The sounds of grunts and clashes echoed throughout the entire Training Facility. It spanned several levels: a shooting range divided into rooms for different weapons, all of which Sloane had never even seen before. It was almost terrifying how advanced they were—if these beings really wanted to, they could have wiped out humans on Earth without breaking a sweat. She reminded herself she was safe… for now.

  Another area was lined with mats for hand-to-hand combat, with adjoining rooms warded for magic-to-magic duels. A whole floor was dedicated to an obstacle course, another for strength and cardio training.

  But this building looked nothing like a gym she’d ever seen on Earth. The machines were sleek and compact, the weights almost holographic—yet instead of the metallic clang of dumbbells, the sound was like crystals striking one another. Cardio machines did the same: one moment you were on solid ground, the next you were stepping onto a transparent floor outlined by a faint, glowing light. Magic? Advanced technology? Energy powered it all—but energy from what, she wondered.

  The roof opened onto a vast training ground where beings practiced alongside their dragons—or whatever other creatures they had bonded with. There was even a dedicated area for dragon riders, mostly Valkyrie, stationed out in the field.

  The dragons weren’t anything like the ones from movies. They ranged wildly in size—the smaller ones built for speed, the larger ones clearly made to rule the sky. Some had translucent wings that caught the light as they moved. Their scales glimmered faintly, like pinpoints of starlight scattered across their bodies, and the tips of their wings flared with illumination—but only in moments of power, like just before they launched into the air or unleashed their breath.

  And fire was the simplest word for it. What they released was more than flame—it was internal energy made visible, something burning from the inside out. Their bodies pulsed with it only when they were ready to move, a living constellation rippling across scale and wing.

  The subterranean floor of the building was almost spa-like, a sanctuary for recovery and first aid. The medics had their own separate building—essentially a hospital—but this space was for those who needed to decompress after a workout. Access wasn’t open to just anyone; permission was required. Only high-ranking officers could move freely in and out, and they were the ones distributing passes.

  Sloane spotted Aanya already running on one of those light powered sleek treadmills. She wore white training spanx that hugged her curves perfectly, accentuating a slim waist and round hips. Her black-brown hair was tied into a high ponytail, sweat glistening along her neck and chest. Clearly, she’d been at it for some time.

  Sloane was running a little behind schedule. She had signed up for duty in the Archives, and if she wanted to survive here, she needed to learn everything she could about the layout, the beings, and their systems faster than how they are teaching them. And she needed to know more. She knew they weren’t going to tell them everything. These past few days of hands-on training were helping her get a handle on her responsibilities. The Archives were massive, but once she had them down, she’d have free rein to explore—and maybe even grab a few books for herself during downtime.

  Another priority was the language. Her holo pad could translate the texts, but it was slow going compared to reading it herself.

  She was secretly thrilled she’d signed up for the Archives. Finally, a believable excuse for being late: the trek from the Archives to the training facility was basically a full-blown endurance test. Not that she had any real desire to actually “train” or break a sweat—walking across this sprawling base was punishment enough. Whether anyone would buy that excuse was questionable, but honestly, she didn’t care. If they tried to make her do a proper workout, she was fully prepared to stage a dramatic fainting spell.

  Sloane had been “active” back on Earth. And by active, she meant she liked hiking—which really just translated to leisurely strolls in the woods, listening to birds chirp and branches creak. She’d always been naturally thin, so watching her figure was about as necessary as checking if the sky was blue. She ate what she wanted, skipped actual workouts, and somehow still burned it off—basically, metabolism: 1, effort: 0.

  Aanya waved, sweat beading on her forehead. She’d mentioned that after everything on Earth—and how they ended up on Pantor—she felt like joining the military here. A normal life didn’t appeal to her; the nine-to-five grind was beneath her. Maybe this was her calling. Good for her.

  Sloane couldn’t help but notice that Aanya might actually prefer this planet to her own. There was a lot less heartbreak for Aanya. She was one of nine siblings, and everyone had gone their separate ways. She had apparently watched her best friend get killed by a Grey back on Earth and decided life was fleeting. She didn’t want to waste it being sad, anxious, or scared. She was going to go for it—everything she had.

  They had a heart-to-heart one night and Aanya admitted she’d made peace with her new situation—and might as well take advantage of it. What did she have to lose, after all?

  The people they’d been hanging out with seemed to feel the same way—it was like everyone got a second chance to do something meaningful, something epic. What’s lost is lost, they figured; time travel isn’t an option. Honestly, Sloane thought it all sounded amazing. She just wasn’t wired that way. She was more in the “day-by-day survival mode, please don’t make me run” camp. Epic stuff could wait.

  “Sir Yells-a-Lot is starting some kind of full-body strength training. You know. Military stuff,” Aanya said, nodding toward Tavian. Sloane smiled, noticing Aanya had picked up on her nickname-giving skills. She liked that one.

  “That is if we actually choose the military, you mean,” Sloane said, walking closer.

