Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stacked sandbags served as walkways built around ditches that gouged jagged lines through the ground, a constant reminder of the work it took to make this place livable.

Kyle gestured at the sky as they walked, his boots crunching faintly on the packed dirt.

“When we get storms,” he said, “we need these ditches to direct the water away from the settlement. We don’t get rain often, but when we do…” He whistled low and shook his head. “It comes down in sheets. A few centimeters in an hour. The ground’s so dry we get flash flooding.”

“How many people are in camp?” Catra asked as they headed toward the center where the headquarters and living areas were.  The air smelled of sun-baked earth and hot metal. The distant buzz of insects mixed with the chatter of work crews, the shrieks of children playing, and the occasional bark of an officer giving orders.

Kyle shrugged. “Our census varies. A lot of folks don’t stay long, but some are longer term. And, of course, we’re trying to locate families. We had a real success last week. Placed eight kids from the same creche with their parents’ squad.”

“Wow!” Catra said, honestly impressed, “That’s great.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Yesterday, though, we got a whole truckload of kids who were chipped. From one of the mining settlements. They’re going to need some serious help.” 

Catra stopped cold. Her breath hitched, her pupils shrank to pinpricks, and her hand became rigid in Adora’s grasp. 

For a moment, Adora was confused. Then she registered what Kyle just said. Chipped. Mining settlements.

“Catra?” Adora whispered, her hand slipped into Catra’. On her other side, Melog pressed into her leg.

“Huh?” Catra blinked, shaking her head, looking around as though she realized she’d stopped walking. Melog leaned against her leg, their mane red and jagged. 

Most days, someone could talk about being chipped, and it would barely raise Catra’s hackles. Occasionally, though, someone would say the wrong combination of words in a row, and she would freeze.

“Catra? You okay?” Kyle turned around, realizing they stopped.

The magicats darting eyes settled on Kyle, and her hand slipped from Adora’s grasp, moving to pet Melog’s head, their mane rippling to blue at the contact. Adora wanted to put her arm around Catra’s shoulders but was not sure would her wife would want that right now.

“Yeah. Sorry. Zoned out for a minute,” she said. “Late night packing.” 

Understanding kindled in Kyle’s eyes, but instead of prying, he nodded. “Yeah. I gotcha,” he said, his eyes sad but tactfully letting the awkward moment go.

“They’re putting together a welcome lunch for you two and the lead instructors in the officer’s mess, but the rest of the afternoon’s free. After that, you can have a nap.” He smiled. “Your assistant arrived with Sara’s crew this morning. She’s getting your quarters set up even as we speak.”

“Assist…?” Catra looked bemused, but then her face cleared. "Oh! You mean Felina?”

Kyle nodded. “Yeah. She’s a really nice kid. What did she do to get stuck with you?” 

Catra rolled her eyes theatrically, “Only went after She Ra without even a sharp stick.”

“Whaaat?” Kyle exclaimed, the shock clear on his face. 

“Not even kidding. Day after Prime fell.” Catra grinned at the memory. “Her CO was so freaked out, she sent her to me.”

“Wow. That’s…crazy.” He shook his head. “I would have sent her to you too. I mean, there’s brave, and there’s suicidal.” His eyes slid to Adora, and his voice trailed off awkwardly as his blush deepened. “No offense.”

“S’okay,” Adora muttered, hunching her shoulders- so far, no one at the camp realized who Adora was, apart from an Alliance representative. She preferred it that way-- she had asked Glimmer and Scorpia to leave the name “Adora” out of any official documents, referring to her only as She Ra. Even when she made her speech at the treaty signing, she had left out her name.

No one had paid her much attention the last time she’d been here. She had been able to slip through the crowd, just another visitor. Without her jacket and Catra by her side, she hadn’t stood out.

Now, walking with Ambassador Catra —The whispers started as soon as they rounded the first corner, but the mutters seemed to be speculating about the purpose of Catra’s visit. 

Melog pressed closer to Catra’s side, their mane and tail remaining a calm blue, their eyes taking in the camp, occasionally commenting to Catra, who had settled her face into a mask of neutrality

“Agatha sent some teachers out,” Kyle said. “They got here this morning, so we’re doing a welcome lunch in the officer’s mess.”

“ Grey ration bars, I hope,” Catra smirked.

The man grinned at the well-worn joke. “If that’s what you want. Although there’s a lot of forage around here  and Perfuma is making sure the kids are all getting vegetables.”

Now that they were nearing the center of the camp, Adora noticed that people were poking each other and pointing. A small group of children were following them, no doubt curious about the visitors.

“I hate to ask," Kyle said hesitently. Since we didn’t know you were coming until yesterday, people are a little worried that you're here for an inspection or something. You probably should say something. You know how it is.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Anytime someone important shows up, people start wondering if we’re about to get chewed out for something. They’re good folks, but… it’s been a long few weeks. Morale’s a little... brittle.”

Melog chittered. “Oh, yeah. Okay.” Catra nodded. “Anything in particular you want me to say?”

Kyle’s face lit up. “It doesn’t need to be a lot. Just maybe tell them about what the plan is.”

“Plan?” Catra laughed. “I don’t have a plan. I’m just along for the ride.” She chuckled. “Ask her what the plan is.” She jerked her head at Adora. “But yeah, I’ll say a few words, reassure them we’re not here to inspect their beds and confiscate their porn. It’s not my first bot-sim,” she said with a smirk, but her eyes softened. “I’ll let them know we’re here to help, not micromanage. Camps like this…” she glanced at the trenches, her tail flicking absently, “they run on trust. I’ll make sure they hear that.”

Kyle looked at Adora. “You probably want to say something, too.” 

Adora sighed. “Do I have to?”

Surprise and concern reflected in Kyle’s eyes, “You didn’t really have a chance to talk to anyone beyond us and Sara. I know people will be wondering what your role is.”

It was sensible. Adora was beginning to hate “sensible.”

Melog chirruped at Catra, then moved to walk with Adora, pressing their head into her leg, lending her their quiet support.

“Yeah, okay.” Catra nodded at whatever Melog said, then turned to Adora. “I’ll introduce you. It’ll be fine. Just talk about what goodies the Joint Council is sending.”

Kyle made a noise of agreement. “They know you’re the Alliance rep. They figure you for a Force Captain of some kind, so you probably want to go with that rather than bringing up… “The man glanced around as though making sure no one was in hearing range and, even then, did not say the name. “You know, that other title.”

Adora nodded. They had talked a little about this last week. She did not want to hide She Ra, but it was a delicate political situation. She trusted Catra to say the right thing, to defuse the tension and put the camp at ease. Adora just hoped that when the time came, she’d be able to do the same—without adding to the nightmares that haunted too many of the children here.

“Hey?” Catra said quietly in Adora’s ear as they walked, “You got a title? Like other than that one? Or should I make one up?”

“Micah appointed me ‘Commander.’ ” It had been after Prime’s invasion when it seemed like She Ra was gone forever. She could not very well go around calling herself “Force Captain” to a bunch of Rebellion fighters. She wouldn’t tell them how the title had sat like a weight in her chest, how at the time, it felt more like a symbol of her failure than a badge of honor. 

“So, Alliance Commander Adora?” Kyle asked, as though fixing it in his head.

“That works,” Adora nodded. 

Lonnie and Rogelio were already sitting at one of the two long tables, and others were trickling in. Both of them got up, and Rogelio grabbed first Adora, then Catra in a crushing hug.

Catra squeaked as Rogelio lifted her off the ground. “Have you never heard of personal space?” she huffed. The lizard man put her down and ruffled her hair, hissing a laugh. Catra shoved him and gave him a playful, clawless swipe of her hand. 

“All right, you two,” Lonnie shook her head at their antics. “You want everyone to see you two in here goofing like a couple of cadets? Save it for the sparring ground.”

“Hey, Lonnie,” Catra greeted with a smirk, brushing her hand through her hair. “Still the responsible one, huh? Somebody’s got to keep the chaos in check.”

Lonnie rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. “Yeah, well, someone has to make sure you two don’t embarrass us in front of the officers.” She gestured to the tables filling up with personnel.

Catra gave Rogelio a quick pat on the arm, still smiling faintly. “Good to see you both. It’s been a while.”

“Too long,” Rogelio hissed, his tone warm despite his earlier antics. “About time you came to visit.”

Catra tilted her head, tail flicking lazily behind her. “Oh, yeah, because I totally have the time. Why don’t you try talking the Council out of their trees every time a Princess sneezes?” She winked, lightening the moment, and gestured toward the table. “But seriously, catch us up. How’s everything here?”

Lonnie’s expression softened. “Doing okay. This place is a lot better than when we started.” She nodded toward the group of officers gathering near the other end of the table. “Morale could use a little boost, though. There’s a lot of tension—some folks don’t love all the changes.”

“Big surprise,” Catra muttered, but her voice was tinged with sympathy. 

“Anyway, come and sit down.” Lonnie ushered them to the table. “They won’t serve until you’re sitting.” She indicated the seats at the center of the long side of one of the tables. Catra sat first and Adora sat to her left, with Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio on the other side.

The people who had been standing around seemed to take that as a signal, and quickly, everyone found their seats.

Lonnie turned to look behind her and gave a thumbs-up to someone. A flurry of activity as kitchen staff brought steaming plates of food, as well as a few trays of ration bars, to the table. Adora still felt the curious eyes on her and Catra. 

Once the sound of serving died down, Lonnie stood. “Hey, I have a few announcements.”

Everyone went silent, and people pulled out compads or clipboards to take notes. Lunchtime announcements were always taken very seriously.  

“So, first, I want to thank all you new teachers for coming out. Scorpia told me she asked for a few volunteers, and we got all of you guys. When we got here, there were just a few instructors and a whole passel of kids hiding out. We did what we could to protect them,” her voice took on a darker tone, “and some of these cadets saw active duty long before they should have. But they are still cadets, and I really want them to have a chance we never had.” Lonnie indicated the five of them, looking as close to tears as she ever got. “A chance to be kids again.”

 Rogelio’s green eyes were warm with approval, and he wrapped one arm around Kyle. Both of them looked misty-eyed. 

She paused, her tone turning thoughtful. “When I saw the roster of who was coming, I had to do a double-take. Some of you taught me and my squad back in the day—and let me tell you, I remember those lessons.”

A shiver of an emotion Adora could not name passed over Lonnie’s face

“You didn’t just train us to be soldiers; you taught us to think, to adapt, to fight smarter. You pushed us harder than anyone else, and because of that, we survived things we probably shouldn’t have.”

Her gaze swept the room, landing briefly on a few of the instructors. “So, when I say these kids are lucky to have you, I mean it. They’re getting the best of the best—not just as instructors but as people who understand what it means to lead, to teach, and to care about more than just winning a fight. That’s what makes the difference.”

A little murmur of appreciation for the praise went around the group

“ I know everyone’s got questions about why Ambassador Catra’s here, so I will turn over the floor,” Lonnie finished, sitting and turning to Catra.

Catra stood, resting the tips of her fingers on the table. Adora knew Melog was currently invisible and under the table. They often did that when they went to new places with Catra. Adora crossed her arms, a little envious that Catra had a thousand-year-old magical alien guardian entity to write speeches for her.

Her voice came out very formal and respectful. Adora had never heard it sound like that. Definitely, Melog was helping.

“Good afternoon.” She swept her eyes up and down the table as if to meet the eye of everyone sitting.

“I wanted to say pretty much everything Lonnie said,” she joked. “So now I have to say something else. Thanks, Lonnie.” She fixed the woman with a mock glare, and a quiet chuckle rippled through the room.

“So, can I say that I appreciate that many of you are not instructors by specialty? I appreciate that all of you chose to come here when you could be somewhere more “prestigious.” I know some of you probably got asked why you were coming here. “

Again, she swept her eyes across the table. “You’re here because what you’re doing here matters. I’ve heard a lot of talk lately about hope and building the future. And that’s great, sure. But right now? Right now, just by being here, you are making these kids' lives better. The future is a long way away for them. They need you right now.”

She took a breath. “I told Scorpia I only wanted volunteers. I only wanted people who could commit to these kids.”

Did she? Adora didn’t know that.

“I figured there would be some people, but the response was amazing. Perfuma, Scorpia and I spent three days digging through the applications. Not only did we fill all the slots, but we still have a waiting list.” She grinned. “Thanks for that. Anyway, although I do report directly to Scorpia, my role here is nominal and advisory only. So I won’t be inspecting your barracks and confiscating your contraband.” That got another little chuckle. “Those of you who were here last week probably already met our Alliance representative, Commander Adora.”

With that, Catra sat, folding her hands in front of her on the table. Adora hesitated for just a moment as she stood, her hands brushing nervously against the sides of her jacket. She glanced at Catra, who gave her a subtle nod of encouragement before taking a steadying breath and facing the room.

“Uh… hi,” Adora started, her voice sounding softer than she intended. She cleared her throat, standing a little straighter. “I mean—good afternoon, everyone.” She realized she was wringing her hands and folded them behind her back. “So, yeah, I was here last week and…” Looking around, seeing all those skeptical faces, she felt a little panicked. She took a slow breath and started again.

“When I made my report to the Joint Committee, they were very impressed with everything they saw.” A few head nods gave her encouragement and reeled in her anxiety. “As Catra put it, my role here is not to confiscate the contraband.”

Another little chuckle. 

“My job is to make sure you have what you need—to make sure that no one here feels like they’re being left behind or left to fend for themselves. This camp and the people in it are too important for that.”

Adora’s hands tightened slightly, her voice softening but staying steady. “So, if you see me walking around or asking what seem like dumb questions, just know it’s not because I’m judging. It’s because I want to help make sure you all can keep doing what you’re already doing so well.”

She offered a small, hesitant smile as she glanced around again. “That’s all, really. Thank you for everything you’re doing. This place wouldn’t be what it is without you.”

The meal passed in relative peace, the officers and instructors relaxing as the conversation shifted to lighter topics. But Adora couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the back of her mind.

Adora felt the old veteran sitting beside her, watching her with a careful, measured gaze. A beast-type, furred and broad-shouldered, his ears flicked slightly, and his sharp, dark eyes seemed to glint with recognition. She tried to focus on the conversation happening around her, but the weight of his stare pressed against her.

“Permission to speak, ma’am?” His voice was low, almost hesitant.

Adora’s stomach twisted. Her hands tightened on the table, but she nodded. “Of course.”

“Did I hear right?” he asked, his head tilting as his eyes narrowed, studying her. There was something in his expression—sharp, searching, and just shy of incredulous—that made her breath catch. “Your name’s Adora?”

“Yes, sir,” Adora said, her voice coming out thinner than she intended. The memory of her earlier speech—steady and practiced—felt distant now, hollow. She swallowed hard, her pulse pounding in her ears.

The man tilted his head slightly, his claws tapping against the table. “You…” His voice was quiet, almost gentle, but it cut through her defenses like a blade. “Are you Shadow Weaver’s Adora?”

The name rolled off his tongue like something bitter, spat out before it could poison him.

Adora’s throat tightened. “Y-yes,” she whispered.

Atax froze. For a moment, it was as if the air itself stilled around them.

His gaze sharpened, flickering over her face with something like disbelief. “You disappeared. Years ago,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. His tone wasn’t hostile—just bewildered, as though he were staring at a ghost. “Went MIA at Thaymor.”

It was Adora's turn to freeze. Her breath caught in her chest, hands curling into fists at her sides. Did he know? Could he have seen She Ra up close?

Catra leaned slightly into her, not speaking but grounding her, a steady presence. Even so, Adora could feel the tension in her wife’s body, the way her claws subtly flexed against the table.

“I reckoned you lit out for the Crimson Waste,” Atax continued, his voice tight. He picked up his fork but didn’t eat, turning it over in his claws like it might help anchor him. “Heard some ugly rumors. But I didn’t listen. Not the little girl I taught to hold a staff.” His gaze dropped to her hands, still clenched into fists on the table. “Couldn’t be.”

Adora’s breath caught. Like a thunderclap, a memory struck her—his large hands over hers, steadying her grip on the staff. Adora couldn’t make sense of the storm of emotions roiling inside her. She didn’t remember his face, so why did she remember his name? Why did her muscles remember the rhythm of his voice, guiding her through the most basic drills? She could feel her staff in her hand.

Down. Across. Diagonal. Center.

His voice was one that had shaped her, the one she still heard in the back of her mind when she trained.

One foot forward, one foot back.

The memory burned against the venom in his words now, and she rocked back in her seat as the weight of it crushed down on her.

Atax set the fork down, his movements deliberate and precise, the scrape of metal against the plate punctuating the silence between them. His gaze locked onto hers, heavy with something unspoken, something raw.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance you deserted and just… wound up with an Alliance unit when Prime came?” His voice cracked, the rough edges softening as it dropped into something close to pleading. His dark eyes searched hers, looking for something—anything—she couldn’t give him.

Her heart clenched. The truth was worse than any lie she could tell. “No,” she said softly, the word heavy as stone.

His jaw tightened, his shoulders stiffening as though bracing for a blow. “And Thaymor was when She Ra showed up, wasn’t it?” His voice cracked at the end, sadness breaking through the sharp edge.

Adora swallowed hard, unable to look away.

Atax exhaled slowly, his claws drumming the table for a moment before he pushed his chair back and turned to Catra in a louder, steadier voice. “I beg your pardon, ma’am.”

Catra’s ears flicked toward him, though she turned slowly, her expression neutral. “Yes?”

“Permission to leave? I think I should check in with the medics.”

Catra’s tail flicked sharply against the ground, but her tone remained even. “Of course. Are you all right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He hesitated, his gaze flicking to Adora, softening just slightly. “But I’m afraid some of this Alliance stuff is sort of…” He shook his head, his voice dropping. “Hard to stomach.”

Rogelio’s green eyes followed Atax, his ears twitching. He leaned toward Kyle, murmuring something, and Kyle nodded, stepping in smoothly.

“Go ahead, Atax,” Kyle said casually, his voice steady but firm. “We’ll catch up later. Adjusting to the new… environment can take a toll.”

“Yes, sir.” Atax saluted stiffly. His glare softened to something sad for a split second—enough to let her see the unshed tears glinting there. He hesitated, his voice dropping low enough that only Adora could hear. “Whatever they did to you…” His voice was tight. “I’m sorry.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, leaving her breathless. “Whatever they did to her?” Who did he mean? 

He looked away quickly, his posture tense, and strode out of the tent.

Adora sat frozen, her hands trembling in her lap. The memory of his hands on hers—steady, kind—clashed against the bitterness of his parting words. Something deep in her chest twisted painfully like a wound she hadn’t realized was there.

Chapter Text

Even though the first day felt rocky, over the next week Adora found rhe rhythm of the camp surprisingly soothing. First call sang out over the loudspeakers every morning, crisp and clear against the stillness of dawn. Duty rosters for the next day were posted after supper, right outside the mess hall, where the air smelled of coffee and fresh-baked bread. Items that had been contraband until now. 

Lunchtime announcements crackled over the speakers, blending with the hum of life: the clang of tools, the laughter of children, the murmur of work crews. Even the sound of gossip in the showers—cheerful chatter over the hiss of hot water—added to the strange familiarity of it all.

After the Rebellion abandoned Bright Moon and was hiding in the Whispering Woods, life in camp had followed similar patterns. That regularity had been a lifeline for Adora then, something to cling to when the weight of shame, fear, and uncertainty felt unbearable. Structure had been how to keep herself steady, knowing that she had thrown away their one advantage by breaking the Sword.

For all the familiarity, though, Adora knew a lot of people looked at her with suspicion. Just this morning, when she had gone into the office for some supplies, she’d heard Kyle telling someone, “Adora? You need to give her a chance. I promise she’s actually really nice.”

That had hurt, even though Kyle was defending her, it reminded her of the way cadets used to act around she and Catra. She’d always thought the other cadets didn’t sit with her because of Catra’s sharp tongue or the way she’d growl and hiss at anyone who came too close. But now, watching how easily Catra navigated the whole social ecosystem of the camp, Adora wasn’t so sure anymore. Maybe it had been something else entirely.

Last week, Adora had been able to move around camp with barely a glance her way, but now? Now, people stood a little straighter, eyes lingering just a second too long. She wasn’t sure if it was because she’d arrived with Catra or because of the title attached to her name. Either way, it set her teeth on edge. She didn’t see Atax again and wasn’t sure she would know what to say if she did. 

Tomorrow would be the first rest day since she and Catra arrived, and Adora realized that, even though she had far more responsibility now than she’d ever had as a cadet, somehow, she found herself with more free time. It left her with nothing to hide behind. No endless drills, no battle planning, no racing out for missions against overwhelming odds.

As she headed toward the mess tent for dinner, Adora passed a small group gathered near the bulletin board, chatting in low voices.

“I hear Caleb is on the list tonight,” one of them said, his tone bright.

“So Kyle said we’re still doing the Thing tonight?” another added. “I thought for sure it’d be canceled! I mean, with the VIPs—”

The young man cut himself off, his eyes widening as he spotted her. “Um… Evening, ma’am.”

Adora smiled. “Hi!” she chirped.

The group straightened as if bracing for inspection. Their gazes flickered over her, nervous and searching. Adora waited a beat for them to say something, anything, but the tension only grew.

She offered them a small wave instead. “You guys have a good night!” she said brightly, hoping it would break the ice.

“Yes, ma’am,” one of them mumbled. “You too.”

As she walked away, Adora felt her shoulders sag. This always happened. She never knew what to say to them that wasn’t about work. Why was it so hard to talk about anything else?

Just as she reached the tent, their voices picked up behind her.

“Do you think she knows about…?”

“Shhh. Quiet,” someone hissed. “I’m not asking. If Kyle said he handled it, it’s handled.”

Adora paused, frowning. Handled what?

Inside, she spotted Catra sitting with Rogelio and Kyle at a corner table.

“I’m going to put you last on the schedule,” Kyle said to Catra, his grin wide. “Given what I heard this afternoon, nobody is going to want to come after you.”

“Whatever works for you.“  Catra’s ears twitched, her tail flicking once. But then her eyes lit up when she noticed Adora coming over with her tray."I'll see you later."

Kyle and Rogelio grinned as they headed out with a wave.

“Oh hey.” Catra moved over so Adora could sit next to her. “So, how was your day?” Catra asked, her chin propped on one hand, a smile on her lips.

Adora launched into an explanation about the expanded survey work they were doing, her excitement spilling out in quick words and animated gestures. Catra’s one-fanged smile widened, her eyes softening as she listened, occasionally adding a word of encouragement or a nod.

“Well. I’ve been looking at the proposal, and I think if we can get the joint committee to approve this reactor, we’ll be able to keep the lights on without using generators,” Adora said, her voice bright and enthusiastic. “It’ll be a permanent power source! Entrapta said she could get a prototype up and running within six months.” She paused, noticing Catra’s expression hadn’t changed. “What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Catra said, her smile lingering. She reached out and covered Adora’s hand with her own. “You’re doing a great job.” 

Adora’s cheeks heated. To cover her blush, she scooped up the last of her dinner, glancing at Catra across the table. “So, what do you want to do tonight?”

Catra leaned back in her chair, her tail flicking behind her. “I’ve got a couple of things to take care of,” she said. Her grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“Things?” Adora asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Mm-hmm,” Catra said, standing and leaning down to kiss the corner of Adora’s mouth. “Important ones. You’ll see. Don’t worry, I’ll catch up with you later.”

Adora blinked as Catra got up. “Wait—what kind of things?” she called after her. “You need help?”

Catra didn’t turn around; she just tossed a grin over her shoulder. “No, I’m good. I’ll see you later.”

The mess tent felt too quiet as more people finished their meals and drifted out. Someone had started sweeping near the corner, and the tables seemed to clear faster than usual. Adora glanced around and thought about heading back to her quarters, but she would climb the walls. Instead, she turned up the trail that led to the office. At least her desk would give her something to focus on.

Before Adora could do more than open the file she wanted, Lonnie stormed in.

“What the fuck are you doing, Adora?” the woman demanded, crossing her arms over her chest, her voice sharp enough to make Adora’s head snap up.

Nonplussed, Adora glanced at the inventory sheets in front of her. “Paperwork?” she said. “I figured it’d be more efficient if I did this tonight.”

Lonnie rolled her eyes. “No. Abso-fucking-lutely not. You are not doing this.” She jabbed a finger at Adora’s desk. “If you don’t knock off, no one else will.”

Adora blinked, pulling back, her pen hovering midair. “I wasn’t—”

“You were,” Lonnie cut in. “It’s past 1900. Go. Home.”

Caught between the ingrained habit of finishing every task and the unfamiliar sharpness of being told to stop, Adora dithered. “But there’s still—”

Lonnie arched an eyebrow. “Let me make this easy for you. Is anyone going to bleed to death if you don’t take care of them tonight?”

Adora opened her mouth, then closed it. The stack of papers didn’t look urgent. She had a week. And yet, the thought of leaving them unfinished made her skin crawl. “No, but…”

“Adora.” Lonnie sighed, rubbing her eyes with one hand. “Catra can do what the fuck she wants. Think. People are watching you. You think they’ll let an Alliance officer show them up?” She huffed with exasperation. “You used to do this all the time when you were Shadow Weaver’s pet—work until you dropped and made the rest of us feel like assholes for going to bed. Do you want everyone to fucking resent you?”

Shadow Weaver’s pet. The phrase dragged her backward, unbidden. Adora could still hear the cadets’ cutting whispers: “... just loves being Shadow Weaver’s favorite.” 

“Yeah, well, when you’re that desperate for approval…” 

Their laughter stung as much now as it had then. Shadow Weaver’s voice rose to drown them out, smooth and poisonous: “Ignore them, Adora. It’s only jealousy. Petty jealousy.”

Back in the present, Adora swallowed hard, shoving the memories aside. She stared at the inventory sheets scattered across her desk, the numbers swimming in her vision. Her pen hovered over the page, but Lonnie's words echoed in her mind.

With a sigh, she set the pen down and pushed the papers aside. For years, work had been her armor—her way of shutting out everything she didn’t want to think about. If she wasn’t planning, training, or reporting, what else was there? The silence of unfilled time stretched before her like a dark, unfamiliar forest. She hated it.

The cool air hit her as she stepped outside, and she stopped for a moment, stuffing her hands into her pockets, unsure what to do with herself.  If she were in Bright Moon,  Bow, and Glimmer (funny how she had not even thought about them this week) would have already been dragging her out for some adventure.  But this wasn’t like Bright Moon, which had endless distractions.

The sounds of the camp were a steady hum in the background: tools clanging as they were packed away, snippets of conversation drifting through the evening breeze. A bark of laughter caught her attention, and her eyes followed the sound toward the mess tent.

There was something different about the energy from the tent—louder, livelier. She tilted her head, curiosity flickering, but she wondered what her welcome would be.

“Adora!” Lonnie’s voice rang out from behind her, cutting through her thoughts. Adora turned to see Lonnie locking the office door. She pocketed her keys, a smirk tugging at her lips.

“If you’re looking for something to do…” Lonnie’s smirk widened as she nodded toward the mess tent. “There’s a Thing tonight. You might be into it.”

Adora blinked, caught off guard. “A… Thing?”

“Yeah.” Lonnie headed in the other direction toward her quarters, the teasing edge in her tone softening. “Go check it out.”

Adora hesitated, glancing back toward the path that led to the training ground.  But Lonnie would probably follow her there and yell some more. 

The woman followed her gaze and shook her head, confirming Adora’s thought. “For fucks sake,  just go to the Thing.” She scoffed. “Anyway, Catra’s and the boys are going.  I just have to drop some stuff off, and I'll be down. “

“Oh, okay.”  That made whatever this thing was much more appealing. “I’ll… take a look.”

As Adora approached the tent, the faint buzz of voices grew louder, mingling with bursts of laughter and cheers. She paused just outside, steeling herself, then stepped inside and froze.

The tent was packed with people. Tables had been folded up and stacked to the sides to create more space, and the usual arrangement of benches and trays had been replaced with a chaotic cluster of people. 

Officers, specialists, and cadets mingled, chatting in animated groups or leaning back in chairs with drinks in hand. The smallest of the kids were held on their hips and carried on their backs while the bigger ones ran around the weirdly indulgent adults.

People were out of uniform, wearing colorful clothes that looked a lot like Plumarian fashions. Some folks even wore makeup and sported jewelry.   

