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“It's
okay,” he reached her side, then his hand hovered awkwardly above
her shoulder as if he wanted to rest it there reassuringly. “There
was an accident. Do you remember what happened?”

She
stared at him, trying to push past the remnants of her dream. They
still fogged up her memory, making everything else seem indistinct
and far off. But slowly it came back. “The training centre,” she
managed. “That block that hit me.”

He
nodded, but he pressed his lips together hard, the flesh crumpling
and turning white and blue. “Yeah, that happened, but do you
remember what happened in your apartment?”

She
stared at him.

She
tried to recall something, anything.

After
a pause, she shook her head. “No.”

His
shoulders sagged and he grabbed his mouth, breathing hard through
his fingers. “Okay, one of the doctors should probably tell you
this, but they aren't around.
You . . . um . . . your
implant malfunctioned,” he managed.

She
couldn't do anything but stare at him. She knew she looked like a
complete idiot, but she couldn't help it. “What do you
mean?”

“It
malfunctioned,” he breathed uneasily, “the doctors have confirmed
it. It sent . . . a training block,” he
stopped, clearly trying to select his words carefully, “you had an
accident with a training block,” he shook his head.

“I
don't understand,” she answered truthfully.

“You
don't remember what happened in your room? You don't remember the
small TI block you keep on your bedside table?” he tried
hopefully.

She
went to shake her head. But she stopped.

A
thrill of excitement raced through her, almost immediately followed
by dread.

She
remembered sitting on her bed and succeeding for the first time in
her life at controlling her TI block. She recalled commanding it to
come to her, and the small thing zipping through the air with
incredible speed.

Then,
with a terrible chill, she remembered the block slamming into her
hand and bashing her against the door.

She
collapsed her fingers over her mouth and whimpered.

He
winced. “It's okay. Everything is fine now. Nobody got hurt. I
mean . . . nobody but you,” he corrected
awkwardly.

She
kept her fingers pressed hard over her lips, forcing the warm flesh
against her teeth. Then she jerked it back as she realised it was
her right hand.

She
stared at it in horror.

“They
fixed you up,” he assured her. “No permanent damage. And your
implant has been recalibrated. It won't malfunction
again.”

She
clutched her right hand into a fist, closed her eyes, and tried to
control herself.

Carson
Blake was standing by her bedside after having saved her from
another training accident, and here she was, falling apart like the
pathetic cadet everyone thought she was.

Blinking one eye open to see him still staring at her
compassionately, she cleared her throat.

“Thank
you,” she managed.

He
laughed. It was a frustrated, disbelieving move, and not one of
mirth. “Don't thank me. I should have realised there was something
wrong with your implant after that incident in the training
centre,” he admitted, his tone tight with guilt.

She
looked at him, assessing him as carefully as she could.

He
didn't look like he was lying, which meant he somehow genuinely
thought this was his fault.

“Why?”
she asked suddenly.

He
considered her, his surprise evident. “I just should have realised.
That block in the training centre checked out as
normal . . . so I should have at least
considered the possibility your implant had
malfunctioned.”

“No,
you shouldn't have,” she told him evenly. “None of the doctors
thought my implant could be acting up, and neither did Sharpe,” she
added quickly, “and Sharpe thinks of everything.”

Carson
considered her quietly, then offered a half smile.

“So
you can hardly blame yourself, not unless you want to blame Sharpe
too. And let me tell you, he's faultless. Blaming that man will get
you nowhere.”

Carson
laughed. It was a soft move, and the sound of it echoing through
the empty room was a welcome one.

Briefly, it made her forget what had just happened to
her.

But
its effect didn't last.

All
too soon, she brought up her hand to stare at it again.

But it
wasn't her right hand—the one she'd damaged in her room—no, it was
her left palm.

The
one that danced with energy in her dreams.

She
frowned at it, considering the marks in her flesh and the whorls on
her fingertips.

“What
is it?”

She
let the hand drop and tried to ignore it. “Nothing. I'm sure it’s
just stress. The doctors keep telling me I'm just stressed,” she
closed her eyes, “because I'm so far behind on my assignments and
so damn unlucky and accident-prone.” She laughed bitterly. “And now
I suppose I'm going to miss tomorrow's classes, and get even
further behind.”

“Today's classes,” he corrected gently.

“What?”

“It's
6 A.M. in the morning,” he pointed out, gesturing to a window
behind him.

She
stared at it dumbly.

She
could see dawn streaming in through the glass.

“How
long have I been out?” she croaked.

“10
hours, 45 minutes,” he answered, his tone tight.

“Wh . . . what?”

“They
had trouble rousing you,” his cheeks twitched as he spoke. “Your
injuries were more extensive than they first thought,” he
reasoned.

“Oh . . . ,” she managed after a lengthy
pause. “Right . . . okay,” she forced a smile,
“so it's tomorrow already, and I get the day off, again,” she
couldn't hold her smile, “which means Sharpe is going to be on my
case for missing too many classes,” she groaned.

“No he
won't be,” Carson said immediately, “he knows what happened here. I
told him myself.”