  Aanya rolled her eyes, slowing to a light jog. “I don’t see you doing anything else, Sloane de la Croix.”

  “I’m not built to be a soldier,” Sloane shot back. “Look at me. I’m a twig. You could snap my arm like a pretzel.”

  Aanya giggled, hopping off the treadmill and grabbing a towel from a neatly stacked pile. She nudged Sloane along toward Tavian and the rest of the Alpha One Division.

  “Real talk” Sloane said. “I don’t think I ever set foot in a gym after high school.”

  “Girl, these are starting to sound like excuses. I see it now,” Aanya said, drawing a rainbow with her hands above her head. “In three months, you’ll be ogling yourself in the mirror, and I cannot wait to say, ‘I told you so.’”

  Sloane just snorted.

  “And look at them,” Aanya went on, gesturing vaguely. “These… non-humans. I’ve been putting in real effort trying to get one to notice me. I want at least one of them to think, okay, she belongs here.”

  “That’s a very specific fantasy,” Sloane said.

  “I’m serious,” Aanya insisted. “I want mutual recognition. Respect. Maybe dinner. And then”—she waved a hand—“whatever happens after dinner.”

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  “Okay. Okay.” Sloane laughed. “You need an outlet. Your commentary has been escalating lately.”

  “Well, unfortunately,” Aanya said dryly, “we live together, there are no doors, and privacy is a concept this place clearly rejected.”

  Sloane snorted. “If you need me gone for a bit, you can just ask. I’m very pro-boundaries.”

  “For an hour?” Aanya scoffed. “Please.”

  “Right. My mistake.”

  “Like I said—needs.”

  Sloane shook her head. “Out of control.”

  “And how are you not—” Aanya started, then stopped when Sloane’s attention drifted, her gaze catching on something—or someone—across the room.

  Aanya followed the look and smiled slowly. “Ah. There it is.”

  Mr. Handsome, mid-deadlift with Hot Tamale. His muscles rippled with every effort, arms and chest straining gloriously. Today, he’d chosen a tight shirt—Sloane silently thanked whoever was responsible. Hot Tamale, naturally, was shirtless. Forearms like tree trunks, veins snaking over tattoos that looked deliberately made to flaunt him.

  Taking them both in, Sloane noted the obvious—they were a strangely mesmerizing pair. Hard to look away from, yes. Not something she’d ever consider entertaining, but… there was no harm in noticing. A little observation never killed anyone.

  Unlike Aanya, who had made it abundantly clear on countless occasions that she’d moved past everything, Sloane’s attention was elsewhere. Earth was probably nothing but ruins by now, everyone she’d known gone. Her priorities? Not this. Not them.

  “You two—are you just going to look pretty? Get on a machine!” Tavian yelled across the room. Sir Yells-a-Lot was definitely earned. He never seemed to smile.

  Sloane wandered over to a bicep-curl machine while Aanya headed for one that worked her legs. Sloane felt completely lost. It must have been obvious enough because Tavian snuck up behind her.

  “Do you know what this does?”

  Sloane jumped five feet in the air. “God! Okay—hi. No!”

  Tavian gave her the tiniest smirk at her startled reaction. Well, maybe a smirk—it was the first time she’d seen him barely smile.

  He gave her a quick rundown of the machine, how to use it, what muscles it focused on, and walked away. Sloane waited until he was out of sight before starting on the machine—embarrassed enough to lower the weight far below whatever Tavian had set it to.

  Sloane gripped the handles and started curling, the machine humming softly beneath her hands. Each movement made a delicate, crystalline chime echo through the room, like tiny shards of glass ringing in tune with her effort. The weights weren’t really weights in the traditional sense—they glowed faintly with a pale blue energy, shifting and pulsing as if alive, almost like the machine itself was judging her technique.

  She tried to focus, curling and lowering with care, but something felt off. Tavian had been clear about what muscles this was supposed to target, yet all she could feel was a vague tingle somewhere that might have been her arm or maybe her shoulder or nothing at all.

  “Sure, yeah, I’m totally activating the biceps,” she muttered under her breath. “Totally.” The light from the machine pulsed as she moved, illuminating the faint sweat on her arms, making her look like she was in some sort of futuristic music video about struggling. At this rate she was just swinging her arms.

  By the time she finished her first set, she was panting, her arms trembling—not sure if it was exhaustion or just mortification—and the glowing blue energy around the machine seemed to flicker in judgment. She glanced at Tavian, who was still smirking, and sighed.

  “Yep. Definitely doing it wrong. Could probably curl a pencil and it would still hurt the wrong muscle.”

  She kept at it though, giving it all she had till time ran out and she could move on to the next machine. Not even ten minutes in, Tavian snuck up again. “Keep your elbows pinned. Don’t let them drift forward.”

  Sloane yelped. “God, really?”

  “You seem on edge. At least you’re focused.”

  Did Tavian just try to make a joke?