Folding chairs were arranged in neat rows, and benches behind them. Crates and boards in the middle of the space created a stagelike platform.

A few people close to her gave Adora a wary side-eye.

Not wanting to draw attention to herself, Adora looked for a chair at the back. She would have to find Catra later, it did not look like there was time right now. 

“Excuse me, ma’am?” Felina appeared from nowhere, right at Adora’s elbow. As Catra’s assistant,  the girl was almost aggressively helpful; trying to take care of every need even before either of them knew they needed anything. “Catra asked me to save you a seat. She… uh… she said she’ll catch up with you.” The girl’s polite formality always carried an edge, but there was a strange note of something Adora couldn’t identify now.

The girl had plenty of reason to resent Adora, but she was always the picture of professionalism, and somehow, that made Adora feel worse.

Inwardly, the blonde sighed, wishing she knew how to bridge the gap. “Thanks.” 

Her unease grew as Felina guided her to a seat at the center front. 

The space looked like it was set up for a festival—lanterns swayed gently overhead, and the makeshift stage reminded her of celebrations she enjoyed in Bright Moon’s villages. But this wasn’t Bright Moon, and she didn’t quite know what to expect. 

“Drink, ma’am?” Felina asked, her voice clipped.

“Yes, please,” Adora said almost absently, mystified by the whole thing.

Someone turned off all the lights in the tent except one spotlight aimed at the stage.

Kyle stood beside the makeshift stage, microphone in hand.  “Everyone hear me?” he asked. 

The crowd answered with “Yeah!” and a few whoops and whistles. The people still standing started taking the last chairs.

 "Here you go, Commander," Felina said, handing Adora the drink without meeting her eyes. She disappeared before Adora could thank her.

“All right! We've got a whole stack of newcomers on the roster tonight! “

Hoots and hollers met that.

“But, before we start, I want to introduce you all to our Alliance Representative,  Adora! Go ahead and stand up!”

Holy shit. Adora vowed she would kill  Kyle in his sleep tonight.

But she did as she was told and stood and turned to give them a smile and a wave.

“She's in charge of coordinating the reparations for this district,  so if any of you have projects you want funded, she's your girl! “

A polite round of applause, and Adora sat quickly before Kyle asked for a speech. 

“Okay, let's get going.  First up is one of our veterans, Cadet Caleb!” Kyle said. “Back from his recent mission in search of headlight fluid!” 

The audience applauded much more enthusiastically, and the boy grinned as he took the mic. “Thanks, sir.” He looked out at the crowd, his posture loose but confident, and pulled a high, three-legged stool from behind the platform to sit on. “So, uh… yeah. I wanted to tell you the whole story of how my squad and I got here. 

There was a ripple of chuckles, and a few voices called out encouragement.

Adora leaned forward slightly, curious despite herself. The boy seemed relaxed like he’d done this a hundred times. He launched into a tale that was part confession, part comedy, detailing his squad’s ridiculous misadventures with side quests for motor oil, lost boots, and the eternal hunt for replacement tires.

He was good. Better than she’d expected—at least as good as some of the storytellers who’d performed at Bright Moon festivals. The crowd was eating it up, laughter breaking out in waves at all the right moments. When he finished, grinning as he stood, the applause was thunderous. His squad swarmed him with hugs and high-fives as he hopped off the stage.

The applause for Caleb swelled and then faded as the crowd settled again. 

“Thank you, Caleb!” Kyle grinned. “And, PSA folks, change that headlight fluid regularly!” He waited for the chuckles to die down. “Okay,  change of mood! Welcome, our resident poet! Specialist Jack!”

A moment later, a light-skinned, full-human with stark white hair that seemed to glow in the spotlight walked stiffly onto the stage, unfolding a piece of paper as he reached the mic.

“Ah. Most of you folks know me,” he began, his voice quiet but steady. “I’m Specialist Jack with the Engineers.” He paused, looking out at the crowd, then added with a hint of shyness, “I, uh… wrote this. A poem. I’d like to read it for you.”

The crowd quieted, the mood shifting almost imperceptibly.

Jack adjusted his grip on the paper, his hands trembling slightly. When he started reading, his voice was low and hesitant.

“The blade sang; the sky burned.
Etheria split open—we knew not for.
We fought, we bled, and then we learned—
This war was never our war.”

The room seemed to hold its breath. A baby cried near the back, quickly shushed. Otherwise, no one moved.

Adora had never heard anything like it. It wasn’t a song. The Horde had plenty of songs—marching songs, battle songs, things to keep time or lift spirits. But this was something else. The words were simple and repetitive,  but they tugged at her heart.

Jack’s voice grew steadier as he continued, the rhythm of the words sinking into the air like the weight of footsteps, with each stanza ending with the same phrase, “This war was never our war” delivered with a tone of bemusement. As though Jack was trying to convince himself. 

He came to the last verse:

“The stars are kindled, and the world made strange,
Our weapons lie quiet under the starlight.
‘This was never our war,’ we softly say,
Yet look at all we have lost to that fight.”

The final lines landed like a held breath released.

For a moment, the tent was silent.

Then, the applause began, rippling through the crowd like a slow tide. Jack nodded, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips as he stepped down from the stage.

Adora remained frozen, her hands clenched around her drink as her thoughts spun in slow, spiraling circles. The cadets used to whisper about “things” after hours, secret gatherings she’d dismissed as pranks or petty rebellions. She had never been to one. They always stopped talking about it as soon as she came into the room.  Staring at the stage, Adora wondered if this was what they’d meant all along.

A short young woman followed, her sleight-of-hand tricks earning laughter and the occasional gasp of astonishment. A boy with a violin accompanied a singer next, their song soft and lilting, a ribbon of sweetness threading through the air. 

The acts came and went, a blur of faces and voices that Kyle introduced as the night deepened. Even Rogelio took a turn, juggling a trio of mismatched stones, his massive hands moving with surprising precision.

The performances weren’t perfect—there were dropped notes and flubbed tricks—but the crowd’s laughter was warm, not cruel. Every act earned applause just for having the guts to get up there.

Adora’s chest ached, an unfamiliar weight settling there. She’d spent so long thinking she knew everything about the Horde—the drills, the battles, the endless grind of survival. But this? This was something else. Something more. How could she not fucking know?

“Okay, folks.” Kyle said into the microphone when the applause died down.“This is our last act for the night.” His grin was almost giddy, and he locked eyes with Adora, his smile growing wider. “Let’s welcome Catra!”

A moment of shock seemed to hang before the room burst into enthusiastic applause. A few cries of “Catra!” went up from the audience as the magicat glided from the shadows. 

Adora’s heart stuttered to a halt before it jumped into her throat, cutting off her air.

A vision in deep burgundy, Catra’s form-fitting gown sparkled with beads, slit high on the sides to reveal flashes of her legs in sleek, black stirrup stockings as she swayed onto the stage. Her bangs were brushed back, exposing her face, but the rest of her hair fell in loose curls that brushed her chin. She moved with the effortless confidence of a predator, her smirk cocky as she took the mic from Kyle.

She didn’t speak to the crowd. Instead, she strolled to the center of the stage, took a deep breath, and bowed her head over the trembling microphone as though centering herself..Then she stepped forward, shifting into a stance Adora recognized all too well—confident, balanced, ready, the same way she moved before a fight.

Slow, high-pitched notes came from the loudspeaker, and Catra shifted her eyes to look at the crowd, cradling the mic in both hands as if it were precious and when her voice broke the silence, it carried none of her usual sharp edges.

“We feel the evil coming,

And darkness all around,
Danger surrounds us but won’t bring us down...”

Even with the amplification from the mic, Catra’s voice was intimate- every person in the room strained forward to catch each word.

The song was familiar. One Adora had heard countless times—a cheerful, upbeat anthem that Perfuma and Scorpia loved to belt out during celebrations. But this? This was not that song.

Catra’s voice purred through the mic, making the words haunting and tender. The slow tempo sent a shiver down Adora’s spine. Somehow, the bright, peppy tune had become something raw and yearning—fragile, something to shelter. A flame shielded against the storm. Beauty in the dark.

“We’re on the edge of greatness,
Turning darkness to light...”

The song wove through the room like something sacred. It caught and held the air, demanding attention and reverence.

“We’re right beside you, ready to fight.” 

Adora closed her eyes, trying to steady herself, but the notes reached inside her and pulled at something sharp, a splinter of glass in her mind.

An almost-memory: scattered sensation of soft notes whispered against her ear, her head cradled in someone’s lap, a voice weaving a lullaby as a hand stroked her hair. A balm against a pain she hadn’t understood.

Her breath hitched, and the impression skittered away, leaving a hollow ache chilling her to the bone. No… That wasn’t possible. It didn’t make sense. Catra never sang. As far as Adora knew Catra didn’t even like music. 

And yet… here she was. As good as anyone Adora had ever heard (at least among those who did not sing for a living). As the music swelled, Adora opened her eyes with a gasp, and Catra’s eyes found her in the crowd. 

“Together, we’ll be heroes,

Joining forces as one,

Strong as the steel we carry,

We rise like the sun.”

Adora froze, transfixed by the searchlight beam of her wife’s gaze. Catra blinked slowly as her voice rose triumphantly. 

“Bound to this struggle
With mighty sword and flame...
We’ll never fail you
When you call our name. ”

Adora couldn’t breathe. At that moment, the lyrics were written just for them—for her . The weight of Catra’s voice gave each line the gravity of a promise, a vow.

The magic stirred under Adora’s skin, a warm, insistent pulse that she fought to suppress. Not here. Not now. Her breath hitched as she gripped the edge of her seat, her knuckles white. She couldn’t let it rise. She couldn’t let She-Ra appear—not in this moment . She breathed around it, thinking how scared these former soldiers would be. For once the magic seemed to understand and dissipated, evaporating invisibly from her skin.

Catra’s voice climbed higher, each note fierce and unyielding, the quiet ache transforming into something triumphant. It wasn’t just a song anymore—it was a declaration, a vow etched into the air. And Adora couldn’t look away.

“We must be strong 

And we must be brave 

We're gonna reach inside

Stand together and fight

Never let it go.”

Catra’s voice softened, the final note trailing off into silence, trembling; a thread stretched to its limit, hanging delicately in the air as she bowed her head.

“We must be strong.”

The music through the loudspeakers faded. As with Jack’s poem, there was a little beat of silence. Enough time for Catra to lift her head, and for half a second, she looked stunned, tilting back her ears as though she could not believe what she had just done. Then Catra found Adora’s eyes, her ears relaxed, and her smile came back, slow and bright.

The silence stretched for a breath too long, as if the crowd didn't want to let go of the intimacy of Catra’s voice. Then the applause erupted, a wave of cheers and whistles.

Adora barely heard them. Her heart was pounding too loud, the heat in her chest too overwhelming. Everyone else had jumped to her feet, but Adora couldn’t move. Tears flooded down her cheeks, but she was powerless even to lift her hands to wipe them.

Catra bowed to the audience a few more times before she stepped off the stage, her smirk softening as her eyes found Adora again. 

“Hey, Adora,” Catra murmured, her voice low and filled with something that made Adora’s pulse trip over itself. She handed the mic off to Kyle and held out both hands to Adora.

Mesmerized, the blonde took Catra’s hand, and her wife drew her to her feet. Catra’s blue and gold eyes shone brighter than all the stars Adora had ever seen, and that smile—the soft curve of her mouth, her eyes sparkling—was the only smile Adora ever wanted to see again.

Heedless of the onlookers, who had stood up and were still applauding, Adora slid her arms around Catra’s waist and pulled her close, lifting her just enough to press their lips together.

A few people whooped; others laughed and whistled, but the cheers were warm, unguarded. Adora could feel the tension that often followed the two of them around camp—a subtle hum of uncertainty, of questions left unspoken—easing somehow.

“All right, you two,” Kyle laughed over the wolf whistles and cries of affirmation. “Go get a room!”

The crowd burst into laughter, jeering good-naturedly. The moment broke, but it didn’t lose its warmth.

“Okay, folks!” Kyle called, still grinning. “Sign-up sheets are in the office or online. We’ll add another night if we get enough people!”

The lights came up, and the tent buzzed with movement as people began folding chairs and restoring order to the space.

Lonnie wandered over, a shit-eating grin plastered across her face. “Catra! That was... wow!” She turned to Adora. “What do you think?”

“That was amazing!” Adora gushed, still holding Catra close, her arms snug around her wife’s waist. “I didn’t know you could sing!”

Was it Adora’s imagination, or did Catra’s ears flick backward, just the slightest twitch?

Lonnie’s brow furrowed, her gaze bouncing between the two of them. “Wha-at?” Her voice stretched the word like elastic about to snap.

Catra’s eyes narrowed, a subtle edge sharpening her expression. With the smallest shake of her head, she sent Lonnie a silent warning. Anyone but Adora and the rest of the squad would have missed it.

Lonnie’s mouth opened, then closed. Comprehension sparked in her eyes like a struck match. “You mean she hasn’t been rehearsing at you all week?” Her words were light, teasing, but Adora could sense she’d been about to say something else—and decided to let it slide.

Catra shrugged, brushing a loose curl behind her ear. “That’s why you had to go get her,” she said, though there was a softness in her tone that took the sting out. She looked down for a moment, rubbing her nose. “I kinda wanted it to be a surprise,” she admitted.

Adora’s heart squeezed. For a moment, the mess tent, the crowd, and Lonnie faded into the background. She could only see Catra—the flush in her cheeks, the way her eyes darted to the side as if deflecting attention.

“Where did you even get this dress?” Adora asked, trying to sound casual but failing. Her gaze swept over the gown, the burgundy fabric glittering in the low light. “You didn’t—” She stopped herself, biting back the rest of her thought. She didn’t mention—couldn’t mention, not in front of Lonnie—how much she wanted to see Catra in this dress again, in private.

Catra smirked, her confidence creeping back. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” she teased, brushing past Adora with a flick of her tail that made Adora’s stomach flip.

“Catra! Damn!” Kyle called, jogging back over from shooing stragglers out of the tent. “You’re a hit, you know that? You should do this more often!”

Catra turned toward him with a small grin. “Don’t push your luck, Kyle,” she said, her voice dry but not unkind.

“No, I’m serious,” Kyle said earnestly, glancing at Catra before looking over at Rogelio, who rumbled a growl of agreement.

“I was so glad you volunteered!” Kyle continued, his grin widening. He glanced around to confirm the tent was empty, save for the four of them. “People were asking me all week if the Thing was canceled. A lot of folks were convinced we’d have to put it on hiatus until you and Adora left.”

Adora frowned, confused. “I don’t understand. Why would it have been canceled because of us?”

Lonnie crossed her arms, her expression caught between exasperation and amusement. “Not you. Catra.”

Adora blinked. “Catra?”

Kyle nodded. “Yeah. People thought Catra would shut it down. You know, crack down on anything ‘against regulations.’”

“Wait,” Adora said, her brow furrowing. “They were worried about Catra ? Are you kidding me?”

“Look, don’t take it personally,” Lonnie said with a shrug. “But most of these folks only knew her as Force Captain Catra. ” She smirked. “And, uh, let’s just say she wasn’t exactly famous for letting things slide.”

Kyle grinned, nodding. “Yeah. You two showed up, and everyone thought the fun was over. Like, ‘No way Catra’s gonna let us keep doing this.’”

Rogelio growled low, adding something under his breath.

Lonnie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, he’s right. Catra did throw a few people in the brig back in the day for this kind of thing.”

Catra’s tail flicked behind her, and her ears twitched in irritation. “Oh, come on,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “It was not for going to a Thing. It was for sneaking out past curfew when we were waiting for an attack. I wasn’t about to let them get themselves killed.”

Lonnie looked between the two of them and rolled her eyes. “All right, you two lovebirds. I’m heading out before this gets any sappier.” She leaned in close to Catra, her voice dropping to a whisper. Adora only caught the tail end: “…you sing again.”

Catra stiffened, her ears flicking back slightly. For a heartbeat, her usual sharp confidence faltered, and she stood frozen in the moment, as though Lonnie’s words had touched a nerve she didn’t know she still had.

“Thanks, Lonnie,” she squeaked, her voice unnaturally high.

Adora blinked, her brows knitting together. Catra didn’t squeak. And she didn’t freeze, either—not like this.

Lonnie straightened, giving Catra a faint, unreadable smirk. When she turned, her gaze flicked briefly to Adora, and something passed over her face—sympathy? Guilt? It was gone too fast to name.

“I mean it,” Lonnie said again, her voice soft. Then, with a quick nod, she strolled out of the tent, leaving behind an awkward silence.

Adora tilted her head, watching Catra fidget with the beads on her gown, her tail making small, nervous arcs behind her.

“What was that about?” Adora asked softly.

“Nothing,” Catra muttered, brushing it off with a wave of her hand. But her ears flicked backward, and a faint blush still lingered on her cheeks.

Adora frowned, her curiosity sparking. Whatever Lonnie had said rattled Catra, and it wasn’t often she saw her wife off-balance.

“This was great.” Kyle clapped his hands, grinning. “Another successful Thing in the books!” 

Rogelio rumbled in agreement, giving her a thumbs-up before following Kyle out of the tent.

Now, it was just the two of them.

Adora stepped closer, her voice soft. “You really did this to help them?”

Catra shrugged again, looking down and fiddling with a few of the beads on her gown. “I just didn’t want them to think I was… still that person.”

Adora reached out, brushing a curl behind Catra’s ear. “You’re not. You’re this person.”

Catra’s gaze flicked up to meet hers, and for a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then her smirk returned, softer this time. “Yeah, well... Maybe I like being this person.”

Chapter Text

On the edge of the camp, a market had sprung up where local farmers brought their goods to trade: baskets of fruits and vegetables, jars of honey, and handwoven scarves. Horde folk laid out their own wares—trinkets, and creations born of necessity and ingenuity. Necklaces made of bent wire and broken computer chips glittered in the sunlight. Rings and bracelets formed from polished fragments of machinery sat beside delicate figures molded from melted-down scrap metal.

It wasn’t flashy—goods spread out on battered tables or tarps frayed from years of use. But the air was alive with easy chatter, the clink of coins, and the shuffle of feet. The faint aroma of raw and cooked food mingled with the dry scent of dust kicked up by so many people moving through the space.

Catra and Adora strolled through the market, their first walk-through since arriving in camp. Officially, they were here to identify projects for the Joint Committee to fund—things like housing improvements or medical supplies. 

Catra’s ears twitched, her tail flicking low behind her. She could feel the weight of their eyes, the way conversations hushed as she and Adora passed. 

“Force Captain Catra… Shit! Should we…?”

“I heard she’s not a Force Captain anymore.”

“Then what is she?”

“I dunno! Just— nod politely! ”

The habits of a lifetime didn’t vanish overnight. When an officer showed up unannounced,  it meant trouble. Always. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t Force Captain anymore. To the people here, Catra was still someone who could shut this all down.

The eyes on them turned away whenever they looked, but Catra could smell the pheromones of uncertainty. Lighter than fear and mixed with the chemicals Catra associated with hope.

Under Shadow Weaver, markets like these had been illegal. Back then, black markets weren’t indulgences—they were survival. Horde rations provided the bare minimum to keep soldiers on their feet: enough calories to fight, not enough to thrive.

The first time Catra heard the word party was in the Crimson Waste. Back when she was a cadet, any unofficial gatherings were just called " Things."

Some Officers who knew about the Things feigned ignorance. “What thing? You'll have to be more specific.” It was a delicate dance, a quiet rebellion kept out of sight. Getting caught in possession of or dealing in contraband could mean the brig, short rations, or worse, getting sent to Shadow Weaver.

And now? Now, they didn’t have to hide. But old fears died hard.

“Where did all this stuff come from?” Adora asked at least

They made it. Where else?” Catra shrugged.

“But… when?” Adora frowned. “We were always training, or in class, or—” She cut herself off, glancing around. Her mouth pressed into a thin line, her scent roiling with too many chemicals to make out.

Catra’s ears flicked. “When do you think?” she said, watching Adora closely.

Adora hesitated. “I just—” She bit her lip. “I never thought the Horde had… this.” She gestured vaguely at the market—the stalls, the trade, the kids darting between tables. “It was always barracks and training exercises and rations and… that was it. That’s all I ever saw.”

“Huh.” Catra’s tail flicked behind her, thinking about that.

Adora had always been Shadow Weaver’s favorite. She was always caught up in extra training, special lessons, and reports she wouldn’t talk about. It had been Catra sneaking into the barracks, into the Things, into all the places the rank-and-file cadets actually lived.

Adora exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “It feels like Thaymor.”

Catra turned to study Adora’s profile as they walked—her wide eyes, her frown. Adora wasn’t just surprised- something else was happening, but Catra was unsure what. And they never talked about Thaymor.

“What do you mean?”

“It was… like this…” she waved her hand. “I never knew anyone did anything like this. I guess… It was so… special. That day, I thought it was the only thing like it in the world.”

“Yeah, well,” Catra muttered, looking away. “Maybe you'd have noticed if you hadn’t been too busy being a perfect little soldier.”

Adora winced. Catra regretted it immediately.

“Did you ever go to one?” Adora asked quietly.

Catra hesitated. The truth, as always, was messy.

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “Not often. You know Shadow Weaver would have skinned me if she caught me.”

Adora nodded slowly, eyes still scanning the market. Taking it in. Trying to fit it into the world she thought she knew. 

“Is that why you never told me?” Adora’s voice was heavy, resigned. 

“I…” Fear of Shadow Weaver was definitely part of it. The other part was fear of how the specialist cadets would act if Catra had tried to bring Shadow Weaver’s favorite. They would have been convinced that Adora would out them to Shadow Weaver. And Catra could not say even now whether they were right or wrong. “Maybe?”

“Do you think they know we’re not here to shut it down?” Adora asked quietly, her brow furrowed as she glanced around.

“I think they’ll figure it out. They’ll believe what we do. Not what we say.” Catra shrugged, keeping her expression neutral. “Hopefully, it won’t take long. Anyway, last night gave them all something to think about. We’ll wander around. Buy a few things, get back in time for a nap.” 

Catra’s ears were catching a metric shit-ton of gossip about herself, and Adora’s name came up a few times in the whispers.  

That was what she got for making such a public spectacle of herself, but she did get caught up in the moment. Adora had looked at her exactly like she had in all of Catra’s fondest adolescent fantasies, and Catra had just gone with it.

In the cold light of morning, all the attention made Catra’s fur itch. The stares. The whispers. The weight of too many eyes, all waiting to see who she was now.

But the only way through it was through it.

A sharp gasp made Catra’s ears swivel.

“Oh, my stars! Look! They’re both here!”

From behind one of the tables, a voice hissed: “Fuck me!”

“Are you sure they’re okay with this?”

“They were at the Thing last night.”

“Yeah, okay. But with this?”

At least the whispers weren’t nearly as afraid as last week. Progress. Slow, awkward, uncomfortable progress.

One of the reasons Catra had taken Kyle up on his ridiculous request to sing was because people were scared shitless of Force Captain Catra showing up.

She could talk until she was blue in the face, but Horde folk respected action. It was the only way they’d believe her. Kyle said that was why at least one officer always made a point to attend every “Thing” they heard about—just to prove it was safe.

And that was certainly part of why Catra, Adora, and Melog were meandering through the market now, even though Catra would have preferred to sleep in.

“Didn’t Catra take a huge chance last night?”

“What happens if the Princesses hear?”

“What? Are you gonna tell them?”

Adora had stopped to admire a stall selling wind chimes made from copper wire and circuit boards.

Catra rounded a corner—

—and froze.

The dolls were stacked neatly on the table, staring up at her with gold-and-blue eyes.

Her eyes.

Her face. Her ears. Her tail.

She blinked, her tail flicking sharply.

“…Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

She muttered it under her breath, ears flattening.

Then she turned to Adora—who was vibrating with suppressed laughter, her eyes sparkling as she clapped a hand over her mouth.

 Melog sniffed at the dolls, their ethereal eyes glinting with evident amusement. 

“Go ahead,” Catra said dryly, glaring down at her spectral companion. “I know you want to say something.”

Melog tilted their head innocently, but their bond hummed with warm mischief. 

Heat prickled along Catra’s spine, fur rising. Her claws slid out instinctively as her cheeks heated up.

This was a joke, right? Some kind of weird prank? 

Melog’s tail brushed against her ankle, interrupting her spiral.

“No, Granddaughter.” Their voice was calm and patient. “These are what they seem. Just toy soldiers. Children enjoy toys of their heroes.”

The image of the She-Ra dolls Catra had seen in Bright Moon floated to the forefront of her mind.

“Seriously, Melog?” Catra muttered.  Okay, so she understood that she did not need to be offended, but….  Her? A hero to small children? “It’s weird .” 

Unable to resist, Catra picked up one of the dolls. The exact size to be held in a small child’s arms, made of soft, felted wool. The details were startling : gold and blue eyes, tufts of fur around the ears, even her tail. It felt good to hold, and she wrapped both arms around it before she realized what she had done.

Adora sidled up beside her, the corners of her mouth twitching with barely contained glee. “They’re really cute,” she said, her tone light but teasing.

They really were. Some had long hair, some short. Some smiled, some scowled, and some had mouths open in a roar. A few even sported her old red mask, stitched from what looked like scrap fabric. 

Still, Catra shot Adora a withering look. “Cute?” she repeated. “Please don’t mention this to Arrow Boy.”

Adora bit her lip, failing to hide her grin. “Well, I know he would love one. Look! This one has those little blond streaks you used to have.”

“Oh, for the love of—” Catra groaned, rolling her eyes.

A muscular orc woman, her height rivaling Scorpia’s, was serving another customer at the other end of the long table where stacks of t-shirts and trousers waited to be bought. 

She glanced over. “I’ll be right with…” Her face paled as she took in who was browsing the toys. Her fingers clutched at the edge of the table as if bracing herself. “Force Captain! Commander!” she barked, snapping out a salute so fast it nearly upset the stack of shirts. The customer, a tiny aquatic man, looked ready to run.

Catra sighed and waved a hand vaguely. “As you were.” She did not return the salute because she was trying to get people out of the habit. She pointed her chin at the other customer. “Go ahead and finish your trade.”

The woman hesitated before nodding. When the other customer shuffled away, she looked back at Catra, wringing her hands together.

“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any disrespect.” The woman’s anxiety was understandable. “I hope you’re not offended…”  but there was something more than that in her eyes as they filled with tears. Melog drifted back over, exchanging a concerned glance with Catra. There was a story here. 

“It’s fine.” Catra smiled at the woman, hoping to set her at ease. Her thumb brushed over the doll’s soft wool. The stitches were tight and careful. Sewing the little clothes must have taken a while, even with a machine. “These are… really well made.” Since Aunt Casta had been teaching her knitting, Catra had a brand new appreciation for handcrafts. “I just… I don’t understand.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I mean, why would anyone want a plushie me?” 

“I made it for my niece.” The woman glanced behind her. On the ground behind the table, a little orc girl. She was maybe five and played silently with a few little dolls, paying no attention to anything else. Some were the carved toy soldiers the children played with, and one was another of the fuzzy Catra dolls. Her doll looked like she roared.

“When I first got her back,” The merchant turned back, her voice low. “She would wake up screaming, saying Horde Prime was still in her head.” She gestured at the dolls on the table. “But then I made her one of these, and she slept through the night for the first time in months.”

“Wait.” Catra’s grip on the plushie in her arms tightened. Melog leaned into her leg. “She was chipped?”

“Yes.” The woman hesitated, “Her mother and father are still MIA.” she said quietly. She leaned forward, and her voice dropped further. “I honestly think they’re dead, otherwise…” the woman stopped speaking, biting her lip. She shook herself and then continued. “She told me that… thinking of you made it so Prime couldn’t see her.”

Catra’s ears flattened.

“I thought it was just her,” the woman admitted. “But then some of the other kids saw it. They started asking for them, too. Some of them—” she hesitated, her voice dropping more. “A lot of them have trouble sleeping.”

Catra looked down at the doll again. Given how much trouble she was having with sleeping, she could imagine how bad it had to be for the kids. 

Adora's jaw hardened as she stepped forward. “So a lot of the chipped kids are struggling?” she asked, her voice softer now.

The woman looked at Adora like she was stupid, but she just said.  “Most.”

