Grohanva woke to pain.
Not the sharp kind. Not the kind that screamed.
This pain was wrong—hollow, echoing—like something essential had been torn out and the body didn’t yet know how to compensate. His throat burned. His jaw throbbed. Every breath dragged fire through his chest.
“Aya did quite a number on you, huh?”
Grohanva ignored Zero’s mocking tone. He saw no worth in the words of a weapon forged by the Kahrin.
He tried to summon it out of instinct—the familiar internal pressure, the chemical surge that had once answered his will.
Nothing came.
Panic flickered through him before he could stop it.
His eyes snapped open.
He was in his quarters—his room—now fouled by the presence of Earth’s walking weapon. Zero moved around the space with visible disgust.
“It stinks in here,” Ze