  “Yeah… focused. Focused on not making a complete fool of myself.” One of the reasons she avoided gyms: the constant awareness of herself, of every move and misstep. And now, she was a few feet from Mr. Handsome and half a dozen other ridiculously fit beings, all of them effortlessly confident while she felt anything but.

  “Look, you have to start somewhere. Next week will be better. Keep your movement slow and controlled on the way down—that’s where the muscles grow.” He gently adjusted her posture. “Chest up, stand tall, let your biceps do the work.”

  “I don’t see you helping anyone else. Am I seriously that pathetic?”

  He smirked. Really smirked this time. “Just keep at it. You’ll be surprised how quickly you can progress with these machines.”

  Sloane moved from machine to machine, focusing on her arms. Each contraption was a guessing game—pulsing with that soft crystalline hum, energy lights flickering and shifting with every curl or push—but hey, at least she was trying. Next time, maybe she’d tackle a different body part, or better yet, get Aanya to actually show her what she was doing.

  Tavian hovered nearby, offering guidance here and there. Sloane made a mental note: it felt weird. He wasn’t yelling at her, his voice booming across the gym like it did for everyone else. She was grateful for that, but it only made the treatment feel… off. Her stomach tightened. What did he really want? She didn’t know if she should trust him—or any of these aliens. Was this supposed to be training, or something else? Something… manipulative? Grooming, maybe? She couldn’t tell. All she knew was that she had to stay alert. But she’d take advantage of the free gym membership in the meantime.

  Meanwhile, Hot Tamale was loving every second of it. He thrived on the yelling, each bark from Tavian making him push harder. Sweat glistened across his chest, muscles rippling with every movement, his shirt doubling as a towel for quick swipes. Though she was sure that move disappointed a few onlookers. Looking around, Sloane realized he had an audience: a group of girls pressed against the wall, eyes glued to him, Aanya included. Aanya, for one, looked like she might drool if Sloane didn’t intervene. Because, of course, when your life is literally in pieces, nothing fixes it like a perfectly sculpted man.

  Panting a little, Sloane made her way to the water dispenser where Aanya was still staring.

  “I thought you were going for non-human,” Sloane said, barely catching her breath.

  Aanya didn’t blink. “I would climb him like a bad idea.”

  Sloane rolled her eyes. “Congratulations. The bad idea has noticed.”

  And Hot Tamale? He saw them. He caught them staring, flexed his chest one last time, smiled, and turned away, snagging his water bottle.

  “Looks like you’ll get your chance to be wooed,” Sloane muttered to herself as she filled her own glass, shaking her head.

  “Hello, ladies,” Hot Tamale greeted, all cocky charm and that shit eating grin. Okay, okay, we get it—you’re hot. And maybe that’s exactly why she wasn’t staring. He was a bad decision wrapped in a sweaty, overconfident package. Sounds like fun, sure, with a guaranteed side of heartbreak. Even if she felt some spark of curiosity for finding a form of connection—maybe even someone to lean on, it wouldn’t be with him.

  Mr. Handsome, on the other hand… maybe. He moved like he was used to attention but didn’t care for it. Like he knew he was attractive, but other things mattered more. He didn’t flaunt it the way Hot Tamale did. He just seemed… grounded. Not that it mattered. This was all just observation—something she filed away in the back of her mind, with zero intention of acting on it.

  Sloane shot Aanya a look. “Yeah, not doing this,” she muttered, pivoting toward the showers. Aanya stayed silent, smirking just slightly.

  “Leaving so soon? Didn’t even get a name,” he cooed, his voice dripping with swagger.

  Sloane froze mid-step, then turned slowly. “Sloane. And I’ll help her out since she’s apparently incapacitated. That’s Aanya,” she said. She walked up to him with fierceness poking a finger into his grossly sweaty chest. “I know your type. One wrong move, and not even a god in any galaxy will save you.”

  Hot Tamale grinned, hands raised in mock surrender. Aanya jumped in, wagging a finger at him. “My friend here is TOTALLY kidding. She’s in a mood today.”

  Hot Tamale’s gaze raked Sloane up and down like she was a particularly appetizing dinner. “Gideon,” he said smoothly, extending a hand. Sloane looked at it, then back at him, unimpressed.

  “Noted,” she said, and walked off.

  As she turned the corner, she spotted Mr. Handsome leaning casually on one of the machines, arms draped over it, watching the entire interaction. He was curious about her, maybe even intrigued. Probably filing her in some mental notebook. Well, the feeling was mutual. Showers awaited. Aanya could handle herself—let her have her fun—but she’d be there later to pick up the pieces. There was no future with a guy like Gideon.

  The walk to the subterranean levels was a welcome change—quiet, dim, and mercifully free of the blinding white walls. Grey cement-like textures replaced the sterile brightness, but the eeriness of shadows dancing along the corners made Sloane keep her guard up. Maybe no one was using this area today.

  She peeled off her sweaty clothes, sliding into one of the glass shower compartments. Hot water crashed over her, soothing some of her tension—but her eyes kept flicking over her shoulder. The shadows seemed to linger, reluctant to leave her side.