A tense silence fell between them, and for a moment, all three women looked at the little girl. The child felt the eyes on her and looked up, her eyes widening and her mouth forming a perfect O as she stared at Catra. 

With zero warning, what felt like a sixty-pound rock slammed into her. Catra caught it with a muffled “oof,” staggering under the weight.

“Katie! No!” The woman gasped, mortified. “Force Captain! I am so sorry.” She tried to pull the child back. “She’s never done anything like this!” The girl locked her arms and legs around Catra’s neck and waist. 

“Come on, sweetie! Come to Aunt Jill.” Tears flooded down the woman’s cheeks.

Recovering from her surprise, Catra wrapped her arms around the child. “It-it’s Ambassador now,” Catra said for some reason, as though that would calm everyone down. The poor merchant was practically hyperventilating in fear. The child had buried her face in Catra’s neck, holding on like it was the only safe place in the universe.

The kid was heavy. She was tiny for an orc, but even as children, orcs were nothing but solid muscle. Catra crossed her feet and dropped to sit cross-legged on the dirt in front of the table. 

The child was silent, but Catra could feel her tremors and tightened her arms around the girl. Melog settled next to them.

In the background, she could hear Adora calming Jill down. Good, Adora was good at that. It left her and Melog free to just purr at the child and rub her back.

“Is this real?” the little girl whispered. “Is this really real?”

Oh.

“It’s real,” Catra whispered. “I promise.”

The child’s tremors increased. “He’s gone? For real?”

Oh. Oh, no. A ball of panic formed in Catra’s stomach as she considered what the Hive mind must have felt like to the girl. And now… Even after all this time, the poor kid had no idea what was real and what wasn’t.

Katie trembled in her arms, her small hands clutching at Catra’s fur as if afraid she might slip away.

Catra purred, holding her tighter, but her own breath came shallow. She knew this feeling. When she woke up on Darla, she had clung to Adora the same way, pressing her claws through her jacket, convinced it would all evaporate. 

“..did this when we rescued her.” Adora was telling the woman. “It took her a long time to be able to tell what was real.”

Another time, Catra might have been pissed about Adora mentioning that to another person, but in the face of Jill and little Katie’s distress, Catra could not be bothered. 

Even now, Catra still dreamt of His voice. She still had moments when she woke up choking, expecting to vomit green fluid, always so relieved when it was merely yellow bile from the dry heaves. 

Katie was five. Katie was still learning the shape of her world. That shape had been twisted out of all recognition by Horde Prime’s light. And her parents were missing.

Distressed by the realization, Catra’s purr went up in pitch as she tried to soothe all of them. She looked to Melog, hoping… Catra knew they tracked people through their emotional bonds somehow. Felina’s mother. Angella. “Unless they have departed to the sunless shores,” they had said. A euphemism for death.

The magical guardian shook their head mournfully. If they could not track them, they were truly beyond reach.

Catra had to fight to keep her tears down. This little girl did not need an adult to go to pieces on her. 

 Katie's body slowly went limp. Adora and then Jill knelt beside her. 

“Oooh, stars!. She’s asleep,” Jill whispered. “She never goes down so quickly.“

A new thought drifted through Catra’s mind: The Horde takes care of its own.

Despite Hordak. Despite Shadow Weaver. Despite Prime and Princesses and magic and devastation.

This child was no different. She had her family. She wasn’t alone.

These were not Catra’s thoughts.

They were Melog’s, whispering through their bond—gentle, steadying, certain. The only reason Catra could gather herself enough to rise from the dust of the walkway, where she sat like a tripping hazard on the obstacle course.

Adora was already there, hands hovering like she wanted to help but didn’t want to startle the girl. Beside her, Jill rose to her feet, eyes red-rimmed and anxious. “She’s got a blanket back there,” Jill whispered, nodding toward a neat little pile behind the table. “You can put her down; let her rest.”

Catra nodded. Slowly, she shifted her grip so she could carry Katie properly and staggered to her feet. 

“Oooh,” Jill breathed. “That is precious!”

It was precious. It was the most precious thing in the world. Catra cradled the fragile child as she walked around the table and laid her on her blanket. 

Katie did belong somewhere—somewhere safe, somewhere with people who would take care of her.

Jill picked up the little girl’s doll and placed it with her. The child curled around it in her sleep.

Melog picked up the little plushie that Catra had dropped and gave it back to her. 

Catra chuckled weakly. “Yeah, okay.” Her voice thickened with unshed tears. “Melog wants this one. How much?”

“Oh, no!” Jill cried, straightening up. “I could not possibly accept money from you! Please, take it as a gift!”

“Please tell the Toymaker ‘thank you.’ It is ungracious not to accept.” Through their bond, Melog showed Catra how much joy Jill would feel in giving the gift.

“Oh! Thank you. Melog really appreciates it.”

Jill’s face broke into a dazzling smile, though her eyes darted between Catra and Melog, uncertain. Was Catra joking? Still, she turned to Melog when she said, “You’re welcome.”

Melog took the little plushie toy in their mouth and stuffed it in Catra’s bag. “We will give the Toymaker currency for the rest.”

“All of them?”

Melog’s tail flicked. “Please?” Their voice was softer now, expectant. A familiar weight settled in Catra’s chest. Then, an image bloomed in her mind—tired children curled up in their bunks, the little plushies clutched tight, their minders watching in quiet relief.

Catra swallowed. Trust Melog to know who needed them the most. 

“So, how much for all of them?” Catra asked, shifting into business mode.

Jill blinked. “I—what?” She stared, momentarily stunned.

That was okay. Catra was barely processing, either. “I mean it. How much for all of them? And how much do you need to make more?” She turned and surveyed the table. There were only about a dozen, and many were very small. “Are these all you have? Or do you have more?”

Jill shook her head, still catching up. “I’ve just been doing this in my spare time.”

Catra exhaled sharply, dug through her bag, and pulled out her coin purse. Without counting or haggling, she dropped it on the table. “This will get you started on materials. You know best what you need.”

She flicked her tail, then turned to Adora. “She needs a grant.”

“For the toys?”

“It is not just for the toys,” Melog chirped. “It is for the children who still wake up screaming. For the people who survived the war but never escaped it. For the ones who still don’t know what ‘safe’ feels like.”

That was too much to translate. Too much to even say out loud without breaking. Catra pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, forcing herself to breathe past the lump in her throat.

“From the Joint Committee,” she finally managed, her voice rough. She tightened her grip on the plushie, kneading the soft fabric between her fingers. “If the Joint Committee doesn’t back it, I’ll talk to Scorpia. We’ll get it funded somehow.”

“Okay.” Adora nodded, already reaching for her notepad.

Jill blinked rapidly, her mouth opening and closing as if trying to find the right words.

“I… I don’t—You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do,” Catra cut in, voice rough but certain. A deep breath steadied her, fingers tightening around the toy’s fur. “They need them. If it helps them sleep—if it helps them at all—then I want every single one of them to have one.”

I can make more,” Jill whispered. “I used to sew uniforms in one of the factories. I’m fast.” A small, almost apologetic shrug. “I do these in my free time.”  She hesitated. “I’ve been using the camp’s sewing machines—Rogelio said it was okay.”

“Well, you can make this your full-time duty if you want to.” Catra exhaled sharply, forcing herself to say it out loud. “I know why it helps… Spinnerella told me. In the hive mind, Prime didn’t want to think about me laughing at him. He didn’t want to think of me at all.”

Ears flicking back, she straightened up and met Jill’s gaze. “If thinking about me flipping him off kept him out of their heads… then I want every single person who wants one to have one.”

The doll in her hand was soft but sturdy; it had tiny, careful stitches holding everything together.

“Hire some people. Get more machines. I’ll tell Rogelio, and he’ll handle logistics. We’ve got plenty of folks around here who’d love to learn something other than holding a weapon.”

Still scribbling notes, Adora nodded. “We can get you better materials, too. You shouldn’t have to scavenge for scraps to make something this important.”

Overwhelmed, Jill glanced between the two of them before finally nodding. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Both of you.”

Adora was staring at Catra again with the same wide-eyed, soft, almost stunned smile she had last night. Catra could feel how red her cheeks were. 

Jill tried to sink to one knee, but Catra gently grabbed her wrist. “Please don’t do that.” She took Jill’s hand, sandwiching it between her own. “Hordefolk don’t bend the knee to anyone anymore.” 

The council had made it clear that the obsequiousness Hordak and Shadow Weaver always demanded had no place in the New Horde Republic—another habit of a lifetime to be unlearned.

“Oh. Yes, ma’am.”  

“Specialist Jill,” Catra said, slipping into her official voice, “by the authority of the Horde Council, I appoint you Chief Toymaker.”

Jill’s breath hitched. The title landed like something real, something solid.

Catra flicked her tail. “Guess we’ll need a Toymaker division insignia,” she muttered. “I’ll tell Rogelio.”

They stayed at the market the rest of the day. Instead of packing up, Jill took orders for the rest of the day-- they did not want anyone to think Catra shut her down in a fit of pique. 

“We should make sure to leave you with some to display, though,” Adora told Jill, “The merchants in Bright Moon always do that so people can see what they’re ordering.” 

“And go ahead and tell people about the project. The Joint Committee will consider any project that helps in the recovery,” Catra said.

Melog carried the bag of toys so that Catra and Adora could keep shopping. 

A makeshift open-air cafe was set up in the center of the market, offering fried tubers and local homebrew beer. Half the merchants they bought from tried to refuse their currency, but Catra put her foot down and paid them. 

Word spread fast. As the day wore on, people were noticeably more relaxed, especially as Adora made a lot of purchases, too. When they stopped to speak to people,  there were more smiles and less panic. The conversations about them took on a different tone, more speculative and less worried. 

"No, I swear—she and She Ra are official. Look it up yourself.”

"Shit. That's crazy.”

“Gotta be political.”

"Okay, but what about her ?”

"She’s a Princess.”

"Don’t be stupid. They wouldn’t station a Princess out here.”

"Okay, sure. But why were they kissing last night?”

"Maybe She-Ra doesn’t give a shit.”

“Definitely political.”

Catra promised herself she’d follow up on the whispers. Just… not now.

Melog tired of exploring before supper. “I will see you later,” they murmured, sending Catra an image of themself stretched out in a warm beam of light. Catra could relate. They took the bundle of plushies with them.

Catra and Adora wandered back to the food stalls for supper, picking up fried tubers, meat on a stick, and mead. A  musician nearby plucked a tune from a guitar-like instrument, playing for coin.

They ate as they walked, letting the rhythm of the market settle around them. The day had been long (so much for her plan of buying a few items and then napping) —good, but long. Too many people, too many stares, too many hushed conversations cut off the second Catra’s ears twitched in their direction.

They needed a quiet night.

Back at their quarters, Adora stretched out on the bed, groaning as her muscles relaxed. “I know it’s early, but I could sleep for a week.”

Catra flopped down beside her. “Yeah. Not talking to people for, like, ten hours sounds great.”

Adora hummed in agreement, already half-asleep.

Then—

Catra’s communicator beeped.

She groaned, rolling onto her stomach. “What now, Lonnie?”

“Uh… Catra?” Lonnie’s voice was edged with something unusual. Worry.

Catra tensed, sleepiness vanishing. Lonnie never sounded worried.

Adora opened her eyes.

Catra sat up. “What’s wrong?”

Lonnie hesitated. “Yeah. Your… um… cat? They’re scaring the medics.”

Catra frowned. “My cat? You mean Melog?”

Adora shifted fully upright now, listening as Lonnie continued.

“Well… they kind of took over one of the rooms in the little kid’s dorm. Showed up right at bedtime, curled up in the middle of the floor, and… Now, they won’t move..”

Catra blinked. “Okay? And?”

“Well, one of the medics freaked out—said it would not let her near the kids.”

Catra scrubbed a hand over her face. “Melog’s been here a week, and now they’re worried about child-eating?”

She sighed, already reaching for her jacket. So much for a quiet night in. “I’m on my way.”

“I’ll be here,” Lonnie said.

By the time she stood, Adora was already up. “You want me to come?”

Catra nodded. “Yeah. Melog’s not upset, but… who knows?”

Chapter Text

The infirmary was one of the only permanent buildings in the camp, standing across from the admin offices.

Zira was grateful for that. Grateful for Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio—three commanders who ensured she and her kids had a real space, not just a base camp tent. They had grown up as orphans, taken in only because Shadow Weaver needed playmates for her special cadet. They knew what it was to be shunted aside, deemed less deserving. They had never forgotten. And in this camp that they built from the wreckage of their childhoods, they did not forget the children either.

These particular kids weren’t in the infirmary because of injuries. They were here because their bodies had forgotten how to live.

Other chipped kids had struggled at first, but they were improving. The stable ones, placed with family or squadmates, were starting to eat again, to speak. Catching up. Becoming more alive to the world around them. She could see it, day by day, in the clinic.

But these kids?

They were drifting further away.

Zira clenched her jaw. Physically, they had everything they needed. This shouldn’t be happening. She had suspicions. They had been lost and shuffled around too long, with no one and nothing but each other. Maybe if they had intensive one-on-one care, they could start to come back. But they were too fragile, too underweight, and too unstable to be placed with a foster parent or released to the creche.

And if they couldn’t eat, they would never be strong enough to leave.

A vicious cycle. For them to be placed with consistent, one-on-one caregivers, they needed to gain weight. For them to gain weight, they needed caregivers who could give them the attention they needed.

Their failure to eat was not refusal. They never looked for food. Although most could chew and swallow without incident, they had no real drive to eat. Some of them didn’t even react to food in front of them. They would sit there, silent, unblinking, as if their bodies had forgotten how to recognize hunger. Some just needed prompts. Some needed spoon-feeding.

Others would not even exert themselves to swallow. They had to be fed through tubes, not because they were being force-fed, but because they could not take in enough calories in a sitting to survive.

She had to place a feeding tube today. At least Rogelio never protested her requisitions for sedatives or painkillers, and Scorpia always signed off on everything. They always had enough, so they didn’t have to add that to the poor kid’s trauma.

Strange times indeed. Zira had never expected to be grateful to a Princess, yet here she was. Plumeria had been sending vast quantities of raw plant material to be made into medication in the Horde manufacturing plants. Every one of her requisitions went through.

Zira had the resources to help the kids, hopefully keeping them alive until their bodies could find balance again. But until they found some way to get the kids to sleep properly, that was all they could offer. She exhaled sharply, setting the cup down harder than she meant to.

This was unacceptable. These kids were wound too tight, like traps set to spring—and she had no idea what would set them off. Every night, at least one of them woke up screaming; those were the only sounds some of them ever made. And right now, all she could do was shove them into whatever willing arms walked through the door.

It wasn’t enough.

Her frustration curled like a hot coil in her chest. She was so tired of losing children.

There had to be a solution. Otherwise, why was she still trying when so many colleagues would have written these kids off as lost?

Up until now, the camp commanders were fully behind her. But Ambassador Catra was here with an Alliance rep. Apparently, their projects with the kids had caught someone’s attention. Would a Princess give a shit about Horde kids? Or would they react like the bored bureaucrats who questioned why she just watched them waste away while their minds retreated somewhere she couldn’t reach.

Lonnie had made it clear that neither Ambassador Catra nor the Alliance rep were here to interfere. Which, in Zira’s experience, meant they absolutely would.

“Dr. Zira?” Nyxal peeked around the doorway of the office and held out a hot cup of tea.

“I’m here.” Zira waved tiredly at her assistant, barely looking up. “Did Eric give you the handoff report?”

“Yeah. Eric and Nathaniel actually got them all in their bunks.” Nyxal put the cup on Zira’s desk.

Zira blinked. “At the same time?”

Nyxal nodded.

Shocking.

Zira allowed herself a small smile as she picked up the tea. Well, maybe they can get a few hours in. It was the most they’d slept at a stretch in… she didn’t even know how long.

Another strange regression. It was as though their bodies had forgotten their rhythms. Zira and her team were trying everything to help them find it again. She had organized some older cadets into babysitting shifts—kids she considered taking as apprentices. Steady. Calm. Not easily spooked. The responsibility often steadied them as well.

The best way to survive was to take care of your buddies. Every soldier understood that, and the teenagers threw themselves into it. Some of the younger kids had to be carried in slings, and others were fine walking beside their temporary squadmates, but Zira made sure each child got one-on-one time with someone.

She and Nyxal stayed with the children at night. Another reason they couldn’t be released to the creche—they were better when they were together. It made sense. They only had each other. Given their high needs, they required specialized care. Zira had trained a few cadets to assist with tube feedings while the others could be spoon-fed.

Nyxal’s tail flicked. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep?” Her voice was casual, but Zira knew better. She had heard this tone before—when a medic tried to coax a wounded soldier to lie still, or when a squadmate tried to nudge a friend into taking the last of the rations. “I know you’ve been here all day.”

Zira snorted softly, shaking her head. “So have you.”

Crossing her arms, Nyxal huffed. “Yeah, I was in the building. But I got eight hours of sleep in the on-call room. You are running on fumes.”

Zira gave her a flat look. “You can smell exhaustion?”

The canid’s ears twitched. “I can smell you barely holding it together.” She softened slightly, tilting her head. “Come on. Sit back and drink your tea while it’s still warm. I’ll handle it if one of them stirs.”

Zira frowned at the cup in her hands as though seeing it for the first time. The tea had gone from lukewarm to cold.

Nyxal sighed, rolling her eyes. She took the cup from Zira’s hands and placed it on the desk before crouching beside her, shifting onto her haunches like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Let me make a deal with you, okay? Ten minutes. Just close your eyes. If anything happens, I will wake you.”

Zira exhaled sharply through her nose. “I don’t—”

 “Zira.” Nyxal cut her off with a firm look.

Something in her chest pinched. That sounded so lovely. Someone else was taking the watch so she could just… stop, just for a little while. She dragged a hand down her face, sighed, and slumped back in her chair. “…Fine. Ten minutes.”

Nyxal smirked, shifting her weight. “I’ll take what I can get.”

Zira let her eyes slip closed. She was only resting her eyes, just for a moment.

Warmth. Steady breathing. The scent of clean fabric and old tea. The rhythmic tap of Nyxal’s claws against the desk as she settled in.

A deep inhale. A long exhale. Her body relaxed —

“Dr. Zira?”

Not sharp. Not urgent. But Nyxal’s voice was wrong. Off.

Zira forced her eyes open, already pushing upright—

“Dr. Zira!” This time, it was too sharp. Adrenaline hit before she was fully awake. She shoved herself out of the chair, following Nyxal’s voice back into the ward. 

And then—she froze.

It lay in the middle of the floor.  A great, cat-like creature, its body shimmering in the dim light. Translucent, almost spectral, with a transparent blue mane and violet body. A vibration—low and steady—hummed through the room, powerful enough to rival the emergency generators.

Warmth spread through her, pressing down on her limbs. A thick, heavy fog settled over her mind, like the moment she sank into her bunk after the longest shift of her life.

Sleep. Just for a second—

Zira’s knees buckled.

“Dr. Zira!”

A sudden jolt. Nyxal’s voice was sharp in her ear. Hands—strong, pulling her back, half-dragging her away from the thing on the floor.

Breathing ragged, heart hammering, Zira scrambled to get her feet under her. The thing was still there. It stared at her—unblinking, pupil-less blue eyes.

“We need to call someone,” Nyxal whispered. “I think it’s Catra’s.” The fur on the back of the canine hybrid’s neck stood straight up. Her words rumbled, barely suppressing a growl.

“Go ahead. Call Lonnie..” Zira’s voice came out low, even. Nyxal nodded, already moving. Zira edged sideways, feeling under the console for the weapon she kept there. Her fingers closed around the smooth, familiar grip of the stun baton. She slipped it into the reinforced pocket of her uniform jacket so she could rest her hand on it. 

She did not look forward to the conversation she was going to have. A security breach—on her watch? That should have never happened, and yet, here they were.

The handle of the stun baton was smooth and reassuring under her palm. Whatever this thing was, it felt like a predator. Predators reacted to electricity.

No. Fighting this thing would only traumatize the kids further. It would be best if Catra came to explain.

She forced her mind to focus, eyes narrowing at the creature, still unmoving. How close could she get before it stunned her again? Before Zira could decide whether to rush the thing and take her chances, Nyxal’s voice came muffled from the hallway.

“Lonnie said she and Catra will come get them.” A pause. Then, quieter, “She says it won’t hurt them.”

Some deep instinct in Zira’s gut agreed. The warmth, the drowsiness—it had felt good. Too good. Like the natural pull of exhaustion at the end of a long day.

But she did not trust it. She did not dare. 

Minutes passed like hours. Zira stood in the hallway, watching. One hostile move toward those children, and she really would feed it a stun baton, even if it did belong to Catra.

The thing lay its head down, staring back, almost as though it understood her intent. Almost trying to reassure her. 

As soon as Catra got here, she would understand what they wanted. It was too hard for them to communicate with her. Catra would help.

No. Wait. Where the hell did that come from?

But it made sense. 

Of course, it would be too difficult for her to learn their language—her full-human ears were deaf to many of the frequencies they spoke with. Only magicats and certain hybrids really had the ears. Huge pinna that scooped the vibrations out of the air.

Why would she think that?

Her hands twitched—micro-tremors, uncontrolled. Dizzy. A drop in blood pressure? Some kind of vagal effect? She forced herself to catalog symptoms, lean into logic, and ignore the way her limbs felt wrong. An altered state. A physiological response. Cortisol reduction. Some kind of induced parasympathetic reaction.

A deep inhale. A slow exhale.

A warm hum settled into her bones, thick as honey, pulling her downward.
Heavy. Soft. Safe.

Every fiber of her body begged her to let go, lie down. Rest.

No. No, no, no.

She knew exhaustion. She knew how to carry it.

Her body teetered on the edge of sleep.

A flash   —White and gold. A medic’s tent.

"Incoming Princesses!"

The ground trembled. A pressure wave hit like a hammer, sending medics stumbling and patients screaming.

The wind howled—bodies thrown like dolls. A column of water erupted where the triage tent had been. A second later, someone teleported into her path, the air bending and snapping like a thunderclap. A wave of magic ripped through her field pack, shorting out equipment, frying delicate circuits.

Zira grabbed a soldier—barely sixteen, eyes wide with shock—and hauled him out of the way as the ground split apart.

Somewhere, a radio crackled. "... Princess. Blonde, glowing! Incoming."

Zira reached for her weapon. She would not leave her patients without a fight. Not again. Not this time.

"Zira. You’re done."

Hands on her arms, dragging her back.

No. There were still wounded. The fight wasn’t over. It didn’t matter that her hands were trembling too hard to tie a suture. She could still defend them.

"Stand down."

The anger surged, sharp and electric. Adrenaline cut through the exhaustion, just as it always did. Her grip had tightened. Her voice had snapped—sharp enough to cut. 

"I will not!"   

She jumped at the sound of her voice. The words were the same. But this wasn’t then. No geyser. No wind. No screaming. Just the slow blink of an alien’s eyes and her apprentice eyeing her in alarm.

Finally, footsteps in the hallway. Lonnie’s voice carried, sharp with irritation. “You wanna tell me what your cat thinks it’s doing? My senior medic is about to have a meltdown.”

Catra sighed. “Yeah, Melog isn’t a cat. They’re a person.” She ran a hand through her hair as she rounded the corner. “Whatever they’re doing, they have a reason.”

Lonnie huffed. “Yeah? Well, they could have let someone else in on that. Come on, Catra. This place is already barely holding together, and your cat—sorry, your person —just materialized in the middle of a high-needs ward like a godsdamned ghost. No warning. No explanation. You see why that’s a problem, right?”

Nyxal snapped to attention. Her hand half-raised before she caught herself. Zira straightened, clasping her hands behind her back.

Two women stood beside Lonnie. Zira had never been in the presence of Hordak’s second, but like everyone else, she’d seen her in vids and on propaganda posters.

Catra was unmistakable. But the taller blonde? Zira had never seen her before.

Muscular, with nothing softening those edges. Whipcord and sinew over bone, like she hadn’t been eating right. Gray eyes—sunken, haunted. Starved, but not just for food.

No insignia. No rank markings. She carried herself like an officer, all stiff and by-the-book, as if discipline alone could keep her upright. All to hide the trembling. Easy to miss behind the scripted resolve, but Zira caught it.

Lonnie exhaled sharply. “This is Doctor Zira.” She gestured toward Zira, then to Nyxal. “Her assistant.”

Zira had no idea how Catra would react to being called in for this, but the blonde—her energy was wrong. Her thousand-yard stare sharpened, locked onto Zira with surgical precision. Unwavering. Accusatory. Like Zira had done something unforgivable. Vibrating like an energy rifle about to overload.

Something in Zira’s gut clenched. Not fear. Not exactly. With the same certainty that told her when a patient was about to crash, Zira understood—she was the one under scrutiny.

Still, she forced herself to push forward.

“They were all in their beds…” A measured breath. Keep it clinical. Keep control. “For once, they all seemed calm. And then—” Her jaw tightened. “Nyxal went to check on them and…” She forced her hand steady as she pointed toward the room where the creature lounged among her fragile charges. “That thing just appeared.”

“That’s right!” Nyxal confirmed immediately, tail flicking sharply. “I didn’t smell it. I didn’t hear it. Nothing.”

Zira pressed her mouth into a firm line. “I went in there, and it… did something to me.” The words felt wrong the moment they left her lips. Like failure. Like losing control. She exhaled sharply. “It stunned me somehow. I wasn’t sure I could get near it.”

The blonde stiffened. “Melog is stunning people?” Her voice was sharp, defensive, but clearly accustomed to getting deference. 

She was not going to get it from Zira. “I’m sorry, Who are you?” the medic asked, keeping her voice completely neutral.

“Commander Adora, Alliance rep,” she snapped. “What did you mean about Melog stunning people? Why would they need to do that?” 

Something in the room shifted. The tension thickened, but Zira couldn’t pinpoint why. Lonnie and Catra exchanged looks, but then Catra shook her head.

“First. Melog doesn’t stun people.” Catra exhaled through her nose, ears twitching. “Second, Melog’s a person. Not a pet.” She turned slightly toward the Alliance commander, the weight of her next words pressing into the space between them. “And third… everyone is fine.” She reached out and put her hand on the blonde woman’s arm.

“Melog didn’t know they were here,” Catra glanced toward the doorway, her tail flicking in an uncertain rhythm. “Not until today.” 

A pause as the creature grunted and chirped. 

“They weren’t listening for them before—didn’t have a reason to. They didn’t know these kids had survived.”

Zira’s head snapped toward her. “Melog says that?” The words came out too sharp, too fast, but she didn’t care. 

“Yeah.”

Lonnie scoffed. “So it talks now?”

Zira caught the way Adora’s jaw tightened. “Only Catra can understand them.” The words were clipped, forced out .

Catra sighed, rubbing at her temple. “Melog didn’t stun you, Zira. You passed out.”

Zira stiffened. “I did not—”

“You did,” Catra cut in, firm but not unkind. “Melog says you’re making yourself sick. That you need to sleep before you collapse.”

Silence.

Something unpleasant curled in Zira’s gut. She swallowed it down. Her mind flicked back—her own exhaustion, the pounding behind her eyes, the wretched tension at the base of her skull. How long had it been since she’d slept properly? A day? Two? More?

Across from her, Adora’s posture had gone rigid. Arms still folded but stiff in a way that wasn’t quite anger. Not quite. Zira watched Adora for a beat longer, trying to untangle her reaction, but the blonde only huffed through her nose and looked away.

"Fine," Adora muttered.

Lonnie, to her credit, looked as exasperated as Zira felt. Her expression twisted like she had a dozen follow-ups she wasn’t willing to waste breath on. Instead, she just muttered, “Of course they do.”

“Commandant Lonnie!” Zira finally lost patience. “I am much more interested in getting that thing out of my ward and away from my kids!”

Catra glanced at the blonde, her brow furrowing with concern, but then she smiled at Zira. 

 “Do you want to check on them?” Her voice softened, almost coaxing. “See for yourself?”

“Will it let me in there without it trying to knock me on my ass?” Zira growled.

“I think you’ll be okay,” Catra assured her. “Melog is just trying to help.”

Zira hesitated, then gestured toward the doorway for Catra to precede her. No way was she walking in there without backup.  “All right, but keep your voices down.” 

