Jeremiah—a silent acknowledgment of the hunger he was currently fighting to suppress. "Then you remove the obstacle."
"You have three days," Selene continued.
"After that, the bounty spreads too thin, and discretion becomes impossible. The world will be at her door."
Mariah nodded once, her posture military-crisp. "Rules of engagement?"
"Minimal exposure. Zero civilian casualties. Nyx leaves with you alive and intact." Selene paused, letting the gravity of the task sink in.
"This mission isn't just about combat. It's about protection. It's about trust—and whether you can function as a unit when someone far more fragile than you becomes the center of the battlefield."
She let the silence stretch for a beat longer than necessary before the projection dimmed and died.
"I know you have questions," she said, rising from her seat, "but time is a luxury we don't have. An Alliance squad vehicle is prepped in the lower bay. Grab your gear. Meet there in fifteen minutes."
Tessa was already moving."Fifteen. Got it."
Mariah stood as well, already mentally reorganizing priorities. She paused only long enough to look at Magus Selene. "We'll be ready."
Selene inclined her head. "I expect nothing less."
Chairs slid back. Footsteps echoed as the room cleared, urgency settling in without panic. One by one, they filed out.
"Jeremiah," Selene said.
He stopped.
The doors sealed again, muting the outside noise until it was just the two of them.
Selene reached into her coat and set two items on the table: a slim, insulated pouch and a heavy silver ring. The soft thud of the ring against the table was unmistakable.
Jeremiah's nose crinkled. "You couldn't even warm it up this time?"
Selene didn't bother to answer.
He picked up the pouch, turning it once in his hand. Even sealed, the scent was there—faint, metallic, and stale, like a meal left out for days. He exhaled through his nose and downed it. The taste hit immediately: flat, lukewarm, and fundamentally wrong.
He swallowed anyway.
The effect hit faster than he liked. Heat bloomed in his chest, sharp and sudden, like a gear snapping into place. His vision flared, and the room sharpened with predatoryclarity.
He looked up just as Selene's eyes narrowed. He felt the familiar, pulsing pressure behind his retinas—the burn.
"Control," Selene said quietly.
Jeremiah shut his eyes, his jaw tightening as he forced the surge down. When he finally opened them, the faint red glow was fading from his reflection in the glass wall. He sighed, leaning back. "You know this stuff tastes terrible."
"You say that every time," Selene noted, her lips curving faintly.
"It's like drinking something that died twice," he muttered, but he slipped the empty pouch into his jacket.
His attention shifted to the ring. He picked it up, feeling a hum of mana vibrate against his skin. It wasn't raw power; it was structured, folded into layers that felt deeper than the physical metal. It was clearly a storage artifact. "And the jewelry?" he asked, rotating it between his thumb and forefinger. "Feels heavy for a trinket."
Selene watched him study the mana.
"It's an artifact, as you could probably tell," she explained, her voice dropping into a more clinical tone. "Just imbueit with a pulse of your own mana to use it. It'll hold your kit, your blade, and enough bloodpacks to keep that hunger of yours quiet for a while."
"You've been pushing the intervals," Selene said, watching him closely now.
Jeremiah didn't deny it. "I've been busy."
"That wasn't an answer."
He met her gaze. "I've been careful."
Selene studied him for a long moment. Then, quietly, "Be more so."
She stepped past him toward the door. "You're on point for this mission. I don't need you distracted."
Jeremiah nodded once. "I won't be."
The doors opened.
Selene paused just long enough to add,
"Fifteen minutes."
Then she was gone.
Jeremiah exhaled, rolling his shoulders, letting out a slow breath and followed, the taste still lingering, the world a little too vivid as he headed for the transport bay.