She
blinked as she looked up at Carson Blake.

With a
few rays of light filtering in from the window behind him, he
looked almost otherworldly. He stood with such poise and
confidence, it seemed he could take on the world.

Carson
Freaking Blake.

The
finest graduate of the Galactic Coalition Academy in
years.

The
most popular man around.

And he
was standing in her hospital room, trying his hardest to reassure
her everything would be fine.

What
exactly had she done to deserve this? How exactly had she captured
the attention of someone like Carson?

Despite the rumours, Nida was not soppy, and neither did she
have particularly low self-esteem. Though she appreciated Carson
was popular, and realised he was objectively handsome, that was it.
She wasn't the kind of girl who would go pink at the prospect he'd
smiled at her.

Instead, it just confused her deeply.

Girls
like Alicia commanded the attention of men like Carson Blake,
because they were made for each other. And she hoped they'd be
happy together.

Nida,
on the other hand, wouldn't be able to keep up with someone like
Carson. He was too flashy, too important, and too well
known.

She
liked a quiet life. Or at least she usually did, when she wasn't
tripping over and almost dying, that was.

But
still, she had to wonder what the hell he was doing in her hospital
room looking so deeply and genuinely concerned.

“They'll let you go soon,” he promised, sighing as he did.
“But I'm going to get them to check your implant one last
time.”

“Okay,” she answered, incapable of thinking of anything else
to say.

Was
this the bit where she was meant to throw herself at him and thank
him for saving her? Well, of course she was grateful, but she
wasn't going to do it.

Someone like Bridgett might do it, but someone like Bridgett
would want the attention of Carson Blake.

It
just made Nida confused.

With a
sigh, she shifted her head back until she stared up at the ceiling.
Then she closed her eyes.

“You're probably tired,” he muttered.

“Hmm,”
she answered.

“You
should get some rest. I'll have one of the doctors look in on you
later,” he promised.

“Ah
ha,” she managed.

“You'll be okay,” he said one last time.

It was
as if he couldn't think of anything else to say. He'd repeated that
exact same phrase like ten times already.

Realising she shouldn't be rude, she muttered a quick thank
you, then let her head sink back down into her pillow.

She
felt sleep creep towards her again, drawing a sheet of perfect
black over her mind as it did.

And
there, within the black, she saw a glint.

A blue
flash.

Light,
like water lapping and trickling over stone, washed around her,
escaping from her left hand and plunging deep, deep into her
chest.

. . . .

Carson
Blake

Without another word, she turned around and promptly fell
asleep.

He
blinked back his surprise.

Then
he saw it.

Her
left hand.

It
twitched as if it were trying to catch hold of
something.

The
move was slight, but it was there.

His
expression compressed with confusion and suspicion.

Just
what was wrong with her?

How
had her implant malfunctioned?

And
what exactly did she keep dreaming of?

Before
she'd woken up, he'd sat dutifully in her room. As he had, he'd
seen her dream.

It had
been fitful. Her hand had kept clutching back and forth, catching
nothing but air.

He'd
pointed it out to a passing doctor, but they'd dismissed it as
random nerve activity.

Carson
couldn't dismiss it though.

He
couldn't dismiss anything. All he could do was sit there and
remember—in perfect, agonising detail—what had happened in her
room.

He
tried to reassure himself her implant had just malfunctioned, but
it was a small and bitter consolation.

He
wanted a better reason.

He
wanted this to be more than an accident.

Yes,
that was it. That was why he couldn't ignore her twitching hand.
That's why he couldn't pull himself from her side, even though she
was asleep again.

He
needed this not to be random.

Though
he didn't really know why.

. . . .

With a
heavy blink, he realised he was very much tired, and very much
confused.

He'd
had one hell of a night, and he couldn't realistically spend the
rest of the day sitting by a random cadet's bedside.

Because, seriously, he hardly knew her.

People
would start to talk.

Reluctantly, he got to his feet.

He
tried to make it to the door, but he couldn't.

Instead he turned, and he sat back down again.

Her
left hand kept twitching as she slept.

Again,
a restless silence descended on her, and he sat there uncomfortably
on the edge of his chair as he listened to it.

She
shifted her head to the side, sighing heavily.

She
didn't wake up though.

A part
of him felt wrong for watching her whilst she slumbered.

In
fact, again he pushed to his feet.

This
time he walked towards the door resolutely.

He
didn't reach it.

She
whispered something.

“Help
me.”

Just
two little words.

He
could barely make them out.

And
they locked him to the spot.

She
shifted again, her left hand clutching harder at the
air.

He
stood there in the doorway, staring at her, waiting to hear it once
more.

Just
as his heart started to calm, she whispered those two little words
again, “help me.”

She
was still unconscious; the computer panel lodged into the wall
above her bed confirmed that.

She
was just talking in her sleep.

She
said it one last time, then she shifted, rolling over, wrapping her
arms around herself.

She
stilled.

Her
left hand stopped clutching at the air, and she didn't whisper
another word.