Adora gave her another suspicious glare, and Zira watched her carefully. Something wasn’t right. A flicker of movement in Zira’s periphery—Catra’s tail lashed beside her, quick, agitated. “You can stay out here if it’s too much,” the magicat murmured, not unkindly.

Adora swallowed hard, jaw clenched tight. For a second, Zira thought she’d take the out—but then she shook her head, stiff, too controlled.

Lonnie glanced between them, her mouth pressing into a flat line—noted but not commented on.

When the three had their backs turned, Nyxal shifted slightly, her tail flicking against Zira’s arm—a slight motion, easy to miss. But when Zira glanced over, Nyxal’s ears flicked back, her expression neutral— too neutral.

As if she were merely fidgeting, Nyxal hooked the index and middle finger of her right hand over the back of the same two fingers on her other hand. She twisted the top fingers. Then she flattened her left hand and pushed the fingers of her right hand into her palm.

Panic Attack.

Zira’s gaze snapped back to Adora. She hadn’t noticed before, but—maybe?  Adora sucked in a gasp—too fast, too shallow. Sweat beaded along her forehead in the cool room. A flicker of movement as Adora shifted her weight as though suppressing the need to pace—the too-wide eyes. The color drained from her face, leaving her pale and bloodless. Not just anger. Not just frustration. Something deeper. 

Inside, the low, rhythmic hum of Melog’s purring filled the space. The moment they crossed the threshold, Adora stopped.

There it was—the moment she locked up entirely. Breath stalled. Jaw tight. She wasn’t even blinking. Her pupils were too wide; her hands curled into fists so tight the knuckles had gone white. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed like she was trying to stuff something down. The blonde kept moving as if forcing her body forward would override whatever was happening inside her head.

Nyxal barely shifted, just the slightest flick of an ear, but Zira caught it. See?

Under different circumstances, Zira might have said something, pulled Adora aside, and asked if she was fit to be here.

But right now? Right now, she had a room full of sleeping children, a giant predator curled around them that was somehow supposed to be helping.

Melog, as if understanding, put their head down, making themselves smaller. Not enough to dislodge the toddlers curled up against them, but enough to be… less imposing. Their purr never faltered.

Zira swallowed hard and stepped inside, keeping her movements careful, slow. The room was dimly lit, a soft nightlight casting a warm glow. And the air—it felt different here.

The tension that hung over the infirmary like a storm cloud had lifted. The atmosphere was warm and gentle. The weight in Zira’s chest, the one she hadn’t even realized she was holding, eased just slightly.

Soft exhales. Slow, even. Rising and falling in time with the low, steady purring that filled the space. A vibration, not just a sound—a deep, rhythmic hum that settled into Zira’s bones, as steady as a heartbeat.

The murmurs of children shifting, their breathing synced to the great cat’s slow, steady adagio.

Rooted to the ground, her gaze flicked between Melog and the bunks for several long minutes. She waited, holding her breath. Braced for the screaming to start.

…Nothing.

Just the quiet shifting of blankets, a soft sigh. A child turning over.

In the center of the room, their mane a calm, glowing blue, Melog curled up on the rug. Three small children were nestled against them, blankets wrapped tight, tiny fists curled in fabric. In the bunks, the others slept, breathing even, their faces slack. And every single one of them clutched a little plushie.

Brand new. But no one had brought them.

Zira’s jaw tightened. That detail should have been the biggest mystery here. Somehow, it wasn’t.

Then, finally, she nodded. “Will it let me get near them?” Her voice was steady, but she didn’t pretend the tension in her shoulders had eased.

Zira knelt beside the nearest bed. Mathis. His name was Mathis. Maybe five. A full human with dark skin and soft curls. She pressed shaking fingers lightly under his jaw. Warm. Steady. Alive. She exhaled slowly, moving to feel his forehead. She could see his eyes darting back and forth beneath their lids.

Then she just… sat there. One hand resting lightly against his forehead, the other hovering over his chest, feeling the slow, even rise and fall of his breath. A sleepy mumble. “Hmmm?”

Zira startled. Mathis’s brown eyes fluttered open. Her breath hitched. Her hands went still.

His gaze was unfocused, drowsy, but present. He wasn’t gasping awake in a panic. He wasn’t staring through her with that awful, empty vacancy. Just the slow, lazy blinks of a child at bedtime.

She swallowed. “You okay, sweetheart?” Her voice—softer than she meant it to be.

Mathis nodded sleepily, pulling his plushie closer. “Kitty stay?” he murmured.

Zira’s breath hitched again. He had not spoken a single word since he had come into their custody.

“O-of course,” she managed. “You should go back to sleep.” She tucked the sheet around his shoulders, where it had fallen aside.

A little nod. “’Kay.”

Zira let out a shaky breath. Then, abruptly, she shoved herself upright and strode back into the hallway.

“So, are they asleep for real?” Catra asked as she followed the woman.

She exhaled sharply, her hand pressed against her forehead, and sank into the chair, shoulders slumped. “Seems so,” she breathed.  

The creature in the center of the room- Melog- had not moved. Their tail flicked once, deliberate and slow. Their mane still pulsed that calm, glowing blue. They purred—steady, rhythmic, unwavering. The kids weren’t just sleeping. They were peaceful.

“Melog says that the kids will sleep through the night if they stay.” Catra shrugged, too casual.

Zira’s hands curled into fists at her sides. She fought the urge to snap something back—something harsh and cutting. How dare they disrupt her ward? More importantly, how dare they have been here a week with this thing and not come to speak to her? Cold uncertainty twisted Zira’s gut.

She wanted an answer so desperately that she did not dare trust something this easy.  “How do they know that?”

"Melog’s an empath. They just do."

Zira’s jaw clenched. “That’s not an answer. “

Some hybrids had empathic abilities connected to their ability to detect pheromones. Sorcerers were said to be able to read people empathically. But what other talents did this creature have? It had nearly knocked Zira flat.

"It’s the one I’ve got.” Catra’s ears flicked back, irritated. “If it helps any, Melog says it’s something they do naturally. They say that when they purr, it reduces the stress chemicals the kids are making.”

Zira inhaled sharply, pressing her fingers to her temple. This was ridiculous. She should shut it down and demand more than a vague, half-assed explanation about magic and empathy.

But…

The results were undeniable.

She exhaled, forcing herself to think. The children had never responded like this before. Not to medication, calming techniques, or even the most patient caregivers. And yet, Melog had just… fixed it? No warning. No effort. The rational part of her bristled at it. But the doctor in her—the exhausted, desperate one—couldn’t ignore it.

Reduces stress chemicals? 

The thought snagged, disjointed. She was exhausted. Running on those same stress chemicals.

“Dr. Zira!”

Nyxal’s voice cracked through the haze, sharp in her ear. Zira jolted upright, heart thudding, hand still half-propping her head. She sniffed the air, a sharp inhale. Her ears flicked. “Wait—” Her nostrils flared, her pupils dilated—her body language shifting between confusion and eagerness. A half-second later, her tail lashed once, sharply— And then she bolted into the ward.

Through the open door, they could see her; Nyxal inhaled deeply, tasting the air, and circled the room with quick, precise steps. Melog calmly watched her. She turned back, practically vibrating. Her tail flicked wildly, ears forward, her entire body alive with urgency. "Zira!" Her voice barely contained her excitement. "The kids—their cortisol is dropping. It’s almost where it should be."

Zira froze. “You’re sure?”

Nyxal was nodding frantically. “Yes! I can smell it—and the adrenaline is fading.” Her eyes sharpened a flick of her gaze toward Zira. "Yours too! That’s why it didn’t affect me!"

Zira’s breath hitched. She felt it, didn’t she? The absence of something was so total and unfamiliar that she hadn’t even recognized it at first. When was the last time her body wasn’t running on fumes and caffeine (and when desperation called for it, more potent stimulants)?

“What? Why not?” Lonnie asked.

“I slept today,” Nyxal told her. “I don’t know how long Dr. Zira’s been up, though.” She grinned lopsidedly. “Too long, I guess.”

One hand went to Zira’s mouth like she could hold everything in. She closed her eyes and folded forward; elbows braced on her knees, the heels of her palms pressing into her eyes. The silence stretched. No one moved.

After what felt like a long time, Zira exhaled, slow and unsteady. She lifted her head, heedless of the tears on her face.

“You know,” she said, voice hoarse. A wet, shaky exhale. A quick swipe of her sleeve. She forced herself upright. “I remember reading something about this—about cats.”

Zira had a head full of medical trivia—scraps of stolen journals and medical books, burned into memory, then disposed of because they were contraband.

"They purr at a frequency that promotes healing. It’s why they recover from injuries so fast. They don’t just purr when they’re happy; they purr when they’re hurt, too.”

Catra flicked her tail. “So you’re saying,” she muttered with a wry smile, “that Melog’s a giant therapy cat?”

Zira huffed a quiet laugh. “If the shoe fits.” She glanced at the kids again—tiny fingers curled around plushies, breathing deep and slow. Restful. For the first time since they’d arrived, their small faces weren’t pinched in fear. She let out a slow, measured breath.

"So, Melog stays?" Lonnie checked.

"Yes." The admission felt heavier than it should have. “Melog stays.”

Catra smirked at Lonnie. “Told you they had a reason.”

Zira straightened. “I will want to observe Melog myself.”

Adora, still tense, let out a slow breath. “As long as they’re safe.”

Zira bit back a sharp retort. That woman had no right to act like she was the one ensuring the children’s safety. Instead, she turned, rubbing a knuckle over one tired eye. "I don’t care how it works. I just care that it does."

Catra tilted her head. “Oh, yeah. Also, their scent signals are pretty normal once you get past the smell of their magic,” she told Nyxal.

The canid’s ears flicked. “Right. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Zira nodded. “If they’re scent-readable, that makes it easier.” She turned to Nyxal. “Let me know if anything changes.”

The apprentice’s ears perked slightly, tail flicking—not quite excitement, but acknowledgment. “Yes, ma’am.”

Adora raised an eyebrow. “So you trust a hybrid’s instincts more than a medical monitor?” Her tone was even, but something lurked beneath it. Something defensive. “That wasn’t standard practice in the Horde, last I heard.”

Zira’s spine straightened. Arms crossed. Steel in her voice. She had a good idea what that was about. Catra’s rank forced the old biases down. It didn’t make them disappear.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Commander. ”

Adora blinked.

“I don’t know how the Alliance handles its officers,” Zira continued, measured but firm, “but in this camp, Nyxal is my medic. And you will treat her with respect.”

Her eyes locked on Adora’s, daring an argument. When none came, she continued.

“Hybrids have diagnostic abilities that even our tech can’t match. Nyxal can pick up stress responses, chemical imbalances, and early signs of organ distress—things we’d need invasive tests to detect. I have never had a hybrid medic give me false data. If she says something is off, I believe her.”

She looked at Lonnie for backup, then added, “As Camp Commandant Lonnie and Ambassador Catra can probably assure you, hybrids are quite capable of complex duties.”

Catra arched an eyebrow at Adora. “You don’t have to argue with every medic you meet.” She placed a hand between Adora’s shoulder blades. “Melog will call us if they need us.”

“I know that.” Adora huffed, crossing her arms. “I wasn’t arguing.”

Zira’s eyes narrowed, still wary. “Good.”

Nyxal stretched, too casually. “I’ll take first watch,” she announced. Then, deliberately offhand, “Dr. Zira, you can take a nap in the on-call room.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Zira said automatically.

A knowing look passed between Nyxal and Catra. Not a plan forming. A decision made.

“Doc.” A quiet voice. A steady hand on her elbow. Catra’s voice: low and sure. “You are not fine,” she said. “I can tell.”

Fucking hybrids. Zira scowled. 

“Just a nap,” Nyxal murmured. “Like an hour.”

“That’s an order,” Lonnie added. Flat. Practical. Non-negotiable. “If you get sick, I’m out my senior medic.”

Checkmate.

Zira exhaled sharply through her nose. Fine.

Across the room, Adora’s posture was wrong. Too rigid. Too still. She was barely holding it together. Did she even realize how bad off she was? 

No, Zira decided. The woman stood on uncertain ground and seemed convinced that will alone would keep her upright. She would tread carefully. It would take time. 

Zira knew how to handle people like her. 

Chapter Text

Lonnie sat on the bluff overlooking the camp as dusk settled in, the last light painting the sky with deep blues and purples. From up here, the camp almost looked beautiful—almost. Below, the soft glow of lanterns flickered between tents, and the hum of voices carried on the evening wind, blending into the low thrum of distant generators. 

Rogelio was still at his potter's wheel, turning mud into cups and dishes. He swore it wasn’t sorcery, but Lonnie could not figure out how he got the mud to stay together wet.

Kyle had taken Imp for a ride on the skiff, promising they’d be back soon. 

Taking a slow pull from the vape pen, Lonnie blew some vape rings. She didn’t indulge often but after this week? She needed something to take the edge off.

“Can I get a hit of that?” Catra asked, walking up behind her.

“Didn’t think you did this.” Lonnie handed Catra the slim cylinder as she sat beside Lonnie dangling her feet over the cliff.

“No, I never used to.”

“Too bad. Maybe you would have been less of a bitch.”

Catra chuckled and handed the vape back.

The silence stretched. One thing Lonnie liked about Catra was that she did not need to fill every silence with rambling. Adora rambled any time she got nervous. Which was a good eighty percent of the time, from what Lonnie could tell.

They passed the vape pen back and forth a few more times. “So, where’s Adora?”

“Beating the shit out of a practice dummy.”

Lonnie grunted and took a few more drags on the vape. “What the fuck is going on with her?”

For a minute, Lonnie thought Catra would deflect the question or claim that she did not know what she was talking about. She watched the magicats ear twitch and tail lash while she thought.

“I do not fucking know,” Catra finally said. “She’s being weirder than usual.”

“Wow. That’s a pretty high bar, actually.” Lonnie scoffed. “I mean, she was pretty godsdamned weird at Zira last night. I thought she was gonna punch her.”

“You know Adora doesn’t like medics.”

“Yeah…” Lonnie stopped and then started again. “Listen. I talked to Zira this morning. Did you know the old bitch used to give people favors if she let them experiment on them?”

Lonnie didn’t need to specify who “the old bitch” was. 

Catra took a very long pull. “Yeah.”

“Did she ever do anything to you?”

“You mean besides zapping me every fucking day?”

“No, I mean worse than her usual shit.” Lonnie shook her head. “This is some really fucked up shit. Like, was there something we didn’t know about?” she pressed.

Catra blew out, the vapor curling around her. “No. Nothing that you guys don’t know about.” She hesitated for a beat too long.“I’m pretty sure, anyway.”

“What does that mean?” Lonnie turned to face Catra, who had pulled her feet up and put her arms around her knees. 

In the dim light, Catra’s eyes shone. “I’m pretty sure she fucked with Adora’s memories. And not just once.“

“That tracks."

Catra’s ear flicked. "What do you mean?"

Lonnie exhaled, tapping the vape pen against her knee. “She was always so… I dunno. Smart, but she couldn’t remember shit.”

“Like what?”

“Kyle had to help her with homework all the time. It was like she hadn’t even been to the lectures.”

“Yeah. I remember.” Catra thought of a thousand small moments—walking into the wrong classroom, forgetting assignments, as she took the vape back. 

“And, I gotta ask… what is she doing here?” Lonnie held her hands palm out at her shoulders in a placating gesture. “Don’t get me wrong. I thought it was great when Kyle and Ro’ told me she was requesting an assignment here long term… She’s got a lot of clout. But that’s what’s confusing me. Why the fuck would she want to come to this little slice of nowhere?”

Catra sighed. “I don’t know. We stayed in Bright Moon for a while until I got sick. That’s how we ended up in Mystacor.”

“Bright Moon doesn’t have medics?”

“They do, but Glimmer called her Aunt Castaspella to deal with it. Mystacor is a school for healers.” Catra shrugged. “Anyhow, I got better, but I don’t know what’s happening with Adora. She’s been spiraling hard. She doesn’t want to stay at Bright Moon, so we could've gone back to Mystacor. But…Talking about coming here was the first time I had seen her be normal in weeks.”

“Huh.”

“She’s been lying to me,” Catra said quietly.

Lonnie’s head snapped up. “What?”

“She erased the logs on our skiff,” Catra muttered, ears twitching. 

Lonnie frowned. “You sure she did that on purpose? I mean, Adora could never lie for shit.”

“She still can’t.” Catra exhaled through her nose, jaw tight. “That’s what’s fucking me up.”

She looked down at the camp, tail curling around her leg. “I told myself it was nothing. Just a tech issue. But something felt wrong—so I got Entrapta to reconstruct the data.” Her voice dropped lower.

“Is she stepping out on you?” That was not the Adora that Lonnie had known, but the Adora she had known would never have abandoned her friends, so who the fuck knew?

“No. Melog’s an empath. They would know for sure if she was.” Catra’s ears flattened. “She’s been sneaking off to a derelict First Ones Temple.”

Lonnie blinked. “Shit.”

Catra huffed. “Yeah.”

“Like… what for?”

“I don’t know. And it's so weird because there is absolutely no reason to lie about it.” Catra rolled her eyes. 

“Hey, Catra? I’m heading out to fuck around in that creepy temple’ “ She imitated Adora’s voice before dropping back into her own. “And I’d just be, “Yeah, babe, have a good time.’ “ 

Catra picked up another pebble, rolling it between her fingers before tossing it over the edge.“What is she doing that she wants to hide?” she muttered. “For fuck’s sake, she can have all her weird little secrets if she wants them.”

The wind stirred between them. The distant hum of the camp generators filled the silence. Lonnie snorted. “Yeah, that’s bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Catra. You wouldn’t let me or the boys get away with shit. But you’re fine with Adora sneaking off to some haunted Temple?”

Catra’s ears flicked back, tail lashing. “I don’t care if she wants to run off to her stupid little shrine. I never want to get near it again, and I do care if she’s lying to me about it. And I don’t want her doing that thing she does.”

“Okay, you need to cut back. That made no sense.”

Catra jumped up to pace.  Lonnie wasn’t wrong. Her head was a little light.

“I mean that thing where she’s all freaking out in her head but telling everyone she’s fine. And then she crashes. Hard.

Lonnie raised an eyebrow. “Like at Thaymor?”

Catra stopped mid-step. Her tail froze. The silence stretched between them.

“You think she might… go?” Catra muttered, her ears pinning all the way back.

Lonnie just looked at her. “I don’t know. I mean, she’s done it before… What do they say? ‘Done in the sim, done in the field.’ “ 

“She won’t,” Catra repeated. But now, she didn’t sound so sure.

“She ever tell you why she ran?" Lonnie asked. “I mean… I heard that story of her finding that sword she told at the signing, but you never told me why she wouldn’t come home.”

Catra blinked. "We haven’t really talked about it." 

“You probably should.” Lonnie shook her head. “You ever talk to Kyle about her?” Lonnie asked cautiously. 

“No. Why would I do that?” Catra said flatly.

Lonnie didn't answer right away. She took a slow drag from the vape, exhaling in a long stream before flicking a glance at Catra.

"Cause Kyle sees things," she said finally. "Always has."

Catra huffed, folding her arms. "Yeah, I know. That’s why I always left shit on my desk that I wanted leaked.”

Lonnie leaned back, staring up at the darkening sky. The stars were coming out, little pinpricks of light against the deepening purple.

Catra’s ears twitched. The wind had picked up a little, ruffling the fur on her arms. "What the fuck does that mean?"

Lonnie sighed. "Look, you need to ask Kyle."

Catra’s tail lashed, irritation sparking in her voice. “You’re doing that cryptic bullshit. I hate that.”

Lonnie gave her a flat look. “And I hate being the one to tell you shit that’s gonna wreck your whole fucking week.” She tapped her communicator. “Kyle?”

“Yeah, Lonnie?”

“Catra’s here. You know that thing you told me the other day about Adora?” 

“Ye-eah?” 

“Remember I told you, you oughta tell Catra?” Lonnie glanced up, “Since neither of you will fucking do this without a prompt, you’re getting prompted. We’re up on the bluff. Rogelio and I will go take Miss Thing out for a drink.”

There was a silence, then, “Yeah, okay. You want me to meet you there?”

“That’d be great. I’ll start walking down so I can get Imp, and we’ll go find Ro.” Then, Lonnie dug into her pocket and came up with a full vape pen. “Trust me, you’re gonna need this,” she said, handing it over to Catra.

Catra took Lonnie at her word, sucking on the vape pen to calm her nerves while she waited.

“Hey, Catra.”

She did not get up. She just sat at the bluff's edge, kicking her feet over the edge. “Hey.”

Kyle sat down beside her. “So, what’s going on?” he asked.

“You tell me. Apparently, you’re the one with the classified report.”

The hurt puppy look that Kyle often gave her flitted through his eyes. Catra had always had a soft spot for Kyle. Scorpia and Lonnie used to blame shit that went wrong on missions on him because the worst Catra would do to Kyle was roll her eyes and walk away.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” Catra hit the vape and then blew it all out. Now was not the time to be an asshole. “I’m just all wigged out about Adora.”

She held out the vape pen, and he took a long drag. It was weirdly comforting. When they were kids, they’d eat ration bars like that, passing them around so they each got a bite.

“Me too,” he said when he handed it back. 

“So, what’s the big mystery?”

It seemed to take a long time for Kyle to come up with the words. Catra sat on herself so as not to rush him. She wished Melog were here, but they were off doing the night shift in the infirmary.

“So, the other week, when she came out to do her survey, we were hanging out, you know, after work.” Kyle finally said. “And she was wearing short sleeves.”

“Yeah, and…?”

“She had short sleeves on, and I saw that she didn’t have a scar on her arm.”

“That’s clear as mud,” Catra groused, drawing little patterns in the dust with her claw.

Kyle’s jaw tightened. "Will you just—shut up?"

Catra blinked and looked at him, startled.

He wasn’t looking at her anymore. His hands were balled into fists, knuckles tight around the vape pen; he took a long pull, held it, then blew it out, forcing himself calm.

"I don’t know how to fucking say this!" Kyle raked a shaking hand through his hair. "You make everything a fight. I’m trying to tell you something, and you won’t—just—" His breath stuttered. His voice dropped. "Gods, you’re hard to talk to."

Catra took a breath. "Sorry."

Kyle exhaled sharply, still gripping the vape. "Did you know what happened two days before she disappeared?"

"What?” Catra tried to think. It was the end of the Force Captain training course that she and Adora basically speed-ran through. All she remembered was studying and training.   “What are you talking about?"

"Yeah, I didn’t think so." He took another long hit, gathering himself. “I found her in the shower. Crying. Freaking out. Running her arm under cold water—like she was trying to make it keep bleeding .” He exhaled, shaking his head. “That was the most blood I’d ever seen.”

“I don’t know what she did, but it was bad—" He lifted his own wrist, miming a long, deep slash from the base of the hand almost to the elbow. "She was cut like this."

That didn’t sound right. "When was this?"

"Two days before Thaymor." He sighed.

"No. That’s not right. I would have seen… Fuck, I should have smelled it."

"Are you sure? That was our last bot sim. Rogelio said he just assumed any blood he smelled was from training. Didn’t even think about it." Kyle paused. "And you were AWOL the night before. You came in at the last second, remember?"

Catra did. "Yeah, but wouldn’t that have needed stitches or something? Why didn’t you tell anyone?"

Kyle’s jaw tightened. "Let me finish." He shifted uncomfortably. "Anyway, I got a towel to put pressure on it. She… I never saw her like that.  tried to talk her into seeing the medics because, yeah, she needed stitches, but you know how she is."

Catra let out a humorless chuckle. "Oh yeah. Me and Lonnie got a front-row seat for that one last night."

And then, a voice. Not Kyle’s.

"As soon as we get promoted to field duty, we can ask for Official Sanction," Adora whispered, urgent. "Shadow Weaver can’t do anything about it if we ask the first Force Captain we see!"

Catra’s ears flattened. Her stomach flipped.

The words felt real. Too real. Like a conversation she’d had yesterday —except she knew she hadn’t.

A sharp tug—like something inside her brain was rerouting.

"Catra?”

Kyle’s voice. Distant. Warped.

She swallowed against the vertigo. "I—I’m okay. Keep going."

Unlike Adora, Catra was a good liar.

Kyle hesitated, then continued. "Then Shadow Weaver showed up. She just—stepped in. Like it was nothing, she just took the towel and pressed it down on Adora’s wrist like she was fixing a tear in her sleeve. Didn’t even blink."

His voice turned grim. " Adora yelled at her. Told her she hated her. I couldn’t believe it. But Shadow Weaver was all calm—you know how she’d get."

Catra did. Shadow Weaver was always most frightening when she was calm.

"And she said to Adora—" Kyle swallowed hard. “That as soon as she separated you two, Adora would realize that it was obviously just..." Kyle made air quotes with his fingers. ”A phase."

He mimicked Shadow Weaver’s creepiest voice. ‘Let her forget about you. It’s kinder.’”

Silence.

Kyle’s hands curled into fists. "And Adora just… stopped. She just gave in. It was like something snapped.”

A voice curled around her thoughts, distant but sickeningly familiar. “Oh my. What are these? Memories under lock and key? Well, little sister… I think I must save these for a later time…”

A shudder. A snap.

Prime.

He had never gotten the chance to open the box. But now—

Adora’s calloused hand—on her cheek, under her mask. Thumb on her lips.

Do you want to?

Do you?

Yes.

Lips against hers. Skin against fur. Adora’s hands under her shirt—soft. Tender.

Then—

Light. Heat.  

Fire.

An explosion behind her eyes, burning through every locked place in her mind. Too much. Too bright. Staring into the Heart of Etheria—burning alive.

Lightning. It ripped through her, electricity coursing along every nerve, her vision shattering—white-hot, blinding.

Was it the Black Garnet or Prime’s pool? Catra’s mouth tasted of blood, but she couldn’t tell if it was real or remembered.

Something cracked like the sound of a bat hitting her skull.

Pain. Something splitting inside her—sharp, sudden.

The memories hit like shrapnel. The past crashed through her, splintering on impact, ripping apart the now.

Shouts. Whispers. Noise.

Words—scattered. Meaningless. Sound without sequence. Chaos without order. Jagged, broken pieces. Isolated phrases, detached. Disconnected.

Nothing whole. Nothing to grab, nothing to keep her head above water.

“I won’t leave without you.”

“Why are you like this?”

“You cannot allow yourself to be distracted.”

“Catra!” Someone was yelling at her.

Kyle?

A yelp of fear. A sense of movement. The world faded out—then reassembled. The past and present bled together.

“The Healer comes,” Melog told her. But maybe that was inside her head. Sometimes, Melog did that.

Words began to have meaning again. They began to contain concepts.

"Was she chipped?"

Chipped.

That meant something. Something horrifying .

Fear slammed through her, sudden and choking, like being held underwater. Her breath hitched. The muscles in her throat locked. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t cry out.

"Yeah. It’s common. It’ll run its course. Give her half an hour."

The voice was calm.

That meant something, too.

She was not there. Relief bubbled up so hard that Catra nearly laughed.

"Half an hour— but she’s…?" Kyle’s voice. Worried.

"We call it a brainstorm. Lay her flat… That’s right. She’ll come out of it soon. When she comes to, get her to eat something—something sweet if you can. Her blood sugar will be in her toes. And she’ll probably want to sleep."

"That’s all?"

"Usually, there’s more emotional damage than physical damage."

Catra lay on a bunk. Kyle must have carried her. His scent lingered in her fur. Melog’s strange, tickly scent surrounded her too.

“Granddaughter?” Melog’s voice was soft. “I am here.”

Real. Their chittering and purring always became words when they reached her brain. That was real. That was outside her head.

The past burned behind her eyes. The taste of blood. The weight of forgotten hands.

Drowning.

But Melog was real. Their tongue flicked over her ears, soft and grounding. A tether. A net to catch her as she fell.

Catra’s eyes cracked open.

Melog was curled beside her bunk, their head resting on the mattress.

“Uh… should I call Adora?” Kyle’s voice. Hesitant.

“I don’t know. Why involve the Commander?” Someone else—someone Catra didn’t recognize.

No. Not now. She needed a minute. That was… She needed a minute.

“Did she say something?”

“… a minute.”

“Looks like she’s coming out of it. Told you.”

Zira. The medic from last night. The one with the kids.

For fuck’s sake. Was she in the infirmary again?

