**ADAM**
I know something is wrong before anyone opens their mouth to say it, because the bond does not fade or quiet the way it does when Sasha is simply out of range or shielded by stone and distance, but instead it feels torn sideways, muffled and strained as if someone has wrapped it in layers meant to smother rather than sever. The sensation hits hard enough that I stumble mid-step in the command corridor, my hand bracing against the wall as a sharp spike of alarm tears through my chest.
This is not chaos from battle.
This is absence.
“Sasha,” I snap into the comm, already turning, already moving, even as I know she will not answer, and the lack of response lands like a physical blow. The alarms are still echoing through the packhouse, voices overlapping in controlled panic as rep