“Don’t call Adora yet.” Her voice came out rough. Why did this keep happening? “Just… give me a minute.”

Down. Across. Diagonal. Center.

Adora was used to being watched.

On the training ground, the instructors' eyes had been calculating, assessing every movement. Her fellow cadets had watched, too—not out of admiration, but to gauge, to measure, to compete.

In Bright Moon, the eyes on her had felt different. The guards, the well-wishers—their gazes had been warm, trusting.

The eyes that followed her now weren’t unfriendly, exactly. But they weren’t like those others, either. Not just on the training ground. Not just in passing. Always.

Down. Across. Diagonal. Center.

Whispers hovered at the edges of her hearing. Fragments of words caught—just enough to know they were about her, never enough to understand. Conversations cut off when she entered a room, voices lowering just before she caught them.

Watching her like they already knew something she didn’t.

A muffled giggle.

“…Catra?” someone whispered.

“Shhh…”

Adora’s stomach twisted, but she did what she always did. Focus. Train.

Down. Across. Diagonal. Center.

She started with the simplest forms, steadying herself before weaving her staff into more complex patterns. The familiar weight, the rhythm—it gave her something to hold onto.

Perfuma once tried to teach her to meditate—this felt like what she meant.

In the same way that running steadied her, so did this. The repetition, the discipline. She lost herself in the movements, building a wall against the whispers.

She struck again. Again. Again.

Down. Across. Diagonal. Center.

The rhythm burned into her muscles. Faster. Harder. Just a little more. She could feel it—that edge, that moment before her body collapsed. Almost.

“Adora! Give it a rest!” The voice shattered her concentration like a well-aimed rock. She stopped so abruptly that she nearly lost her footing. The world lurched. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her breath came sharp, ragged.

She wasn’t done. Who the fuck—?

Panting, she held her staff defensively. It took a second too long to place where she was and who had spoken. Adrenaline still screamed at her to move, to hit something, to keep going. Adora blinked. The words, initially meaningless noises, belatedly became clear.

“Holy shit, Adora. How long you been at this?” Lonnie smirked, stepping back, hands raised in mock surrender, and jerked her chin toward the training dummy. “We’re gonna need to get you more of those.”

Adora followed her gaze. Sand poured from fresh holes in the heavy bag, spilling onto the ground. When had that happened?

Lonnie let out a low whistle. “Damn.” Then, grinning like she wasn’t watching Adora come unglued: “And I thought Catra had anger issues.”

“I don’t have anger issues,” Adora growled. She held her staff across her body like she expected another opponent. Her muscles hadn’t unclenched.

Lonnie’s smirk didn’t drop, but something in her eyes shifted.

She flicked a glance toward Adora’s hands. The knuckles were white. Her grip too tight.

"Yeah?” Lonnie said, too casual. “Tell that to the sandbag.”

Heat prickled Adora’s face.

Something soft hit her in the face—a towel.

“C’mon. You wanna come for a drink with me and Rogelio?”

Lonnie didn’t give her time to answer, she just turned and walked up the path, like it was already decided.

“Uh… sure.” Adora wiped her face, belatedly setting the training staff aside.

“Kyle and Catra said they’ll meet us. They were up on the bluff, and that’s a hike,” Lonnie added before Adora could ask. “Rogelio’s saving a table.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Adora wiped her face again, grabbing her t-shirt. The moment stretched too long. Something restless curled under her skin. She yanked the shirt over her head, rolling her shoulders to shake it off. At least here, no one got weird if she trained in just a bra and shorts.

Lonnie was quieter than Adora remembered. At first, she thought it was just her. But now, she saw that Lonnie was just like that. She let Kyle and Rogelio carry the conversation, only stepping in when she had to. And when she did speak? People listened.

Now, though, that silence felt different. Not just quiet—waiting. Like Lonnie was watching for something. Like she was waiting for Adora to screw up.

Lonnie led her through the mess hall, then out the back, where a narrow dirt path wound down to another tent. The moment they stepped inside, Adora was hit with the familiar scent of sweat, wood smoke, and cheap liquor.

Crowded tables, low voices, the occasional burst of laughter. A place where people let their guard down—but never all the way.

Outside, firelight flickered against the canvas walls, shadows stretching and shrinking with the movement of bodies. A fire pit crackled at the center of the outdoor circle, the glow catching Lonnie’s grin as she waved to someone across the tent.

Rogelio sat at a table on the far side, watching Imp run around with a bunch of kids in the grass. He smiled when he saw them.

A barely perceptible murmur rippled around the folks sitting at tables. The eyes were on her again.

“What do you want, Adora?” Lonnie asked.

“Whatever you’re having.”

“Okay.”

“How’s it going, Rogelio?” Adora asked, sitting next to him.

The lizard man flashed her his wide grin and replied in his growling and hissing way. “It’s all right. We’re getting Entrapta’s team back in this week. Kyle says that Entrapta wants to put a power source out here for us.”

Adora grinned. “Oh, that would be amazing!” 

A powerplant would pave the way for more permanent buildings. The three camp commanders had dreams of making Refuge into a real town.

“ Oh, stars! It’s her!” 

The whisper was just at the edge of her hearing. Rogelio heard it too, going by the sharp glance and little half smile. 

Adora leaned forward. “What are they whispering about?” 

She caught one of the soldiers glancing her way—only to quickly look back down at his drink. Someone else whispered something to their friend, and though she couldn’t catch the words, she caught the tone—something between pity and amusement.

“Why do they keep looking at me?” Her stomach twisted.

Lonnie set a large glass of what looked like liquid gold down on the table. “Here ya go, Golden Girl. The bartender is trying out his latest concoction. He calls the drink ‘She Ra,’ so I figured you should have one.”

Adora took it, eyeing the unnervingly bright drink. “What is it? And why are they calling it ‘She-Ra’?”

Lonnie’s smirk widened. “Because it’s big, it’s gold—” she lifted her own glass, clinking it against Adora’s, “—and it’ll fuck you up.”

Adora sighed and took a fair-sized sip. Sweeter than the beer she’d had the other night. Cold, foamy, and far more to her taste. She took a longer drink.

She still felt eyes on her. “Am I crazy, or is everyone staring at me?” she asked.

“You are crazy,” Lonnie asserted, “And yes, everyone is staring at you.”

Glaring at Lonnie, Adora snapped. “Okay. Why are they staring at me? What the fuck is going on?”

Rogelio grinned at her. “You and Catra have captured their imaginations.”

“What?”

Lonnie snorted into her drink. "Oh, man. You really don’t know, do you?"

Adora narrowed her eyes. "Know what ?"

“You and Catra’s tragedy.” Rogelio rumbled, his grin widening.

Lonnie leaned in. "Yep. The tragic romance of the century."

Adora blinked. " What ?"

"Yeah. I mean, who doesn’t love a good tragic romance?" Lonnie continued, grinning. "And this? This is prime material. "

Rogelio huffed a laugh and made a sweeping gesture with his clawed hand. “Oh, it’s everywhere,” he hissed.

Adora set her drink down a little too hard. "I—okay, explain. What exactly do they think is going on?"

Lonnie tapped the rim of her glass. "Well, for starters, they think Catra’s marriage to She-Ra is political."

Adora froze. "Wait—how does everyone know about that?"

Lonnie gave her a look, amused and vaguely exasperated. “Because it’s in the godsdamn records, genius.”

Adora’s stomach dropped. Of course, it is.

"No idea why they decided to look, but it’s right there in the system—marriage sanctioned between Princess She-Ra and Ambassador Catra."

"Oh… wait…" The realization slammed into her, knocking the air from her lungs. The sound she made was somewhere between a whimper and a death rattle.

"Scorpia and Catra both mentioned that when the treaty got signed you only wanted to be on official documents as She-Ra. And because you’re you, you never thought about the fact that a marriage record is an official document.”

No. No, she had not thought this through.

Adora took a big gulp of her drink.

Lonnie smirked, radiating pure, unholy delight. “So now, it’s public. And people started asking questions.”

Adora gasped, shocked at how much she underestimated the depth of Lonnie’s depravity.

"If this is a love match, why isn’t Catra in Bright Moon or the Capital doing important Princess-slash-Ambassador things?” 

She paused for a beat as though making sure Adora was keeping up.

“Clearly, Catra’s not in a rush to spend time with She Ra. So obviously—" Lonnie spread her arms, voice rich with mock tragedy, "the marriage was political.”

Adora’s stomach twisted. "It isn’t."

"Yeah, no shit. But most people? Nah." She smirked. "They think it was one of those strategic alliance things. Hero of the Alliance and the Horde’s Last General—big, dramatic, historic. The kind of shit they put in textbooks."

Adora groaned, rubbing her forehead. "Okay, but what does that have to do with—"

Lonnie held up a finger. "I’m getting there."

She leaned back, stretching her legs under the table. "So, the camp thinks: ‘She-Ra and Catra? No way that’s a love match. Just politics. Everyone gets it—she’s making sure the Princesses keep their word.’"

Her voice dropped mournfully. “But poor Catra, right? Stuck all alone in Bright Moon’s cold, empty halls. Trapped in a marriage arranged by the Queen of Bright Moon herself. Destined to be the doomed consort of an untouchable legend, pining for something she can never have—” She sighed, pressing tha back of her hand to her forehead in mock despair. “But… it is worth the sacrifice for her people.”

She took a drink from her glass, relishing Adora’s discomfort. 

“So the Alliance sent you, the rep we asked for, to do some surveys so we can fund some projects. Okay. Cool, cool.” 

The smug smile on Rogelio’s face told Adora something heinous was coming. 

Lonnie continued. “You keep to yourself, don’t have contact with anyone not on command staff. Sure. Normal. And then you leave like you’re supposed to.”

Rogelio snorted, squeezing his eyes shut as if to suppress his laughter. 

“But then—!” She stretched the pause so long it was like she channeled Sea Hawk himself.

Adora’s stomach twisted.

Lonnie’s grin widened. She was enjoying this way too much. 

“You return.” Another long, suspenseful pause. “And this time?” She gasped theatrically, pressing a hand to her chest. “You bring… Her. ”

Rogelio could not keep it down anymore and rumbled a deep, amused giggle, shaking his head as he drank.

Adora groaned and dropped her forehead to the table.

Lonnie clapped her hands together, gleeful. “Oh, Golden Girl, it gets so much worse.”

Adora didn’t lift her head. “Wait…”

“You go to her.” Yes, Lonnie absolutely channeled Sea Hawk at the height of his powers. “You tell her you have discovered a place—so remote, so hidden from the world—that you think…“ 

Her voice rose, conveying the desperate hope of the two lovers. “No… you gamble that it is beneath the great She-Ra’s notice.” 

She leaned closer, voice hushed, spinning the tragedy. “A place safe from the scrutiny of the Princesses.”

A place,” Rogelio intoned, voice low and solemn, lifting his glass, “where poor, forsaken Catra…” The lizardman's growling voice dripped with unspeakable tragedy, depths of angst Adora hadn’t known Rogelio was capable of. “Can escape the chains of her tragic fate. And be with the Alliance Commander who caught her heart.

A strangled, inhuman noise escaped Adora’s throat. "Oh. No."

  "Oh, yes.” Lonnie nodded, grinning wickedly. “ And then, Catra had to go and sing . And then you kissed her. Right in front of everyone! What did you think was going to happen?"

Adora groaned, pressing her forehead into the table. If the universe was a just place, a hole in the ground would open right now and swallow her.

"And now, you are always by her side," Rogelio put a hand to his chest, "Always."

"Yep." Lonnie gestured broadly, swirling her drink. "The camp is convinced that you, Adora, is Catra's real love—her secret forbidden romance. The poor other woman. Eternally second place to a goddess." She sighed dramatically. "The tragic damsel, longing for a woman she can never truly have… torn between duty and desire."

“I’ve read some pretty good poetry.” Rogelio deadpanned. “But they’ve been hiding the smut from us.”

Adora groaned more loudly. "I hate all of you."

Lonnie patted her shoulder. "Back at you, Golden Girl."

A communicator chirped. “Go ahead, Kyle,” Lonnie said, her grin especially toothy.

“Hey, yeah. Just thought I’d let you know that I’m hauling Catra off to bed. She… “

Catra’s voice from the background called out. “I’m okay. I had a weird minute. I’m going to sit with Melog for a bit, then head back.” 

Adora lifted her head. That statement was weird… Spend time with Melog? But where was Melog..?

“You're in the infirmary?” She nearly jumped to her feet, but Rogelio put his hand on Adora’s and shook his head.

Another voice, calm and assertive, said, “She’s all right. As she said, she had a bad moment. I’ll release her as soon as she lets me get another set of vitals.”

“Stay there! I’ll come and get you!” Adora said. She slugged back the remainder of her drink and then stood up.

“Oh.” The ground gently swayed.

Rogelio sighed and stood. Lonnie rolled her eyes. “Come on, we’ll walk over with you.” 

“Catra?”

The way Adora’s cheeks were flushed, Catra wondered if she had run all the way to the infirmary.

Behind her, Lonnie and Rogelio stumbled in, breathing hard,  Yes. She did run.

Imp flew behind them and then settled on Rogelio’s shoulder. The lizardman reached up to gather him onto his hip.

“I’m okay.” Catra sighed, trying to smile, but her mouth twisted. Her head felt disarrayed, like a room that had been tossed. Everything was scattered.

Adora smiled—soft, easy, fond —as she reached out, pushing Catra’s hair out of her eyes. “You’re so cute,” she whispered as she knelt and brushed her forehead against Catra’s. 

Catra narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been drinking.”

Adora held up a single finger, blinking solemnly. “Just one.” She turned, pointing at Lonnie with an exaggerated accusation. “And it was Lonnie’s fault.”

Lonnie scoffed. “I took her for one drink. I can’t help it if she’s a lightweight .”

Catra exhaled through her nose, amused despite herself. “Do I need to carry you home?”

“Nope.” Adora grinned, wide and dopey. “I ran here! ” Adora’s smile faded. “I was so worried! Are you sure you’re okay?” Her brow furrowed. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Wait. So what happened?”

Catra hesitated. She sipped at the tea in her hands, finally cool enough to drink. She wanted to be honest, but she also didn’t want Adora freaking out. She needed time to sort through the mess of impressions tangled in her head—what she had remembered, what she had felt, what had been taken from her in the first place.

Before she could answer, Zira strode into the hallway, fresh from checking on the kids.

“Brainstorm.”

Adora went rigid. The hand resting on Catra’s thigh clenched, spasmodic. The color drained from her flushed face, leaving her pallid. Her scent spiked—sharp with distress, cutting through the lingering tang of alcohol.

“What’s that?” Adora demanded, her voice loud and tight— too tight. Like the night before. Like with the medic when Catra had a migraine. Like with Muriel.

Shit.

Catra had seen far too many medics since the end of the war.

A pause.

Zira’s sharp gaze flicked across the room—Lonnie, Rogelio, Kyle—measuring her audience.

Catra knew that look. Medics didn’t share information lightly. “You can talk in front of them,” Catra said quietly. “They’re my squad.”

A beat of silence.

Kyle’s grin spread wide, his eyes huge. Rogelio made a pleased rumbling sound—almost  like an “Aww.” Even Lonnie looked… touched—surprised but touched.

Zira’s expression softened. She folded her arms and spoke plainly. “It happens to people who were chipped,” she said. “It looks like a seizure, but it’s not—it’s as if their memories are reasserting themselves.”

Adora’s breath hitched.

Zira continued, her voice steady but careful. “Some find themselves reliving things they remember from when they were chipped. Others—” she hesitated, choosing her words, “—its things that happened before they were chipped. Whichever it is, sometimes the memory comes back too fast, too much, and overwhelms their ability to process.” She exhaled, shaking her head. “Their brain just… shuts down.”

Silence.

Catra swallowed, jaw tightening. That felt right. That explained the lightning-strike crack in her head. The sudden rush of emotions she hadn’t even known were missing.

Lonnie cleared her throat. “So… she gonna keep doing that?”

“I don’t know .” Zira shook her head. “I mean, for most people, it’s been a one-off, but well… it’s not something I know a lot about.”  She waved a hand at Catra. “Has anything like this happened before?”

“No!” Adora exclaimed quickly. Too quickly.

“It’s okay.” Catra patted Adora’s hand and touched that Adora was so protective. She looked at Zira. “I’ve freaked out a few times. Felt like I was… back there.” She shifted uncomfortably and caught Adora’s eyes. “Remember that night I got your face with my claws?” 

Adora bit her lip and nodded, her hands squeezing Catra’s.

“Yeah, it was like that—only a million times worse.”

Thinking back, that was the moment Catra could pinpoint—when it started. That sick, gut-wrenching feeling of not knowing where she was or what was real. The first step in the spiral.

Adora’s breath hitched. Her eyes went too bright, too wet. “Oh, no.” The words barely made it past her throat.

“Fortunately,” Zira said, nodding slightly. “It seems benign—as far as we can tell. Even those who’ve had more than one seem better afterward. It almost looks like an artifact of the mind healing itself.”

She glanced toward the ward where the kids slept. Melog was curled nearby—close enough to watch over both Catra and the children, their steady purring keeping the nightmares at bay.

Adora shook her head. “You’re not fine, Catra, you—” She scrubbed a hand over her face, sniffing. When she pulled it away, her eyes were red. Heartsick. “I’ve been so worried.”

She lay her head on Catra’s lap, heedless of the room around them.

Catra smoothed a hand over Adora’s hair. “I’m here,” she said softly. “I’m right here.”

She looked up at the medic. “If it’s just a side effect of my brain putting itself together, that’s good, right? Like that cold sweat you get when your fever breaks?”

Zira shifted, her scent turning wary. "We... hope so. We're keeping an eye on those who've had them."

Catra’s ears flicked. “What?”

A pause. Then, finally, Zira met her eyes.

“The other common denominator for brainstorms,” she said carefully, “is having had… dealings… with Shadow Weaver.”

Chapter Text

“When we get promoted, we can get the first Force Captain we see to sanction us!”

Catra’s heart exploded like a rocket. This was everything she ever wanted.

Then; shadows reached out, pinning her in place.

“As if I would ever allow that.”

“Shadow Weaver! I’m sorry! It was me! Please!”

“Don’t be a fool, Adora. I refuse to let her ruin your future.”

“No! Catra!”

The sorceress grabbed Catra’s wrist, her grip ironclad, unshakable.

A flash of Adora’s face standing beside Shadow Weaver, sobbing.

Catra struggled, screaming Adora’s name.

“You can take her back to the bunk room.”

And then...

And then...

And then Catra awoke with a gasp, her breath ragged. 

White tent walls. Not steel. 

Refuge.  Not the Fright Zone.

The dream... no, the memory...  unraveled in fragments, reforming into something sharper. 

A dull ache at the back of her skull.

Wandering to her bunk, empty, bereft

 Something had been ripped from her.

A crushing weight in her chest, one she couldn’t explain.

The next thing she remembered clearly was crouching in the rafters of the bot-sim room. She had thought she remembered everything about that last week. But the hole in her memory had been back filled with minutia. 

Afterwards, Shadow Weaver had given Adora her promotion. Catra had been happy for Adora until she heard they would be separated. Adora thought it was jealousy? Fuck. Catra thought it was jealousy. That was what she told herself when she went to the roof to cry bitter solitary tears.

Trying to make up for the fight, Adora borrowed a skiff. Now Catra understood why they had both felt so reckless. The two of them wound too tightly, and neither had anything left to lose.

Of course they crashed.  

She remembered wanting to know if Adora was brain damaged. Somehow, even then Catra knew something was wrong. She could tell Adora’s thinking was not right, even if she had not noticed her own.

The night after the wreck, Catra had crawled onto the bottom of Adora’s bed, needing to be close. But somehow, she had known she shouldn’t get too close.

And when she had followed Adora outside;

For the first time ever, Adora had told her to stay home.

It had been the last week of their course. They were about to be promoted. The minute their field duty orders came through, they were going to find someone to sanction them. They had believed, naïvely, stupidly , that Shadow Weaver couldn't change it once it was in the system.

They never got that far. Shadow Weaver did not change it. Shadow Weaver erased it. Erased them.

Catra sat there, frozen. Her heart pounded against her ribs like a war drum. Her breath came fast, sharp. She felt the moment shatter. Something clawed up from the edges of her memory.

She knew this. She had always known this. She did not lose Adora at Thaymore. Shadow Weaver had taken her. Had cut her away from Catra like severing her right arm, separating them before they had a chance. The feeling Catra could never shake, that gaping hole where Adora should have been. That wasn’t abandonment. It was theft.

Some part of Adora remembered. That’s why she threw herself into fights. When there was no one to fight, she trained like she was trying to outrun her own body’s limits. That’s why she took every hit like she deserved it.

Everyone mistook it for determination, for that stupid, shining hero instinct that made Adora fling herself into every battle. That mask. That lie.

But no. This wasn’t about heroism. This was punishment.

Adora had been punishing herself for years.

And She Ra allowed it.

Or… Had She Ra been trying to let them know?

The little inconsistencies punched their way forward. She Ra eternally mended Adora’s stupid jacket, but left that pair of bloody leggings for Catra to find? Those times when Adora just could not transform? Was that what Melog had meant by the magic having opinions?

A slow, seething fury coiled in Catra’s stomach. Shadow Weaver hadn’t just taken Adora from her. She had made Adora believe it was her own fault. And Adora, stupid, self-sacrificing, idiotic Adora, had spent every day since trying to atone for a crime she didn’t commit.

Catra exhaled sharply through her nose, forcing her hands to unclench. She needed to think, to figure out what to do with this information.

One thing was sure. Shadow Weaver had taken everything from them.

And Adora had been bleeding herself dry over it ever since.

Next to her, Adora still snored. This was too big, and Catra had no idea what to do. She could not believe Kyle had carried this alone for so long, but she understood. She needed to think this through before she did anything stupid.

Rogelio had very sternly (as sternly as Rogelio was capable of) told Adora not to come into work in the morning, and Catra had canceled her own meetings for the day. She had planned to sleep in, try to straighten out her head with about fourteen hours of sleep.

Her body and brain had other ideas. It was barely light and she felt like a tightly wound spring already.

Quietly, she got out of bed, taking her commpad with her. Before she forgot, she sent a quick note to Adora.

At admin. Don’t panic.

She and the command staff were housed inside a giant base-camp tent, with a twenty-foot ceiling. They had broken up the space with smaller tents for privacy. She and Adora shared one, usually meant for four people, but rank had privileges. 

One of those privileges was sitting at the central table, where people without assigned spots usually worked. Catra’s assistant, Felina, sat with a few other officer cadets, working away on a homework project.

Felina’s nose twitched, and she stood, turning as Catra approached. She no longer saluted but came to attention out of habit.

“Hey, Felina.” Catra spared a wave for the kids behind her. “Sorry, I need to borrow her for a few. Take a break or something.”

Working on homework, this early had to violate common decency. 

The other cadets gawked, and as they walked away, she heard one whisper, “I heard she was in the infirmary last night, and that Alliance Commander sprinted across camp to get to her.”

“Did Felina tell you anything about them?” the girl asked.

“No, you know how goody-goody Felina is. She doesn’t tell us shit.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Catra saw Felina’s tail lash, her scent spiking with irritation. As soon as they were around the corner, Catra asked, “They have no idea we can hear them, do they?”

Felina’s cheeks flushed beneath her gray fur. “No,” she admitted.

“Good job.” Catra grinned and held up her hand for a five, which Felina giggled and returned. “Don’t ever let them know.” 

They headed out of the tent to the admin building. Catra asked, “I’ve heard people whispering about Adora and me. What’re they saying?” 

Felina’s scent spiked with distress, her ears pinned, and her tail lashed. “I-it’s just gossip… y-you know how people are.” Oh, this was something she needed to look into. 

“Yeah, I do,” Catra said affably. “People get bored. They talk. But what are they saying?” 

The scent of embarrassment doubled. “They… ah… they’re talking about you and Adora. Lots of people don’t know that She Ra and Adora are the same person. I-I haven’t corrected anyone because I figured if you hadn’t said anything, maybe it was a need-to-know thing?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Catra nodded approvingly. “It’s not top secret or anything, but yeah, we don’t want to advertise it. It might upset people.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” The slight edge to the girl’s voice told Catra that the girl still had not gotten over her grudge, “They… um… your sanctioning record says you’re She Ra’s official partner. Not Adora’s”

 “Okay, you’ve lost me.”

 “They think it’s a political marriage… and that… that Adora is your…” she searched for a word. “Paramour.” Felina looked like she wanted to vanish into the wall. "And... um... the stories are pretty popular.”

Catra blinked. She had expected some whispers about their marriage, but not this. Given the smirks shared between Lonnie, Kyle and Rogelio, they knew everyone was talking about something. This explained the looks, the quiet muttering, and how people changed the subject when she walked by.

The Admin building was quiet, only a few people in this early and they went straight to the office Catra shared with Adora. She shut the door and hopped onto the desk, folding her legs like this was just another casual conversation and not the best news she’d gotten all week.

“Wait... stories?” Catra drawled. “Are you saying they’re writing fics? About me?”

Felina’s ears flattened so hard they nearly disappeared into her skull. “Yes, ma’am,” she squeaked, gripping the end of her tail like it might anchor her to the mortal plane.

Catra’s tail twitched with delight.

“So…” she stretched the word out, watching Felina instinctively press her back against the wall like a cornered animal. “Have you read any?”

Felina made a noise. Not quite a word, more like the sound someone makes when they are actively dying. “I—I um… I sort of… I glanced at it! But I didn’t—look, ma’am, I don’t think you want to...”

Oh, it must be good.

Catra grinned. “So are we slow-burn enemies to lovers, or what?”

Felina whimpered, mortified that Catra would know that soldiers spent their off-time sharing fics on the back channels. She was visibly debating whether she should make a run for it. But after a long moment, she gathered what little courage she had.

“It… it usually goes that you marry She-Ra to secure the treaty.” She spoke in a rush, like ripping off a bandage. “Like, you’re the same rank, so it makes sense. And then you meet this Alliance Commander and… um… fall in love. Like, sometimes you met her when you were Prime’s prisoner, and sometimes you meet her at Bright Moon. And either She Ra doesn’t care or you don’t give a shit. And you sent her here because it's so far away from Bright Moon that you won’t offend the Princesses.”

Catra let that sink in. Then she grinned.

“Mm. So, a forced political marriage of convenience, but then I start sneaking around with a hot rebel commander? Classic.”

Felina's flush somehow showed through her fur.

Catra leaned forward, thoroughly entertained now. “Wait, do I secretly pine for her but have to keep up appearances?” She loved stories about pining. She should probably examine her taste in reading, but whatever.

Felina hunched, mumbling into her tail. “…sometimes.”

Catra put a hand over her heart, getting into it now. “Ooooh! Do I get dramatic lines? ‘I can’t be with you, my love. My duty is to The Horde!' "

Felina let out a strangled sound, visibly dying.

“…Yes.”

“Oh, wow. Okay, but what about angst? Do I have to choose between duty and love? Does she cry? Do I cry?”

Felina whimpered. “…Yes.”

Catra chuckled, but something about that hit a little too close.

She leaned back, tail flicking behind her. “Do we have a ship name?”

Felina looked at the ceiling, as if praying to a god that didn’t exist. “Yes, ma'am.”

Catra tilted her head. “And?”

Felina hung her head like she was admitting to high treason. “They call you two ‘Catradora.’”

Catra froze. Then a slow, delighted grin spread across her face.

“I love it.”

Felina’s head snapped up. “You… do?”

Catra cackled. “Are you kidding? This is great. I love that people have time for that.” Once, she might have been offended. Now? It was just funny. For all the shit they had been through in the last few months, there were so many good things.

She leaned back on her hands, smirking. “Adora’s going to lose her mind.” Then, more thoughtfully: “…But she’ll get over it.”

Felina visibly relaxed. The embarrassment was still there, but at least she no longer looked like she was about to pass out.

Catra grinned. “Thanks for letting me know.” Then, more seriously: “Honestly, I was kinda starting to get worried people were pissed that Adora and I were here.”

Felina blinked. “What?”

“You know. Hordak’s Second marrying She Ra? Could’ve gone either way.” Catra shrugged, more honest now.

“No! I mean… no one thinks that. I think people…” the girl hesitated, then blurted out: “I think people like that you’re here."

Catra blinked. That was not what she expected.

“If people want to write love stories between you and an Alliance Commander? That’s gotta mean something good, right?” Felina looked away and fidgeted with the end of her shirt. "Like, maybe people think that the peace is real?"

“Yeah. I guess it does.” Catra grinned, honestly grateful for that, and for a moment, she let herself feel it.

“Alright, back to work. Will you make sure my skiff is fueled up? I’m going to need to take it out. And pack a bag for me, too. Just overnight.”

Felina nodded.“Yes, ma’am.”

“Also, will you grab me some breakfast and bring it here? I want to get started on some things right away. When you go pack my bag, take some breakfast over to Adora, will you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Felina looked almost eager for the excuse to escape.

Catra watched her go, her smirk fading the second the door shut.

She leaned forward, elbows braced against her knees, then tapped in an access code.

The comm rang. After a few moments, a familiar voice answered.

“Is that my Catra?” Castaspella asked, warmth clear in her voice. “How are you, dear? Is everything okay?”

Catra hesitated. “I… “ She swallowed hard, throat tightening. She had not expected the way her voice stuck. The warmth in Castaspella’s voice caught her off guard. “I’m not sure.”

“What’s wrong?”

To Catra’s horror, she felt tears prickle at the corners of her eyes. She looked away, exhaling slowly through her nose. She could not have this conversation over comms.

“I… um… I’m having some issues. From being chipped.” She forced the words out, her voice hoarse. “I had a bad minute last night. Can I…?”

“Of course, dear.” Castaspella’s voice softened further. “You know I always have time for you.”

Even though she knew Castaspella couldn’t see her, Catra nodded. “Thanks.” She cleared her throat, trying to force herself back to steady ground. “Are you… uh, free today?”

“I am,” Castaspella said gently. “Are you planning on coming out?”

“Yeah.” Catra rubbed the back of her neck. “I think, I want to talk to you before this becomes a crisis.”

“Good,” Castaspella said, a note of approval in her tone. “Come whenever you’re ready. I’ll be here.”

Catra exhaled, nodding again. “Alright. See you soon.”

She ended the call, staring at the blank screen.

If there was anyone who could help her make sense of what was going on in her head, it was Aunt Casta.

Before Catra headed out, she stopped by Kyle’s office.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked cautiously, looking up from the report he read.

“Like I took a laser blast between the eyes,” Catra grumbled.

Kyle winced. “Oh.” He looked like he wanted to say more but thought better of it.

“I’m going to Mystacor,” Catra continued. “Gonna talk to Aunt Casta. If this is some magic shit, she'll know what to do.”

Kyle squinted. “Aunt Casta?”

Catra flicked an ear. “Castaspella of Mystacor. You met her that one time”

“Oh, yeah.” Kyle’s brow furrowed. “Isn’t she, like… in charge there?”

“Yeah, but it’s not a huge deal. She’s really nice.”

“Yeah, she was.“ Kyle tilted his head curiously. “But why do you call her Aunt Casta?” 

Catra shrugged. “That’s what she told me to call her.”

Kyle hesitated, studying her face like he was trying to gauge if she was messing with him. “I mean… I had an Aunt once. Aunt Kelly. She took care of me before I went to the creche. But I always thought it was just her name, you know? “But then I heard some specialists use it like a title. And I’ve heard some of the Rebels use it, too. I always wondered what it actually meant.”

“I asked her what I would call her.” Catra frowned, ears twitching as she processed that. She’d never thought about it before. “That’s what she told me. I just figured it was a Mystacor thing.” But that wasn’t right, was it? Jill had called herself ‘Auntie Jill’ to that little girl at the market. And she was Horde, through and through.

Kyle squinted. “So you’ve never asked?”

“Why would I?” Catra crossed her arms. “I mean… I figured it meant she liked me, but I didn’t think about it.”

Kyle blinked. “Fair point.”

Catra sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Alright, now I’m curious. I’ll ask her.”

Kyle brightened at that. “Thanks. I wanted to ask someone, but… you know.”

The unspoken passed between them. Horde kids didn’t ask questions. They knew better.

“Yeah.” Catra nodded in agreement. “So, do me a favor and don’t mention to Adora what you told me, yet. About… “ she waved vaguely at him. “You know.”

“No problem.” Kyle’s voice was subdued. “I don’t even like to think about it.”

“Aunt Casta knows a lot about Shadow Weaver.” Catra confided, glancing to make sure the door was shut. “I guess Shadow Weaver taught her.”

Kyle’s eyes bugged. “No way!”

“Yeah. I guess she taught there, like a million years ago.”

“How did she end up with Hordak?”

“I have no clue. I think she killed someone at Mystacor?”

“You know,” Kyle said slowly. “I once heard her talk to Hordak about Mystacor. She said there was some kind of weapon in the basement? Was that the Rebel’s big superweapon?”

Thinking back to the chamber of the Failsafe. Of how Aunt Casta had demanded that Shadow Weaver, “Answer the question!” Catra had posed, she nodded soberly. 

Aunt Casta had been the first one to ever go up against Shadow Weaver for her. For that she would always have Catra’s undying love. “Part of it. It’s a long-ass story.”

“I guess so.” He fidgeted for a minute, then, “Well, she sounds like the best person for the job. How long will you be gone?”

“Hopefully just tonight. I’ll let you know if it's going to be longer.”

By the time she headed back to their quarters, Adora was awake. “Felina said you were going somewhere?” She pulled on her boots, brows furrowed.

Catra sat down beside her on the bunk, exhaling sharply.

“Yeah, I’m heading to Mystacor. I want to figure out what the fuck is going on with my head. I can’t think of anyone better than Aunt Casta or Micah to sort it out.”

Adora’s gray eyes softened. Some of the tension drained from her shoulders. “That sounds like a really good idea. Do you want me to come?”

“No.” Catra shook her head. “If I need you, I’ll call.” She reached for Adora’s hand, pressing a quick, firm kiss to her knuckles.

“If Zira’s right, and it’s like a fever that goes away, then there’s no problem. I just…” She shuddered. “Anything to do with Shadow Weaver freaks me the fuck out.”

Adora’s fingers tightened around hers. “Do you think she messed with your memories?”

Catra stilled. The question wasn’t unexpected—but something about how Adora asked it made her pause. She tilted her head, studying Adora’s face. There was tension there, coiled tight beneath her skin.

The same question Adora had asked herself months ago, after waking up from a nightmare. But since then, she hadn’t brought it up.

Catra frowned. That was… weird. They’d had a lot going on, sure—but not that much. Not enough to explain why Adora had just dropped it.

“Probably,” she said at last, giving the same answer she had back then. Adora swallowed hard, her throat bobbing. Her eyes turned bright, liquid with guilt. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey. Not your fault.” Catra huffed, then leaned in, kissing her firmly. Partly to shut her up, partly just because she wanted to. When she pulled back, Adora still looked like she wanted to argue.

So Catra flicked her ear lightly, smirking. “Melog’s staying here to help Zira with the kids. If you need me quick, send them to me. Okay?”

Adora hesitated, then nodded. She still looked troubled.

Catra sighed, squeezing her hand. “It’s gonna be fine. We’ll figure it out.”

They walked out to the skiff, holding hands. Adora heard some mutterings but couldn't catch anything. At least the tone didn't sound angry. That was something. "Everyone's watching us."

"Then let's give them something to look at." Catra grinned, pulled her close, and kissed her deeply.

When she pulled back, the teasing was gone, replaced by something soft that made Adora's heart jump.

"I love you, so much," Catra whispered. "I'll be back probably tomorrow afternoon. Okay?"

Adora leaned her forehead against her wife's. For a second, she just breathed her in. "I love you, too. Don't be too long, okay? I'll be waiting for you."

Even though Adora was glad she was going to Aunt Casta for help, watching Catra drive off in the skiff left Adora feeling unmoored. She was so proud of how far Catra had come, but she was worried about those terrible brainstorms as Zira called them. They looked terrifying.

She wandered down toward the training ground. A few people she passed gave her great big grins. One person even gave her a thumbs-up.

When she got there, she stripped down to her bra and shorts, squared up to the training dummy and began her routine.

The eyes were still on her again. They were harmless, she told herself. The rumors did not matter. But the dummy was spilling sand from the holes Adora pounded into it.

Then. “Ah, Excuse me, ma’am?”

Adora came to a stop. 

Three young men stood watching her. Two stood at the fence and one stepped into the circle, Adora could see the two others almost pushing him forward. 

“Hi?” Adora realized suddenly that she might be monopolizing the training dummies. 

“We were watching you and um…?” The young man put his hand to the back of his neck. “We wondered if you wanted to spar?”

 Adora smiled, completely off guard. “You want to spar? With me?”

They were young. Barely active duty. No, they had to be cadets, likely the exact age she was when she defected. The young man straightened a little, and Adora recognized the flicker of nerves in his posture. He wasn’t scared , not exactly—but he wasn’t sure how she’d react.

“I mean—if you want to?” he added quickly, glancing back at his friends for support. “It’s just—we don’t get many chances to train against Alliance fighters, and, well…”

Adora tilted her head, crossing her arms, throwing him a challenging smirk. “And?”

“We… saw you training yesterday,” he admitted. “We wondered if you were bored with training dummies?”

She looked at them speculatively. “What’re your names?”

The biggest one squared his shoulders. “I’m Erin, and these are my squaddies, Garin and Mo.”

Adora nodded. “Okay, Erin.” She smiled. “You want to start?”

Erin grinned and grabbed his staff.

They circled each other. Adora held back, giving him an opening. Foolishly, he took it. He came in low. Too predictable. She lashed out with the bottom of her staff, catching him under the chin. He wobbled. A sharp sweep of her leg, and he hit the ground in three moves.

The cadet landed with a solid thud, blinking up at the sky in stunned silence. His two friends winced.

He took her proffered hand with a huge grin. “Wow! That was amazing, ma’am.”

She wasn’t even breathing hard. She would have gone easier on him, but she knew there was an element of testing here. They'd spar with her if she were just a little better than them. If she were a lot better, they’d ask her for lessons. She wasn't under any obligation to teach, but they could ask.

She grinned, wolfish. “Who’s next?”

Mo stepped up next, rolling his shoulders. “Alright. My turn.”

This one was cautious, watching her footwork, testing with small feints before committing.

Good instincts, Adora thought. Still predictable.

He darted in, going for what he probably assumed was a weak point in her stance. Wrong. She caught his staff mid-swing, twisted, and yanked it out of his hands before flipping it out of the ring. The strike to his solar plexus came before he even hit the ground.

For a panicked second, it wasn’t Mo on the ground

It was Bow.

The same gasping, open-mouthed struggle for breath. The same stunned, frozen moment where she didn’t know if—

Her fingers went numb. Her staff slipped from her grip before she even realized she’d let it go.

She hit her knees beside him, voice cracking,“No!”

Mo gasped a great whooping breath. Then another.

“I’m okay.” He coughed, rubbing his chest. “Just knocked the wind out of me.”

Adora exhaled sharply, but her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Erin hesitated, then tentatively touched her shoulder. “You okay?”

Her head jerked around. “What?”

His dark eyes were far too understanding.

“You good?” he asked, voice softer than before.

She nodded, standing up. Her fingers curled around her staff, but she still felt the ghost of it slipping from her hands.

“Okay, you next?” she asked Garin.

“Yes, ma’am!” Delighted, Garin grabbed his staff.

He didn’t last any longer.

But at least he made her work for it.

He was cautious, waiting for her to make the first move, but it didn’t matter. She watched his shoulders, the slight shift of weight in his stance, the tension coiling before a strike. When he finally lunged, she sidestepped, caught his staff under her own, and flipped him onto his back in one clean motion.

The cadet groaned, staring up at the sky. “Okay. Yeah. I see how this is going.”

Adora chuckled and offered her hand. He took it, grinning despite his bruised pride.

“You guys fight well,” she said, adjusting her grip on her staff. “You just need to work on unpredictability.”

Mo grinned. “You’re so good! Guess the rumors are true.”

Adora frowned. “What rumors?”

Mo hesitated. “Just… that you’re too good to be here.”

“I mean, it’s not just that you’re good,” Garin added, shifting his grip on his staff. “It’s that you don’t act like you’re better than us.”

Erin nodded. “When Kyle said we needed an Alliance rep, we expected you to come in, throw your weight around, and bitch about things. But you don’t. You help.”

“I mean, like the first time you were here? And the trench collapsed? You were down there right next to Commander Lonnie.” Mo chuckled, “I heard her and you competing to see how many buckets of dirt you could haul.”

Garin nodded firmly. “And everyone knows someone like you would have their pick of assignments. So either it’s a punitive expedition or you’re just out of your mind.”

Adora opened her mouth and then closed it. This… wasn’t what she expected.

People admired She-Ra. But Mo, Erin, and Garin admired her. Not because of the power she wielded. But because she did her job. Because she didn’t see herself as above them. Because she worked. She didn’t know what to do with that. For a brief, fragile second, she let herself feel it.

“Garin!” growled Erin. “Shut up. What is wrong with you?” He gave his friend a sharp smack on the back of the head.

“Ow! What?” Garin glared at him.

“You don’t say shit like that.“

“Shoot, ma’am, we’re sorry. Garin’s an idiot.” He looked ready to piss himself. 

“No. it’s okay.” Adora said quickly. It hurt seeing them afraid of her so suddenly. “What… what are the rumors?”

The other two turned to glare at Garin, who suddenly seemed to realize his peril. “You started it,” Mo growled.

“But I…” At the look on Adora’s face he quailed. She tried to soften her frown, but that seemed to make it worse. “It's all over the camp. I haven’t been snooping where I shouldn’t, I swear!” he whispered.

“What is?” Adora asked, exasperated. 

Garin gulped. “That you got stationed out here because you… um… pissed someone off,” he said slowly. “Like, everyone sees how good an officer you are. And well…” 

He glanced at his two comrades who both glared like they were mentally calculating the fastest way to box him up and take him to the incinerator.  Realizing there was no way out, Garin sighed and gave himself up for dead. 

“They sent you out here to get you away from Bright Moon,” he finished, his voice quieter now. “I guess Ambassador Catra thought it was the best way to protect you.”

Adora’s stomach did something complicated. She crossed her arms, leveling him with a look. “Protect me?” she repeated flatly. “Do I look like I need protection?”

The air in the sparring ring changed. For the first time, they looked alarmed. Mo stiffened. Garin’s mouth snapped shut. Suggesting an able-bodied Horde soldier needed protection wasn’t just an insult. It could get you killed.

Erin moved first. He grabbed Garin’s shoulder, voice tight. “Dude. Shut the fuck up.”

Garin blinked, confused for half a second as he seemed to go over what he said in his head, before something clicked. His face paled. “Wait—no, I didn’t mean—”

Mo stepped in fast, eyes darting to Adora. “Ma’am, he's sorry.” He forced a small, uneasy chuckle. “He didn’t mean it like that.”

Garin, clearly trying to salvage the situation, shook his head quickly. “No, yeah, I just meant... y'know... like... politics.”

The tension shifted. The moment he said it, the other two nodded sagely. That was different. Politics was dangerous. But it wasn’t the same thing.

“I mean,” he went on. “But you know…” He lowered his voice as though someone might be spying. “I’m talking about fucking Bright Moon. And She-Ra. ”

Mo hesitated and then glanced around as though to make sure no one was near, voice dropping further. “I mean, I guess since we’re at peace and everything, it’s not like she’s allowed to incinerate you or anything…” he chuckled nervously and searched her face for something.

Adora squinted at them, her mind still playing catch-up. The three seemed to lose color the longer she hesitated.

“Unless... " Erin whispered.

"Unless she is?" Garin finished for him.

Silence, as Adora’s brain locked, unable to parse Garin's question. A horrible, thick silence. The cadets stared at Adora, their faces going pale, as if Garin had just spoken an awful truth into the world.

Adora’s stomach twisted. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Oh, no.

They were looking at her, expecting an answer. 

Say something.

She scrambled. “No! No, obviously not! I mean...” She let out a nervous, breathy laugh. “That would be ridiculous, right? It’s not like Glimmer could just... not that she would! But... she needs She Ra, so...” She stopped herself. Too late. She had no idea what she was actually trying to say.

The cadets stared. 

Panic rising, she tried a different tack. “Anyway, you know, the Alliance has rules about that stuff.” She trailed off, weakly.

Silence. Oh, this was bad.

She rushed to fix it, rubbing the back of her neck. “I mean, if I was in trouble, wouldn’t I just go somewhere else?” Another nervous chuckle. “Like, you know, somewhere they couldn’t find me? Like, I don’t know, literally anywhere other than here? Or—well, actually, I guess it’s not that simple, but still—”

Erin and Mo exchanged a glance. Garin, wisely, kept his mouth shut.

Adora should have stopped. She didn’t.

“I mean, after I came for the survey, I knew I had to get away from Bright Moon, anyway. And Kyle told me Refuge takes everyone, and the Joint Committee said this was work they could give me.

The words fell from her mouth like a spring torrent.

“I mean... well, they assigned me, because, you know, Lonnie requested someone anyway, and...”

She could hear herself babbling, but she couldn’t stop.

“…the Queen was pretty pissed after what I said to her and Bright Moon...”

Again she trailed off into silence. Adora felt her stomach drop.

Oh, no.

She heard herself say it. Heard the way it landed. Too late now. She kept talking, like digging the hole deeper would somehow make it disappear.

“Well, I mean, Bright Moon’s not—well, okay, maybe I don’t exactly fit there.” Even as she said it, the truth settled into her bones.

Not even after all this time. Not even after everything she’d done.

She swallowed. Bitterness crept into her voice. “She's happier if she doesn’t have to see me, but it’s not like... I mean, it’s not as if they.”

She stopped. The three cadets watched her. Silent.

“It’s complicated,” she breathed.”

Something shifted in the air between them. Comprehension lit in their eyes.

Erin spoke tentatively. “That’s your official position, ma’am?”

Adora blinked. “…Yes?” Her voice came out far too questioningly.

As one, they nodded, slowly and solemnly.

Garin exhaled first. “Yes, ma’am. As you say.”

“Of course, ma’am.” Mo nodded along. “We copy, ma’am.”

Adora squinted at them. “Wait—”

“We get it, ma’am,” Garin said quickly, cutting her off. “It’s okay. No need to explain further.” 

Erin, eyes unreadable, met her gaze. “We won’t mention it again.” He looked at his squadmates. “Right?”

Adora stared. What—

No. No, this was getting worse.

Her pulse pounded. She could see it—the shift. The moment it happened.

Erin spoke again, quieter now. Measured. Certain. "But, you know, if you ever need anything… Well, we'll be here."

Mo inhaled through his nose, sharp and steady, like something had just clicked into place. Garin, for once, was silent. But his jaw set, shoulders squaring. Their mouths firmed in determination, the light of battle in their eyes.

Adora knew that look.

She knew that look.

That was the look her squadmates shared before a sim run. Before a scrap in the corridors. Before they stood their ground against something bigger than them.

They weren’t looking at her like a commander, or an officer. They were looking at her like she was theirs. Like she was someone worth defending.

Erin glanced at Mo. Then Garin. Something unspoken passed between them.

Garin gave a small, firm nod. Mo exhaled, slow and steady.

Then Erin locked eyes with her.

A decision. Absolute.

"You look out for us, so we’ll look out for you, ma’am."

Not an offer.

Not a courtesy.

A promise

Adora’s breath hitched.

Oh.

Chapter Text

Nods and smiles greeted Catra as she passed through the halls of Mystacor. She still was not used to it. From the first, Aunt Casta had made her welcome here. But now, the sheer lack of surprise at her presence felt… good. Their smiles were unforced, reaching their eyes and matching their scents. It gave her the strangest feeling. A warm familiarity she had never experienced before.

Someone must have informed Aunt Casta that Catra was here, because she met Catra halfway to her office, arms open. Without hesitation, Catra stepped into the embrace.

“Where’s Melog?” the sorceress asked when she released her, but kept the contact by linking arms. The casual touch felt comforting rather than restraining.

“They stayed at Refuge to look after Adora and the kids,” Catra said.

Casta raised a brow, amusement flickering across her face. “The kids? Is there something I should know about?”

Catra sighed. “It’s a long story. That’s part of the reason I’m here.”

“I’ll have dinner sent up. Staying the night?”

Catra nodded, following her up the stairway.

“I had your room aired out. They opened the windows and put fresh sheets on the bed. Hope that’s all right?”

“Thanks.” She smiled, appreciating the older woman’s kindness. When Catra admitted feeling awkward about the cleaning staff, Casta had explained the system; how to give them a list of what she wanted done and what they should not do. Working with sorcerers meant the staff took their instructions seriously. That was one of the many reasons Mystacor felt less overwhelming than Bright Moon. Here, people actually listened.

Instead of her office, they climbed the stairs to Aunt Casta’s rooms. A fire burned merrily in the hearth, the scent of tea already in the air. Curling up on the couch, Catra tucked her tail around herself, sinking into the plush velvet.

Settling into her chair, Aunt Casta picked up her knitting. “So,” she said, tone light but expectant, “tell me what’s happening.”

The silence stretched, but she showed no impatience. She would wait as long as it took for Catra to find her words. The rhythmic clicking of her needles steadied the magicat’s jangled nerves. Catra picked up a skein from the basket, rolling it between her fingers. Without thinking, she began the familiar process of winding it into a ball, just as Aunt Casta had taught her. When she spoke, her voice did not seem like her own. “I was in the infirmary again last night.”

Casta’s knitting slowed. She lifted her head, dark eyes scanning Catra for injuries. “Why?”

Catra hesitated, ears flicking back. “Do… do you remember what I told you about the night I got Adora in the face with my claws?”

“Yes.” Aunt Casta’s gaze dropped back to her knitting.

“It was… like that.” The room’s heavy silence pressed the breath from Catra's lungs.

The only sign of concern Aunt Casta gave was a quiet inhale. “Did you..?”

Catra knew what she meant. Her stomach twisted. “No.” She shook her head. “I didn’t hurt anyone this time.”

She should be grateful. She should be relieved. She hadn’t torn off Kyle’s face. Hadn’t woken up to another disaster.

But she wasn’t.

“Just…” She searched for the word. Her hands tightened around the yarn. “They thought I had a seizure.”

The sound of knitting slowed. “That sounds serious.”

Catra swallowed. Her throat was dry. “The medic scanned me. Said it wasn’t a seizure. It was a memory.”

The knitting needles stopped, just for a breath. “Do you mean, you recovered something traumatic? Something that you did not remember before?”

Too much. Too many things to process. Catra had no idea what to address first.

“Y-yeah, but not like… not like something that I forgot… not how you normally do.” She forced herself to say it. “It was… Something magic.”

The word caught in her throat.

“Sh-Shadow Weaver did something. I think…” Catra inhaled sharply. “She stole my memories.”

The sorceress stilled. For a second, she stared at her frozen hands. Then she lifted her head. A movement far too precise. Too deliberate. Her eyes burned with fury.

Something in the room shifted. Like a change in pressure before a storm. Like stepping into a space that wasn’t empty after all.

Like what happened last night.

Catra exhaled sharply. It was okay. She could handle this. Whatever it was, it wasn’t real.

But, the memory didn’t stay in her head. It seized her. It lashed through her nerves like a live current, jolting every muscle tight. Under her fur, she used to have scars. A delicate tracery of branching lines, etched into her skin by Shadow Weaver’s “lessons.” 

When She Ra brought her back, healed her on the deck of Darla’s bridge, they disappeared.

But now, she could still feel once again. Every branching line. Every inch of phantom agony where they used to be.

The air thickened. Magic crawled over her skin, under it, inside it. Her ears flattened and her tail puffed out.

A distant buzzing at first, like static in the back of her mind. Then, closer. A pressure building behind her eyes, under her skull.

Voices, stacked on top of each other, warping and twisting.

"Hold her still. If you don’t do it, I will."

"No—please—Shadow Weaver. Please." A memory of Adora’s broken whimpers. “I-I’m sorry, Catra.”

"She’s a failure. She’ll only slow you down."

A change in the air pressure made her ears pop. Catra tried to breathe but there was nothing to pull in. Or her diaphragm had ceased to work. The room was wrong. Too bright. Too dim. A transmission flickering between two signals.

"Regardless, she won’t remember this."

A high-pitched little mewl escaped her throat, raw and helpless. Something inside her bent. Cracked. The sullen light of the Black Garnet curled around her, under her skin, crawling through her veins like something alive. Stealing the air. The weight of the spell crushed her chest, suffocating, inescapable.

And then falling. A horrible moment of vertigo. The ground collapsed from beneath her, and her stomach lurched. She screamed. Only she could not tell if it was inside or outside of her head.

The memories came differently this time. A blizzard howled around her, and figures emerged from the whiteout—blurred, distorted. The space where they existed unrecognizable. They struggled. Writhing against the storm, shapes twisting, breaking apart. The wind howled—ripping, clawing, snatching the echoes away.

The noise crested. Wavered. Then broke. The wind died. The figures came into focus.

Everything stopped. A void where something should have been.

Silence.

And she understood the shape of what had been taken. Not a memory. Not merely a moment.

A future.

"Catra!"

What?

"Catra? Can you hear me?"

She nodded. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Black spots danced at the edges of her vision.

"Can I come over there?"

The croak from her own throat startled her. “Yeah.” Thick with fear. She curled up tightly, screwing her eyes shut.

Slow shuffling. Soft footsteps. Then, the couch dipped slightly. Not crowding, but close. A warm weight draped over her shoulders—the soft, familiar texture of a knitted blanket. The wool smelled of lavender, fresh air, and Aunt Casta. A steady, grounding presence.

A sharp, rhythmic rattling sound filled the space around her. It took her a moment to understand it: the couch legs vibrating against the wooden floor.

"Here. You’re shivering."

Shivering. Yes.  So damned cold. Teeth chattering. Like she’d been dumped into a snowbank.  That was what was making the noise. She trembled so hard the couch rattled.

Deep cushions cradled her, the dark velvet soft against her cheek as she tried to get her bearings. The ceiling had delicate filigree patterns carved into the plaster. Had those always been there?

"It wasn’t her fault," Catra murmured, finally lifting her head and opening her eyes. She scooted around until she dragged herself upright. 

“Who?” The sorceress leaned forward and poured milk into the second teacup on the table, followed by the tea. She finished by stirring in extra sugar and putting the drink into Catra’s hands.

"Adora." Catra’s throat tightened. "Shadow Weaver..." She broke off, ears pinning back. She wasn’t sure she could say it. “Caught us together.”

Catra forced herself to look up as she took the cup. Aunt Casta watched her carefully, her eyes wide. Not in shock, but in horrified recognition.  The kind of look that meant she had stepped onto a landmine that would explode if she moved.

“Caught you?” Aunt Casta picked up her knitting again.

The heat of the cup anchored Catra to the present as she squeezed it with both hands, bracing herself. She had to say this. “Caught us. Planning…”

“Planning what?”

“Planning to find a Force Captain to sanction us.”  Catra’s voice wavered. It had seemed like so little to ask. “We wanted to get sanctioned as soon as our promotions came through.”  Many people were sanctioned as soon as they were on active duty. Sanctioning wasn’t just a declaration. It was a right. One of the few a soldier could expect.

A sanctioned couple was assigned together whenever possible. Even if war ripped squads apart, sanctioning meant they had a better chance of reuniting. That’s why squads sometimes did it as a unit: not out of romance, but to keep their family from being torn apart by some officer’s whims.

It wasn’t a secret, squads talked about sanctioning all the time. It was a given, an inevitability. You fought beside someone long enough, you made sure you kept them. That was how it worked. That was the one thing the system allowed.

That’s what she and Adora had planned. They had been so sure. So naïve.

And Shadow Weaver had stolen it.

Not just their sanctioning.  

Everything.

Adora was never meant to be a soldier. She was meant to be a weapon. Weapons didn’t form attachments. Weapons followed orders. No hesitation, no loyalty to individuals; only to Shadow Weaver. Only to the Horde.

A soldier could question. A soldier could disobey. A soldier could choose. But a weapon? A weapon had no future beyond its purpose.

The tea sloshed in the cup as her hands shook, but Aunt Casta had wisely only filled it half way.

“You… and Adora?” Casta tilted her head.

“Yeah. Shadow Weaver. She was so angry.” Catra swallowed, her throat raw. “I thought I was dead. She zapped me until I couldn’t walk, and then she made Adora...” Her breath hitched, and for a second, she physically couldn’t get the words out.

Casta kept knitting. She didn’t push. She did not even look at Catra. She just waited.

The lack of eye contact was reassuring. It made Catra feel less vulnerable—that Aunt Casta didn’t need to stare at her.

She sucked in a deep breath, forcing the words out. “She made her drag me to the Black Garnet Chamber.”

The knitting needles stopped.

“She thought…” Catra hesitated, ears pressing back. “She thought that if Adora ...if she made her complicit... she’d want me far away.” The truth clicked into place like a lock turning inside Catra’s mind. “To protect me,” she whispered. Something cracked in her chest.

Casta’s voice was too soft. Too careful. “But that’s not what happened.”

"No." Catra let out a ragged, breathless laugh, her whole body wound wire-tight. "She tried to kill herself."

The air stilled. Oppressive and heavy. Charged with something too controlled to be safe that pressed against Catra's lungs, suffocating.

"What?" The sorceress's voice was sharp. Like she had just stepped off solid ground and realized she was falling.

"Kyle said… he found her." Catra swallowed. "She was… she had cut her wrists open. I think." She cleared her throat. "I’m pretty sure she was trying to finish it."

“…oh no.”

"She doesn’t remember it." Catra’s throat felt tight. "I know she doesn’t."

When Adora defied Shadow Weaver, the woman ripped away her only hope. For a second, the awful, sharp-edged truth lay between them. Shadow Weaver’s magic had stolen even the memory of that hope.

"I’m sorry," Aunt Casta whispered. She rolled her shoulders once, pushing something off. A deliberate retreat: The sparkles of angry magic at the edge of Catra's vision seemed to fade. "Perhaps this conversation would be better left until Melog can join us?"

Catra swallowed the lump in her throat, ears flicking. "Right." She exhaled. “We haven’t talked about that part.”

Pivot. Move forward. Stay in control.

"Melog’s staying at Refuge right now," she said, her voice rough. "I’m afraid to leave Adora alone."

She set the teacup on the table and pulled the blanket more firmly around herself.

"The other reason is that the chief medic, Zira… she’s been working with folks who were chipped. These kids are… high needs."

Casta’s expression didn’t shift, but something in her focus sharpened.

"High needs?"

Catra wrapped the yarn around the ball, carefully following each wrap with the next.

"I guess the kids have some failure-to-thrive thing? Melog helps them. They say their bodies are having a hard time resetting themselves. It’s something the healers on their world had to contend with, I guess."

The feel of the yarn passing over and through her fingers gave her something to focus on. "Anyway, we talked about it before I left." Her voice picked up speed. Too fast. Pushing forward. Melog would know if she absolutely needed them, but for now... "I don’t want them dividing their energy between me and them."

The words came flatter than she intended. She forced a small, derisive laugh. It was stupid to feel so bereft. Melog hadn’t abandoned her. She had made the decision. Melog had merely agreed that it was sensible. "I mean, I’ll get over having hurt feelings." Her tail flicked, betraying her.

"But these kids…" She shook her head.

Casta set her knitting aside. "Melog thinks it would be damaging to leave them?"

Catra nodded. "Yeah." She exhaled, forcing her tail to stay still. "Melog said they’re… drifting." She hesitated, claws pressing into the ball of yarn. "Zira’s been on the right track, I guess." She looked up. "She’s been giving them as much personal attention as she can. Making sure they stay alive physically until they can decide…"

Her voice hitched for a fraction of a second. She did not like to think of it. She swallowed it down. Pushed through.

"Until they can decide if they want to keep living." A pause. "Or not."

The words hung in the air, heavy.

A long beat of silence. Then, softly, “How many?”

Catra’s throat felt tight. "Zira’s got about twenty in the high-needs ward, but I guess other kids are having trouble." She rubbed the back of her neck. "And… I guess there are other people having problems with brainstorms."

Casta’s brows furrowed. "Really?"

"Yeah." Catra gulped her tea. Her throat was intolerably dry. "It only seems to happen in people who were chipped and were… Shadow Weaver’s test subjects."

The air in the room shifted. Heavier again. The deep breath before a plunge. A storm gathering on the horizon. "Test. Subjects?"

No. Not gathering. The storm was already here. Standing in front of her. Electricity rose across Catra’s back, puffing out her tail.

Here was the famed combat sorceress. This was the Defender of Mystacor.

Castaspella’s magic pressed against Catra’s skin, beating against her face like the heat of the Crimson Waste.

And then; A long, centering breath.

Magic coiled, then settled. A sword sheathed. A firearm holstered. A fuse left unlit. Deadly, but resting.

Then, the woman stood so fast that Catra startled.

She strode to her desk, lifted a hand, and tapped the large crystal. The glow flared to life. "Micah."

“Casta?” 

"I need you," she said, too controlled.

Another pause.

"What’s going on?" His voice shifted—cautious now.

"Catra’s here. She needs us to consult on some cases at one of the resettlement camps." Casta’s fingers tapped the desk softly, the only sign of her internal agitation, other than her angry scent. "I wonder if you can come up here."

A pause.

"Can you give me an hour?"

"That would be fine. Thank you."

The older woman turned back to Catra, studying her with quiet intensity.

"I’m sorry. We don’t need to discuss the particulars of your case, but if that many people are affected, I would like to ask Micah what he knows. He has studied Shadow Weaver’s magic in ways few others have."

Catra nodded, though her stomach jumped into her throat.

Even when translating complex magical theory for Melog and Micah, she avoided discussing anything personal with the sorcerer.

Until she and Glimmer had talked about it, sitting back to back on the floor of Prime’s ship, Catra never knew how Angella had been lost.

During that part of the war, intelligence was thin on the ground. They knew Bright Moon’s Queen Angella had been declared KIA, and the new Queen crowned, but that was it.

Glimmer had raged and wept, blaming her for her mother’s death. That was fair. There was no doubt Catra was responsible for that. But, Angella appeared to be the single casualty of the Portal incident. Catra never told Glimmer how many people she knew whose parents never came home.

Lonnie’s mother; Lost in a firefight.

Rogelio’s father. Cut down in a retreat.

Kyle’s Aunt Kelly. Dead before he understood what she was to him.

No one talked about how many moms died at the Battle of Bright Moon. They were just casualties. No statues. No state funerals. No names etched into history. None of those people ever had a choice; they had to fight or face Hordak and Shadow Weaver.

It was a war.

People died.

Why was Angella so fucking special?

But... Glimmer was important to Catra. And, by extension, so was Angella. When Melog sensed that the Old Queen (as they called her) was alive, Catra had seen it as a way to help her friend. She collaborated with Micah to retrieve Angella from the pocket dimension.

It made everyone happy. And Catra was glad she was back.

Really.

She was.

But the thought of talking with Micah or Angella about anything personal filled her with a quiet, gnawing horror. Maybe it was because Micah always looked at her as though he knew more than she wanted him to. Or perhaps it was that Adora seemed frightened of Angella.

Catra swallowed hard.

But was it Angella that scared Adora, or was something else happening?

"Aunt Casta? I don’t even know how to tell her about this one time." Melog had encouraged her to be honest. But the words still felt like they would tear her apart. "And I’m pretty sure Shadow Weaver fucked with Adora’s head a lot more than mine. I mean, I know it's so much more than this.”

She didn't know how to explain all the times they had to reteach Adora something, all the times Catra called her an idiot because, "Seriously, Adora, we just talked about this."

"I'm scared what she'll do when she knows." She sucked in a shaking breath, realizing once again how very fragile Adora was. “I can’t lose her.”

The sorceress came back to the couch, sitting down and taking both of Catra’s hands in her own, her dark eyes holding Catra’s gaze.

"You’re right to be afraid." Studying Catra with the quiet patience already considered every outcome and didn’t like any of them, Aunt Casta squeezed Catra’s hands, trying to keep her grounded. “We don’t know the full extent of what Shadow Weaver did to her.”

Catra inhaled sharply, but Casta didn’t stop. 

“It’s possible Shadow Weaver left… safeguards. Conditioned responses. Memories that were locked away, not just taken, but designed to stay buried until she chose to awaken them.”

 “You mean she could’ve left something behind? Some kind of… trigger?” Catra’s stomach twisted and her voice felt small. “But, if she had, why wouldn’t she use it to get Adora back during the war?”

The sorceress bit her lip. Her brow furrowed. She let go of Catra’s hands, and tapped her chin, her attention turning inward. “I think,” she began again. “That it is not as straightforward as that.” 

The fabric caught on Catra’s claws as she clenched them in the blanket. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Right now? Exactly what you’ve been doing.” The sorceress looked away. “You saw how much trouble she was in.” She shook her head. “You realized there might be sorcery involved, so you came to talk to me. You’re already watching her.” 

That was true. Watching for the moments where Adora went distant, where something tugged her away from the present and left her standing in a place no one else could see. Watching for the times she flinched at things that shouldn’t bother her, or the way her hands sometimes shook when she thought no one was looking.

Watching, waiting for something to break.

Casta leaned forward, her voice softer now. “I won’t lie to you, Catra. If Shadow Weaver left something behind, we have to be cautious. But I think Adora is stronger than she realizes.”

Catra let out a slow breath.“Yeah. She always is.”

She didn’t say I hope it’s enough. But the words sat between them anyway.

“I want to come to Refuge. Would that be all right?” 

“I don’t want Adora to think…” 

Nodding,  the woman said, “I don't want her to feel pressured either.” Casta tilted her head. “It sounds like your medic needs help. This would be a good way to handle both of those things.”    

“Oh. I mean, yeah.” Catra had not even considered asking Aunt Casta to come to Refuge herself. “I think she would, only… No one is going to let a sorcerer anywhere near them with magic.” She said honestly.

Aunt Casta nodded. “I should think not.” A slight air of exasperation accompanied the words. “I am fully trained in basic nonmagical healing and I’ve assisted Muriel many times. I can also take inventory of what supplies or staff Mystacor can send.”

Catra relaxed a little. Muriel had been a battle medic before she ran off to Mystacor to become a midwife and Catra knew they were close.

"The truth is, if Shadow Weaver’s spells are still lingering..." Casta trailed off with a sigh, dropping her gaze to her hands, motionless in her lap. When she lifted her head, pain was clear on her face. "Even if they were all spells of her own creation, they were still based on principles Mystacor taught her."

Slowly, Catra nodded. Aunt Casta had inherited as much of her predecessor’s mistakes as Catra had.

"From what little I’ve seen and heard, I believe they’ll be more comfortable if we frame this as our attempt to make it right."

"Yeah."

"Can you get a list of what Zira might need? I can bring as much as your skiff can hold. Whatever we have."

She smiled. "I don’t want my presence to make people uncomfortable, and I’m sure a state visit is the last thing they need. I’d prefer to give my title and qualifications to the people in charge so they know what to do with me, but otherwise, I’d be happy to remain incognito. Please explain to them that I can be ruler of Mystacor on another visit. This visit is just to figure out what they need."

She shifted.

"Unless you think another approach would be more useful?"

"No. That sounds good." Catra nodded, surprised by the consideration. And then surprised that she was surprised. Aunt Casta’s pragmatic approach to everything set Catra at ease. "I’ll let Kyle and Zira know you’re coming with me. They can decide what to tell their people. I think everyone will appreciate a medic showing up with supplies, at least."

"If you speak to your people, I can talk with Micah. If I have a list, I can have the skiff loaded and we can leave first thing."

Chapter Text

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to get you everything,” Catra told Zira and Kyle over the conference call. “But just put it on the list. We’ll bring as much as we can.”

Gods. 

If she could get sterile surgical thread... Right now, they used sewing thread sterilized in their half-broken autoclave. The thing only worked because Trevor ,her newest medic apprentice and a former tank gunner, had managed to half-rebuild it from spare parts.

Sometimes, she caught him watching her like he was still tracking battlefield conditions instead of medical supply levels. Noticing when she skipped meals. Noticing when she hadn’t left the infirmary in too many hours. Bad enough that Nyxal had appointed herself Zira’s keeper; Trevor had become Nyxal’s spy. 

As thrilled as she was about the prospect of fresh supplies, the visitors Catra brought were another issue.

Sorcerers.

The very word made Zira’s stomach turn to stone.

And these were from Mystacor. The name itself was pure nightmare fuel. The worst of the war mages came from there. She had seen their work ,wounds that refused to close, flesh blackened and rotting within hours; their bones turned brittle as glass. That was to say, nothing of the soldiers who had tangled with dark magic and never truly returned.

Rumor had it they trained Shadow Weaver.

And worse still? Kyle had said these were high-ranking. They weren’t just here to make sure supplies arrived at their destination. Apparently, they had insight into the brainstorms, into whatever Shadow Weaver had done.

Catra said Mystacor was eager to help. Sure. Just like a snake is eager to bite.

Zira tried to focus, drinking bitter late afternoon coffee. Winding herself up with dread at their arrival would help no one. But the tension sat there, coiled behind her ribs, waiting for an excuse to snap.

At least their logistics weren’t her problem. Someone else could deal with that mess. She had enough on her plate already. 

Lonnie had been skeptical when they discussed it. Rogelio reassured Zira that Catra herself was vouching for them. Kyle told her that all three camp commanders would back up any of her recommendations if she disagreed with them. Catra also guaranteed that Zira would be the ultimate authority over the children’s treatment. 

Under Hordak, many people had become influential by sucking up to Shadow Weaver. Some of them had been sadistic bastards. Zira had cleaned up some of their messes. She appreciated how lucky she was to end up in Refuge. 

When she had been warned about the guests being high-ranking, she expected the usual noise ,whispers, reports, the inevitable fuss. Instead, nothing. No rumors. No demands. Just silence.

This felt worse; like waiting for the wounded to be evacc-ed. The silence stretched, thick and hot. Some unspoken tension danced in the dustmotes caught in slanted light. Everybody was waiting. The kind of waiting that came when people weren’t talking because they did not know if they’d be carrying stretchers or body bags.

Then, Nixal burst into her office, breathless. “Dr. Zira! They’re here.”

“What? Dammit.” She was on her feet before she finished cursing, throwing open the cupboard. A quick glance in the mirror ,clean uniform, steady hands. Good enough.

“Is the children’s ward in good order?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She exhaled through her nose, squared her shoulders, and strode out to meet them.

Flanked by Kyle and Catra, the visitors smiled when they saw her. 

The man was tall, broad-shouldered, and moved with a soldier’s confidence. He carried an ornately carved staff but wore no regalia. No gilded embroidery, no insignia. Just practical traveling clothes, the kind worn by men who knew how to navigate dangerous places without fanfare.

Beside him, a woman glided with unhurried grace, clad in simple but elegant robes of blue and purple. A delicate diadem sat lightly on her brow. A decoration or some kind of mark of office? Zira could not tell. 

Planting her feet, Zira stood at ease. She refused to be intimidated in her own infirmary, but she had never been this close to an Alliance sorcerer before. She had only ever seen the aftermath of their weapons. 

Catra flashed a casual, easygoing smile. “This is the chief medic, Doctor Zira,” she said to the two. “Zira, this is Casta and Micah.”

The woman extended her hand. Zira stared a beat too long. The woman’s smile faltered just slightly, but she held firm.

Shit. Right. 

Belatedly, she extended her own, gripping tightly, self conscious about her damp palm against the woman’s warm dry one.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Doctor Zira,” the woman said.

“Yes, ma’am.” Zira’s brows lifted at the lack of titles or honorifics. Would they get offended that she did not know them? This felt like walking across a hastily constructed rope bridge. One wrong step could lead to disaster.

“Ah. Excuse me, ma’am? How am I to address you?” She tried for a neutral tone and failed, taken aback by their informality. Most Alliance officers she had dealt with corrected even minor breaches of etiquette.

Casta’s smile was friendly but tired. “We’re here to help. This isn’t a state visit. Please, just call me Casta.” 

Micah lifted his hand, palms open. His sharp gaze was serious. “Catra told us about the children you have who have been struggling.”

“Yes,” the woman agreed. “She’s also mentioned seizure-like episodes?”

They both seemed sincere, but a state visit? What did that mean? Who exactly were these two? 

Zira resisted the urge to glance at Nixal.  She would have liked a read on their scent signals just to know what she was dealing with; she always envied hybrids, with their augmented senses and their ability to detect pheromones.

Instead, she kept her posture straight, her voice steady. “Do you think you can help?” She tried not to sound like she was challenging them. As far as  the children were concerned, Zira was almost desperate enough to allow magic. Almost.

“We don’t know yet.” Casta shook her head.   

That was okay. Zira could work with honesty.

“But from what Catra has told me about the brainstorms, there may be connections between what’s happening here and the kind of sorcery Shadow Weaver used.”

Zira’s fingers curled against the fabric of her uniform. “And you know this magic?” 

“Enough to defend against it,” the woman answered grimly.

Micah’s voice was quiet. Heavy. “We were probably her first victims.” He waved at the woman, who nodded.

Something cold slid down Zira’s spine, an old, instinctive response. Shadow Weaver’s magic had been on her operating tables. In blood she had scrubbed from her hands. The scars she had patched, knowing they would never truly fade.

Casta studied her. “I imagine you’ve patched up plenty of people injured by combat sorcerers.”

Zira held her gaze, her mouth dry. “I qualified as a medic during the original Princess Alliance. The first casualties I saw were from sorcery.”

A beat of silence.

Micah exhaled slowly. “Then I think you understand what we might be up against.”.

Casta inclined her head. “We have no intention of interfering with your work, Doctor Zira. We’re here to offer assistance, not take over.”

They weren’t trying to intimidate her. Not yet. But that was with Catra and Kyle standing right here. What would they be like when the commanders were out of sight? Zira studied them both, mind working fast. 

She inclined her head, just enough to acknowledge the words ,but not enough to concede. “As you say, ma’am.”

Raising her chin, she clasped her cold hands together behind her back. “Would you care to read the case studies I’ve prepared first, or would you prefer to observe directly? We have several treatment rooms with one-way glass, and their caregivers are also at your disposal.”

Casta didn’t hesitate. “When can we meet the children?”

“Meet the children?” Zira’s eyes flicked to Catra and Kyle.

Standing behind the visitors, Catra discreetly signed “ Yes, ” and then gestured toward the pair. She held her hands at waist level: one facing up, one facing down, then fisted them in a sharp, decisive motion. The hand sign for ‘trust.’”

Curiously, it did not include the little flourish that made it an order, so it was merely a request. Ambassador Catra felt these two were trustworthy, but Zira had the final say.

“These children are in a very delicate state. You’re in my infirmary,” Zira said, keeping her voice even, her spine straight. “I expect full cooperation. If I ask you to step back, you do so immediately. No magic unless I say otherwise.”

Too rigid. Too sharp. A mistake. At the moment the words left her mouth, she saw the downturn in the corners of the man’s mouth. The slight frown line between the woman’s eyebrows. Zira’s pulse ticked hard at her throat, but she rolled her shoulders back, adjusting, smoothing the edges of her voice. 

“I only ask,” she made herself pause between words, smoothing her tone, “because we don’t know how it might affect the children.”

Micah gave a small, respectful nod. “Understood.”

“Yes, of course.” Casta agreed.

“All right, then. Follow me. The older ones are outside for recreation.” She turned on her heel and led them deeper inside, not trusting herself to look back.

“These are the youngest children. They generally nap right now. When they wake up, we send them outside to play until supper time.” Zira murmured to the visitors as they passed the dimly lit room. 

Their paws soundless on the floor, Melog trotted out,  and immediately rubbed their cheek against Catra’s. Their strange, chirping growl filled the space between them.

Catra scratched behind their ears. “Yeah? That’s good to hear!” She turned to Zira. “Melog says they’re pretty sure most of the kids have gotten their sleep cycles back.”

“That purring they do really helps. It takes their bodies out of the fight-or-flight state they were stuck in.”

Micah’s voice was quiet. Heavy. “One of the things the chips did was push distress chemicals into overdrive.”

Zira looked at him sharply. Not knowing if she was glad or scared that they knew that.

His expression didn’t change. “It made them better workers. Better fighters. They worked until they collapsed from fatigue, and they didn’t consume as many rations.”

Silence settled over them, thick and suffocating.

“Yeah,” Catra whispered, her ears pinned back. “That makes sense. He… hated that I had to sleep.” Melog’s mane flared red and spiky in reaction. Then she leaned into Castaspella, the movement automatic, like someone pressing into warmth against a sudden chill.

The sorceress didn’t hesitate. She wrapped an arm around Catra, careful but sure. The easy gesture reassured Zira, too. Obviously, Catra was close to this person. 

Micah wiped his hands on his tunic as though his palms were damp.

Still pressed against Catra, Melog tilted their head and rubbed their cheek against hers, a low, soothing rumble vibrating through their chest. The sound filled the quiet, steady, and grounding. Their mane smoothed, shifting back to soft blue.

Melog touched her cheek with their tongue, then did the same to Casta, who let out a quiet giggle as though tickled. 

The back door led to the small yard set aside for the children to play in. Lonnie had sent a work crew over to build a fence and some play equipment. Play was a vital activity for this developmental age. 

Or at least it was supposed to be. In the grassy space, far too few did more than sit on the grass and stare vaguely at the sky.

“Every afternoon,” Zira told the visitors, “We bring the children outside for a couple of hours.” 

The yard was far too quiet for the number of small children gathered. No laughter. No chasing. No shrieking games of tag. Most of them just sat listlessly, though Zira noticed almost all of them clutched their new Catra plushies.

A soft, mournful sound escaped Castaspella. “Oh, no. They’re so quiet.”

Zira heard the grief in her voice before she even turned to look.

“How long have they been like this?” Casta asked.

“Probably since their chips came off.”

Micah stepped forward without a word, moving toward the nearest child. A little beastfolk child with wild hair and sharp teeth crouched in the dirt, drawing figures with a stick.

Without hesitation, Micah lowered himself onto the dusty ground beside him, robes and dignity forgotten. He did not speak or try to make the boy look at him. He simply took his staff and began drawing his own designs in the dirt.

A soft, indulgent smile crossed over the woman’s lips, and she followed suit, walking over to sit on the bench off to the side. She had a bag with her and pulled out two sticks that had some fabric attached.

The three teachers, posted around the yard, glanced at Zira for direction, their eyes darting between her and the unexpected visitors. Nervous. Wary. Watching. 

Zira couldn’t blame them. They had never been this close to camp command before. Barely more than children themselves, they were senior cadets who had a knack for this kind of care.

“These are Micah and Casta,” Zira told them. “They’re…”

She had not thought to warn the three apprentice caregivers about the visitors, assuming the strangers would observe the kids from a polite distance, standing at the edge of the yard or behind the glass wall in one of the conference rooms. Discussing their findings with each other or her and her assistants.

Not this. Not walking straight into the middle of the children and plonking themselves down like they were cadets themselves.

No way was she going to tell the three teenagers that sorcerers were in camp. She needed a word that wouldn’t scare the living shit out of the cadets.

“Consultants,” Castaspella supplied serenely, as though she understood exactly why Zira hesitated.

The teachers exchanged uncertain glances.

“Like medic consultants?” one of them asked, hesitant.

“Yep,” Catra cut in firmly, throwing a quick glance at Zira and Kyle.

“Yeah,” Kyle added, giving the three cadets one of his reassuring smiles. “The Alliance sent them because they have experience with this kind of thing.”

The three teenagers looked at each other uneasily. “Does this happen a lot to Alliance kids?” one of them whispered, horrified. 

Both sorcerers winced. They exchanged a look, seemingly caught off guard by the obvious question.

“No,” Micah said heavily. “It’s just… most of the people of Mystacor were chipped. We’ve had kids struggling, too.”

Oh. 

Suddenly, the universe came into sharper focus for Zira. Her voice was quieter when she asked, “Were… you chipped?”

Casta shook her head. “Not me.” She looked at the man.

Micah nodded. Never pausing from making those idle marks in the dirt. “We’re still trying to figure out the after-effects”

That would explain their interest, especially if Alliance children were having similar problems.

Beside him, the little boy had started to glance over at Micah. Furtive, uncertain, but watching. His curiosity had drawn the attention of others, too.

“Do you mind if we stay out here for a bit?” Casta glanced around at the children, who were beginning to eye her as well. “It’s such a lovely afternoon.”

Zira understood, now ,or at least thought she did. They wanted to see how the children reacted to new stimuli in real-time.

That made sense. But it also meant Zira had to keep an eye on them. And she was so fucking tired. But it would not be the first time she had worked a thirty-six. 

“All right,” she said slowly. “The kids are out here for another hour, so you can sit with them as long as you like.”

She turned to Nixal, who had been standing quietly behind her. “You can stay to keep an eye on things. Come get me if there are any problems.” She did not see that hovering out here would help, but she could not bring herself to leave the children alone with them. She could stay in her office and work on charts.

The three teenage teachers visibly relaxed ,shoulders dropping, their tension fading. Apparently, having an actual grown-up here made them feel better about interacting with the visitors.

Micah continued to trace patterns in the dirt, his movements slow and deliberate. The little beast-child beside him wasn’t quite looking at him, but he wasn’t ignoring him either. Instead, he dragged his stick in the dirt, pausing occasionally to glance ,furtively, cautiously ,at Micah’s markings.

Casta sat on the bench, fiddling with the two sticks in her hand. Zira saw that a string led from the sticks to the bag.

Oh.

Zira’s mother had done that. New yarn, soft against her cheek. The steady rhythm of her mother’s hands guided hers. The warmth of being curled up beside her, watching as, stitch by stitch, something whole took shape.

"In through the front door, once around the back…" Her mother’s voice was soft and patient, weaving the rhyme into the movement. "…peek through the window."

Knitting. That was what her mother called it.

"Off jumps Jack!"

And then the Horde came. And the stitches unraveled.

The people who they had been told would defend her village never came. No armies, no banners, no brilliant sorcerers sweeping in to save them. So her father and mother had thrown themselves into the only cause left to them: avenging themselves against those who had abandoned them. It was the Princesses who killed her father. After his loss, a broken heart killed her mother.

A breath of warmth ghosted against her ear.

“Zira?” Catra’s voice; low, quiet, careful.

Of course, the hybrids would smell her distress. Forcing her body to steady, Zira gritted, “I’m fine.”

Catra didn’t buy it. Her ears twitched, and she lifted one eyebrow, her tail flicking behind her in quiet uncertainty.

Kyle came to her rescue. “I know you’re busy,” he said. “We shouldn’t take you away from your other duties.”

“Yes, sir.” Zira agreed gratefully. “I’ll just be in my office. Charting.” Zira’s voice came out rougher than she meant. She wanted to hide in her office and cry for a while, although she did not know why. 

Nyxal cleared her throat. “Zira, you’ve been here since last night.”

Zira shrugged. She never counted. But, Nyxal did. Damn the girl. She’d been complaining about Zira working too many long shifts.  Threatening to make a fuss if she did not take a couple of rest days. 

Kyle rolled his eyes and said, “Zira, you should go. Take the morning off tomorrow.”

She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She just nodded.

But Catra glanced between the visitors and Zira, her ears flicking. “I told Adora to meet us over here,” she said. “I can stay and make sure they get to dinner and stuff.”

That handled a multitude of problems at once. “Yes, ma’am.” At the clear dismissal, she turned to her office to close her files. But instead of heading to her bunk, her feet carried her somewhere else. Somewhere quieter, somewhere with a bottle.

For some reason, as they followed Kyle through the settlement, Micah remembered Elberon. The horror of that ambush haunted his nightmares. The villagers Prime puppeted weren’t fighters. They had been chipped, pressed into service, and their bodies turned into weapons against their own people.

He had fought for them. Argued for them. Left as few casualties as possible. But these people? They would never have gotten the same grace from him. He would have seen them all as soldiers. Even the specialists ,people who, anywhere else on Etheria, would have been civilians. And he had fought them like soldiers, hadn’t he?

Every. Single. One.

The Arid Plains had felt so far away. The Horde had expanded, unchecked, and no one had stopped them. Mystacor and the Princesses had debated and hesitated until the war reached their doorstep. Then, they formed the First Alliance.

They beat the Horde back and set Hordak’s plans back years. But they never pressed the advantage, never reclaimed lost ground. Battle plans never accounted for the people living under Horde rule. The Second Alliance continued the pattern. As soon as the Horde annexed a territory, it was as if the people who used to live there stopped existing. Etheria had abandoned these people. Left them to Hordak’s oppression. 

During Micah’s imprisonment on Beast Island, he saw many Horde soldiers. None made it long. They would arrive alone, and within weeks or months at best, they would give in to the Signal.

Micah had always believed it was the island itself that broke them. He always assumed his sorcery had protected him. Maybe it had been because solitude was part of being a sorcerer. It was a craft that required the utmost concentration. He understood how to be alone. 

But now, as he saw the Hordies (Hordefolk, he mentally corrected himself) going about their lives, he wondered: Had it been the isolation? Was it the loneliness that killed them? As they passed the groups of people in their much-repaired Horde uniforms, he realized that all they had was each other. If you came from a place where even sleeping and bathing were done as a group, adapting to solitude would be much more difficult. 

When he told Angie about this mission, she immediately encouraged him to go. He knew that Angella, like himself, unexpectedly craved alone time. After so long of enforced solitude, realizing how overwhelming being social could be was disconcerting. 

On the hours-long skiff ride, he had passed the time reading the reports Catra brought with her. Failure to thrive. He had heard the term used for infants. He had never imagined it could apply to children old enough to walk, to speak, to understand how much they had already lost.

They weren’t sick, weren’t physically injured; they just… stopped living.

Micah followed Zira into the yard, and stopped cold.

No laughter. No shrieking games of tag. Just listless, silent children, some staring at the ground, others at nothing at all. Most of them clutched little brown plushies, gripping them like a drowning man clings to a raft.

He had read the reports and understood, on a logical level, the conditions these children had been found in: the dehydration and malnutrition. But reading it in a report and seeing it with his own eyes were two very different things. Now, Micah truly understood what failure to thrive looked like.

Micah had thought the war ended when Prime was defeated. He was wrong. For these kids, for the people here, the war wasn’t over. It had simply changed.

He sat down next to the little beast-child; he looked maybe five or six? The boy was drawing patterns, so Micah did likewise, trying to ignore the pang of regret for all the years he missed in his daughter’s life.

The afternoon was warm, the dirt cool beneath his fingers. Micah’s breath fell into a quiet rhythm, letting himself drift.

Waiting. 

The hesitant shuffle of small feet, then another. Almost there.

Another step.

“You wanna play?” Micah asked softly, turning his head to smile.

The boy stared at him, blinking rapidly. Then he jumped and screamed. A piercing, full-throated scream of abject fear. He bolted, stumbling, before racing to one of the three teenagers watching over the kids.

Micah’s heart slammed against his ribs. He scrambled to his feet, hands lifted in instinctive apology. What had he done?

The howling child had buried his head in the caregiver’s throat, but the three teens were grinning like fiends at one another, even as the girl carrying him, another one of the beastfolk with short black hair and a scar over her nose, patted his back and rocked him to try to calm him.  “Did you see that?” she whispered like she almost couldn’t believe it.

The second teen, a tall and wiry full human, let out a slow breath.“Yeah,” he said, voice halfway between awe and relief.

Micah’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

“That’s the first time he’s acted normal.”

“…Normal?” Castaspella had heard the fuss and came hurrying over.

“He’s barely reacted to anything for weeks,” the girl explained.

The teen met Micah’s gaze, searching for understanding. “And then you startled him,” she said simply. 

A slow smile came over Casta’s face. “And he ran to someone he trusted? ”

“Stranger anxiety.” The girl grinned. “Completely normal for his age.”

The tall teen added, “First time he’s actually recognized a stranger as a stranger.” 

Another beat.

Then, the third teen laughed. “And damn, beast kids are loud.” He glanced at the child again, now pressed against the girl’s chest, face hidden, still sniffling.

Micah realized how deeply unprepared he was to understand what these kids had actually gone through. He had expected them to be injured, hurt, struggling ,not… just gone.

Micah was not looking for Adora when he wandered the camp later that night. When she had called up to tell Catra she was too busy to have dinner with them, it only confirmed that she was avoiding him. He also had a good idea why. 

He’d seen what she’d gone through after she broke the First One's sword. He'd seen how she was when she was desperately trying to look okay. She masked it well, but he could see how her insecurity ate at her. Sometime after the evacuation of Bright Moon, he heard Shadow Weaver berating Adora. He stormed into the tent and read the witch the Riot Act for ruining morale. When he turned, Adora was gone. 

In the days and months afterward, he tried to reassure her that he trusted her. That he valued her. Unfortunately, now he realized he had fumbled badly. Shadow Weaver had that way of sticking the knife in where no one could see. He had no idea how to fix it, so he decided to be patient until Adora made the first move.

After supper, he spent most of the evening processing what he had seen in the yard. The way the children didn’t play. The way they barely responded. The way even something as simple as a normal startle reaction had been a breakthrough.

Casta had urged him to get some rest, but he had needed air. A walk. A way to sort through everything in his head. Instead, he ended up here.

The fire crackled in front of him, flickering light casting long shadows across the camp. The air smelled like ash, wood smoke, and something bitter; cheap alcohol evaporating into the night.

Zira sat at one of the makeshift tables, just a plank set up on bricks, a bottle in hand, gaze distant. She noticed him before he could decide whether to leave. Her eyes flicked up, expression unreadable. For a moment, she just stared at him. Then she took another swig from the bottle, slow and deliberate.

Micah hesitated. He wasn’t sure what to say. “Should I ask what’s in that?” he said finally, mostly to fill the silence.

Zira snorted. “Something medically inadvisable,” she said dryly.

Someone at the table chuckled.

Micah exhaled through his nose. “That bad of a day?”

Zira swirled the bottle, watching the liquid slosh against the glass. “…That bad of a life,” she muttered.

Micah didn’t argue. He had no right to.

“Can I sit?” he asked quietly.

The medic shrugged. “Whatever.” Her voice was rough, hoarse, like she’d been speaking for hours, even though she’d barely said anything at all.

“So, your patients. Where did they come from? How did they end up here?”

“The kids?” She didn’t look at him. “I found some of them.” She exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through her curly red hair. “Some of them got sent to me.” Her fingers curled into a fist against her knee. She wasn’t answering the question.

"Do you know who they are?"

A beat too long passed before she responded. "I don’t even know if they’re Horde or Alliance, to be honest." She barked a humorless laugh.

"Does it matter?" Micah asked.

"Not really," she admitted. "It might help if we could find their families." Her posture was tighter, and her jaw clenched. "I’m pretty sure most of them don't have families left."

Micah hesitated. “But you’re keeping them alive.” 

Zira’s entire body went rigid. When she turned to him, her lips were pulled back in a snarl. "Keeping them alive?" A bitter cackle burst from her lips.

The table went still.

Shoving to her feet, bottle in hand, Zira turned, and flung it at the bonfire. It hit the fire with a sharp crack, glass shattering, flames licking up in a sudden burst of light. Her hand lingered in the air for a second before dropping back to her side. She took a breath, shaking her head. "Do you have any idea how many kids I’ve boxed up and sent to the incinerator?" she hissed.

Incinerator? Micah winced.

Instead of meeting his gaze, she stared into the flames where she had thrown her bottle. "I’ve lost some to dehydration and malnutrition." Her voice was quieter now, but the words hit harder. "But it’s been long enough that most of the weak ones…" She swallowed, her throat working around the words. "…They already died."

Micah stared into the fire. "…I’m sorry."

Zira snorted. "Yeah." She walked over to the tub of ice and grabbed another bottle. She twisted off the cap and drank deep, swallowing half the bottle in a single pull. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “And now the Alliance is going to swoop in and save the day with magic, I suppose?”

A voice came from the darkness. "Hey, Zira?" A soldier, lingering just out of the fire’s glow. One of her assistants by the medic’s uniform he wore. "Maybe you oughta take a walk?"

The tone was gentle. Cautious. Zira either didn’t hear or chose to ignore them. Tears glinted on her face in the shifting firelight. She wiped her cheeks with her free hand and took another long swallow.

Micah tensed. This wasn’t drunken rage. This was something that had been burning for a long, long time. 

"I suppose the sorcerers are just going to come in and rip their memories away, are they?" Her voice was rising now, cutting sharp. "That’ll be just fine, if they don’t remember, then there’s no need to worry about it, is there?" Her laugh was jagged, bitter. "That’s what Shadow Weaver always said."

A sob escaped her throat. She scrubbed at her face again, fingers digging in like she could erase the emotion from her skin. "What do you want from me?" The words cracked like something breaking. "Do you want me to tell you I’m fine with running your ugly little magic experiments on them?"

Micah inhaled sharply. Ripping memories away? He feared he had an idea of what she meant.

"Do you want to hear which ones are orphans so you don’t have to worry about the parents getting fussy?" Her breath hitched. "That was Shadow W-Weaver’s favorite thing."

Silence.

The others at the table watched grimly like they’d seen this before, waiting to see how far she’d go.

Micah wasn’t sure what to say. He had not considered how much the Hordefolk would fear magic. He had known on some level. But that was not the same as seeing it like this.  If the only sorcerer you ever met was Shadow Weaver, you’d obviously fear it.

"Zira."

Micah turned, instinctively straightening at the sound of Adora’s voice. Striding to the edge of the firelight, sharp and efficient, she stepped between them like she was assessing a battlefield, speaking with the kind of authority that made people obey.

“Enough. ”

And Zira, angry, volatile, already spiraling, hesitated.

Adora didn’t wait for an argument. She turned to Micah, her hands held behind her back, spine ramrod straight in what Micah always thought of as her “Force Captain mode.”

"Your Majesty?" Her tone was painfully formal. The word settled, sinking into the space between them. He saw her eyes flick, taking in the crowd's reactions. The young woman hadn’t spoken particularly loudly, but the words might as well have been shouted. The Hordefolk around them stiffened. Some glanced at each other, then at Zira, then back to Adora.

She had outed him, but he could not be angry at her. Not when two words stopped Zira from swinging on him and getting hauled up before the camp’s tribunal or whatever passed for one here. Micah did not want that. It was clear that the woman was overtired and overworked. Drowning in grief and far past the point where hope was any use.

Adora was still speaking, her smooth voice carefully calibrated for the onlookers. "Is everything all right?"

They were watching him now. Watching to see if he would punish Zira. Watching to see if he would let it go. Watching to see if he was still a king.

“Yes,” he said automatically. “It’s fine. Doctor Zira and I were… having a discussion.” Perhaps he could soften this into an academic debate.

He glanced at Zira. Firelight reflected from her pupils and her expression was stricken. A nervous murmur spread through the gathered Hordefolk; whispers and speculation swirled like the smoke of the bonfire.

“Castaspella’s been looking for you,” Adora said quietly. “I know you have more important things to do,” 

Micah hesitated at the blatant request to leave, not because he disagreed, but because he had never heard that tone from her.

And then, Adora fixed Zira with a cold, impassive glare. The medic’s mouth tightened as her eyes darted between Adora and himself

When Adora turned back to him, although her tone had not changed, her eyes were pleading. "You can leave this with me, sir."  

Oh.

Clever. 

A pang of guilt accompanied the realization that he could let Adora handle Zira, take the burden herself. This way, he could look magnanimous, not weak.  Leave the discipline to Adora.  Let her handle it in a way the surrounding Hordefolk would respect without him losing face.

No harm, no foul.

“Yes, of course, Commander,” he said formally. “I’ll leave it to you.”

The crowd around him seemed to relax. He could feel the relief settle as they watched him leave.

Playing hide-and-seek with Micah and Aunt Casta was exhausting.

Adora had kept herself busy on purpose, staying out of their way. Catra had texted her to say that both of them had retired to the guest quarters, which meant the coast was clear for a quick dash into the mess tent. She grabbed something to go, and a few extra ration bars so she wouldn’t have to risk breakfast tomorrow.

This was supposed to be a low-profile visit, a quick assessment. There would be no special events or ceremonies. Casta and Micah are meeting with Zira to check what could be done for the children and brainstorm cases.

“Adora? Ma’am?”

She turned, tucking the bars into her coat. “Hi, Trevor!” she said, smiling, but it faded when she saw his face. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Doctor Zira,” he said quickly. “She’s… well, she’s mouthing off to one of the visiting VIPs. She’s been drinking. And she worked like the last forty hours.” He hesitated, his tone turning more cautious. “She’s not thinking straight, ma’am.”

That could be bad. Adora had gotten a little taste of Zira’s temper the other nigh,t and no one in the Horde was exactly known for tact on a good day.

“Which VIP?” Adora asked.

“The man. I didn’t get his name.”

Fuck. 

Micah was easy going, usually. It would probably roll off his back.

But what if it didn’t?

Or worse; what if it made him look weak? Among Hordefolk, weakness wasn’t forgiven. If the rumor mill turned against him, it could spiral. And even though Micah had abdicated his throne to Glimmer, there was no telling what this could do to the treaty.

They arrived at the bonfire just in time to hear Zira’s voice rising, sharp and angry:

“Do you want to hear which ones are orphans so you don’t have to worry about the parents getting fussy?” Zira was growling. “That was Shadow W-Weaver’s favorite thing.”

The name hit like ice water down Adora’s spine. Micah’s face had gone blank. Frozen.

Before he could reply, Adora stepped forward, voice cutting through the night like a blade.

“Zira. Enough.”

Zira froze instinctively at the words and the voice's quiet ring of command. Commander Adora regarded her with an unreadable expression before turning to the man, her posture parade ground formal.

“Your Majesty. “

Her stomach lurched as if she’d just been yanked back from the edge of a cliff. The name snapped into place, hitting like a punch to the gut.

Was she stupid? How had she not figured it out sooner? The sorcerer’s name was Micah.

Micah of Mystacor. 

King Micah.

Infamous war mage. Bloody-handed ruler of Bright Moon. The general of her armies. Captured at last, he spent a decade on Beast Island. And lived.

And she had yelled at him.

Oh, fuck.

The woman with him… She had called herself Casta? The bolt slid into place. Casta… spella?

Castaspella. Of Mysta-fucking-cor? Is that who had been visiting her infirmary?

Only long years of controlling her emotions stopped her from spiraling into a panic attack.

Adora was still speaking, her voice even, smooth and loud enough for the crowd to hear. "Is everything all right?" She asked the king. Her eyes flicked to the others who were gathered.

The murmur of conversation around them shifted. Subtle coded language, quiet adjustments, glances exchanged. A few fragments reached her ears.

"Did she say…?"

 "Oh, stars."

 "The cooler, at least."

The cooler? She should be so lucky. No, this was worse than that. A career-ending mistake. She’d lose her assignment, probably her specialist qualification.

Micah did not seem easily offended. But she had seen people vanish for less. 

Damn it. Lonnie just promoted her to Refuge’s Chief Medic. The best position she’d ever had. And she was about to throw it all away because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

Micah’s voice was careful. “Yes. It’s fine. Doctor Zira and I were just…” 

He stopped. And looked at her. Not like a man weighing his words. Like a man deciding what to do with something broken. The silence stretched too long. Her pulse hammered at her throat.  Maybe he’d turn her into another patient on her own table, if anything was left to treat.

“…Having a discussion.”

That was one way to put it.

Adora’s voice cut clean through the moment. Respectful. Controlled. “Castaspella is looking for you.”

Micah’s gaze flicked to her, narrowed slightly. Assessing. Weighing. Zira braced herself.

“I know you have more important things to do,” Adora finished.

More important than dealing with an insubordinate medic, hopefully. 

A slow beat passed. Then, Adora added, “You can leave this with me.”

The crowd was silent now. Watching. Waiting.

Micah nodded once. Acknowledging the oblique request Adora had just given. “Yes, of course, Commander,” he said formally. “I’ll leave it to you.” Without another word, he turned and strode toward the visitors’ quarters.

Zira swallowed hard. Adora wasn’t even her commanding officer. Technically she did not have the right to intervene. But Micah had allowed it. Trusted her to handle it. Publicly. The kind of thing a high-ranking officer did when he expected the matter to be resolved quietly and competently.

Which meant… Adora was expected to handle her.  

Zira felt her pulse in her ears. She set her teeth and braced for a strike.

“Hey, Trevor? Can you get me some of whatever Zira’s been drinking? And one for her, too?”

What? 

Trevor straightened in surprise before nodding. “Sure thing, ma’am.”

"Commander Adora," Zira croaked, barely able to get the words out. "I’m so sorry." 

The young commander probably saved Zira from being turned into a bug and squashed underfoot. And Zira would have deserved it for her sheer stupidity.  What the hell was happening? Her fingers grasped the bottle automatically, but her brain was still catching up. What was this game?

Adora plopped down in Micah’s abandoned seat and unwrapped a covered plate. “Can we sit down?” she asked. “I was heading back to my quarters with my dinner when Trevor found me, and I’m hungry.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Zira forced herself to sit. She would take whatever was coming. She just wanted to get it over with.

Adora took a sip from her bottle, then raised an eyebrow at Trevor. “Oh, I like this one!” she said, perking up and holding the bottle to look at it. “What is it?”

Trevor shifted his weight beside her. “Cider, ma’am. The farmers make it from apples, I guess.” 

Adora took another sip. “Really? It’s a lot sweeter than what I’ve had before.”

What. The. Fuck?

Zira had just yelled at a king , and half the camp had seen it. And now Adora was talking about the quality of their alcohol? 

Fingers clenched around her bottle, she wondered if she was being toyed with. Was Adora going to let her sit here and stew in it? Shadow Weaver had done that, had entire conversations before handing down punishment, lulling her targets into a false sense of security.

"Ma’am?" Zira squared her shoulders. Her head was heavy, and her eyes burned. At least if she got time in the cooler she could sleep.

Adora paused, raising an eyebrow.

"I’m sorry." That was probably the wrong thing to say, but Zira forged on. "I know I’m due punishment. What are you going to do to me?"

The words felt like surrender, but she needed to know. The camp didn’t have a proper cell. But any supply closet would serve for solitary if they wanted to make a point. And honestly? Thirty days in the cooler sounded fantastic right now.

Adora narrowed her eyes. "Trevor came to get me because he was afraid you’d get yourself in trouble."

Zira let out a slow breath. "I guess I did."

Adora studied her for a long moment. Then, finally: “He said I should go easy on you because you’ve been working stupid long shifts.”

Oh. Trevor.

Zira’s jaw clenched, guilt curling in her gut. The kid had tried to cover for her. She hoped he wasn’t going to get blowback from this.

"Yes, ma’am." She forced her voice to stay steady. "Specialist Trevor is a good apprentice." She would have to thank him later. Assuming she didn’t get busted down to Specialist 8 and permanently reassigned to latrine duty.

"So, I’m giving you three days punishment duty"

“Three days?” Zira’s breath caught, and she nearly laughed out loud. All the things she had braced for: months of punishment duty or the cooler. A demotion. Just three days? She could do anything for three days.

Adora held up a finger. She wasn’t finished. “Three days’ work suspension. No shifts. No checking in. The only thing I want you to do is consult with Casta on the aid package because I know there isn’t anyone else who understands what you need."

Zira blinked. This was not a punishment. This was time off. Before she could form a response, Adora spoke again.

“I know we didn’t get off on the best foot.” A pause. Long enough for Zira to brace for something worse. “But I can see you care about the kids.” The blonde woman looked down. “That’s important.” Adora leaned back, twisting the cap off her bottle. “I just got through talking with Casta. She said she has personnel she can send you.”

"What kind of personnel?" Zira’s spine snapped straight. "More sorcerers?" she demanded. She wanted to argue. Wanted to say something sharp, something defiant, anything to feel like she still had control, but she could not afford to antagonize Adora after such a monumental fuck up.

Adora shook her head, a faint smile on her face. “No. Mystacor trains more than just sorcerers.A lot of the Alliance medics get their certification there. Casta mentioned sending people who could help the kids with their speech. Maybe some who help with mobility issues." Adora took another sip of cider. "They’ve also got pediatric specialists. No sorcerers unless you ask for them."

This couldn’t be real. Zira blinked and took a long swallow from her bottle. "Why are you doing this?"

Adora’s brows knit together slightly like she didn’t understand the question.

Frustrated and confused, Zira huffed and asked, "Why cover for me? Why bring me medics? Why ," She gestured vaguely. "Any of this?"

Adora set her bottle down, watching her carefully. "I meant what I said," she said simply. "You care about the kids. That means something."

There were too many emotions swirling in Zira’s chest, and she had to look away from the young commander’s serious eyes. For the second time today, she tried to swallow the lump down when all she wanted was to hide in her office and cry. "...Thank you."

Adora’s lips curved into a little half smile. "I’ll let Casta know you’ll be helping her coordinate."

Zira nodded, not trusting her voice.

Someone near the fire took a long sip from their drink and whistled. "You sure she ain’t Horde?"

The words weren’t meant to be heard, but Zira did. Her head snapped up, eyes darting toward the speaker: a veteran, arms crossed, watching Adora as if she had just proven something undeniable. The camp had already been murmuring. 

 Adora had gone up against King Micah of Bright Moon. For Zira.

Looking around, Zira could see the quiet nods. Hear people murmuring that Adora had saved her. It was the kind of move a good CO might use to protect one of their people from severe punishment.

Everyone knew the stories about sorcerers; the same ones Zira knew. And now, as far as the Hordefolk were concerned, that meant one thing:

Commander Adora had just prevented an execution.

After a few more swallows from her bottle, Zira managed, “Thank you.”

"Just… forget it." Adora shook her head, exasperated. "Nobody owes me anything for looking after my people." The words left her without hesitation. So casual. So matter-of-fact. Like she didn’t even realize what she had just admitted.

Zira did. As did the Hordefolk gathered around the fire. There was a beat of silence; no one knew how to respond.

Adora sighed again. Long. Tired. And was it Zira’s imagination, or were Adora’s hands shaking?

Shit. How much had Adora’s interference just cost her? 

Rumors that Adora had been sent out here because of her relationship with Catra had abounded. Whether it was because She Ra had her exiled, or that Catra had brought her here in a bureaucratic sleight of hand was a subject of debate, but it was obvious that Adora was no mere officer. 

"Anyway," Adora said, shifting gears with deliberate nonchalance, "from what Trevor says, you only ever get angry when you’re tired. So, go on. Get some rest. Okay?"

The light, teasing tone caught Zira off guard. She would have thought Adora was cajoling her, the same way Nyxal did. A few people nearby tittered, relief slipping into their voices at the Commander’s effortless defusing of the tension.

"Yeah, Zira," someone called, standing near Trevor. "Commander Adora is right. You’ll end up finding a Princess to pick on if you don’t go to bed!"

Adora reached out and placed a hand on Zira’s wrist, smiling. "They’re not wrong."

Zira half-smiled at the joke. "Yeah? Where am I going to find a Princess out here?"

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

"Didn’t you know?" someone shouted. "Adora is She-Ra!"

Adora’s cheeks flamed red. But she handled it like any soldier, giving back as good as they dished out.

"Don’t you make me get my sword out!" She pantomimed holding a sword and made swishing noises. "Lonnie ordered me not to transform, and I do not want to get in trouble with her."

The circle erupted in laughter at Adora’s foolishness. And just like that, the last of the tension melted away. Someone thumped another bottle of cider in front of Adora, laughing as they clapped her on the back. "Good one, Commander!"

Across the fire, Trevor shook his head, a little half smile on his face, as though he knew something they didn't. Zira caught the look but couldn’t quite place what it meant. He turned and disappeared into the shadows before she could think to ask.

Zira sat there, still holding her bottle and still processing. She had nearly ruined everything. Adora had saved her.

Chapter Text

“Fuck me…” Zira groaned, blinking blearily at the time on her commpad. She was two hours late for her shift.

Why didn’t anyone wake her? Why the fuck hadn’t her alarm gone off? Had no one even banged on her door?  

Her head pounded. Her stomach lurched in protest. Last night was a blur but judging by the full glass of water and tablets on the table beside her bed, Nyxal must have put her to bed.

She squinted. One anti-nausea, one headache. Gods bless her.

The electrolyte solution tasted amazing. Not a good sign. Definitely dehydrated. She lay for a few minutes, waiting until the meds kicked in, and letting her memory catch up.

The conversations she’d had last night came back in jagged pieces. She knew better than to drink on that little sleep. Wincing, she remembered the conversation with King Micah, and then Commander Adora showed up and stopped her from committing a career-ending mistake.

She was suspended… That was why no one woke her. For the next three days, she was off.

Zira had never had three days in a row off before.

Anxiety pressed on her chest. That could not be right. It was too good to be true. 

Deciding she needed to at least check in, she donned clean scrubs and quickly brushed her curls, twisting them into a bun before striding through the door. One perk of running the infirmary was commandeering one of the empty offices as a sleeping room. She'd be living on that cot in the on-call room if she’d had to trek across half the camp from the command tents.

She headed straight for the admin office, which she and Nyxal shared.

“Out,” the canid said, glaring at her the second she walked in. “The Commander says you’re suspended for the next three days. Lonnie approved it. You’re not allowed in unless it’s to play with the kids.”

Zira froze, her hand halfway to her morning coffee. 

“And!” Nyxal grinned, sharp canines flashing. “Your newly promoted Official Second will be taking over while you’re off duty.”

“My…?

Brand new insignia glinted gold, pinned to Nyxal’s shirt and the young woman held it up. The symbol of her doctoral qualifications. She had taken the test months ago. “Lonnie said my promotion came through!”

Zira squinted at the pin, the implications trying to wrangle themselves into place in her sluggish brain. The ball of anxiety in her chest pulled tight.

The grin vanished as Nyxal took a half-step forward. “Hey…”

“I’m sorry,” Zira sniffed. “I’m being stupid. I just… I’m so glad.”

A memory surfaced   the day Nyxal had shown up at Refuge, still dusted in ash and engine grease, hauling half her settlement on a scavenged transport. Zira barely knew her name back then. Just another low-level specialist offering to scrub floors or haul crates. She’d shyly mentioned she had “a little medic training” from the agricultural district   and left out the part where she’d been running their entire clinic solo. 

It had only taken a few weeks for Zira to understand how much she actually knew and realize the youngster should’ve been promoted a long time ago. When Zira told her she gave Lonnie the paperwork for promotion, Nyxal had thanked Zira for trying, but she was a hybrid, and that still meant invisible barriers. Nyxal hit them again and again, passed over for lead assignments, sidelined during inspections, paperwork “lost” or “delayed” every time her name came up for advancement. 

Nyxal never asked for credit. She just worked. Quiet, tireless, precise. The kind of medic people trusted because she never made them feel small.

And now

“I’m so glad.” The fact that Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio stuck their necks out for the medics was not lost on Zira. She had heard from other medics what happened in some of the other resettlement camps: power struggles, corruption, inadequate supplies, and even outright clashes with Alliance forces. Some weren’t much better than work camps.

Scorpia and the council were trying to weed out the corruption, but it was slow going. Kyle, Lonnie, and Rogelio took their responsibilities seriously. That made all the difference. They weren’t lining their pockets or expanding their fiefdoms, and they sure as hell weren’t looking the other way when someone else tried. Her infirmary had enough survivors of nightmares. She wouldn’t let it become another one of those camps.

A silence fell between them. Zira lost for words: “I’ll just go look at the kids. That's okay with you, Doctor Nyxal?”

The young woman’s face lit up at the honorific. “Yes, ma’am!” she said.

A crooked smile crossed Zira’s face, and she raised her coffee in salute. “You’ve got the infirmary. Try not to reorganize everything just to make me crazy.”

“No promises,” Nyxal called after her.

The children were at morning assembly in the yard   or at least what passed for it with these very young kids. Their three teenage teachers led them in one of the morning songs. Zira caught the familiar tune as she drew closer.

At first, she braced herself   already exhausted, already brittle. She didn’t need more drills. Didn’t need the rote chants of a past she was barely keeping at bay. She had heard the melody dozens of times in the background since arriving. Never listened. Not really.

The kids weren’t singing in perfect unison   a few were distracted, one was swaying offbeat, some of the toddlers clapped at the wrong moments   but it didn’t matter. Most of them, even the ones who did not speak, were engaged. Even the attempt at clapping, marching in place, or making the motions that went with the words was something. And Zira noticed that some of the persistently nonverbal children were mouthing the words.

Melog’s presence was helping them, at this age, merely being able to sleep peacefully without pharmaceutical intervention was key.

Zira stood at the edge of the assembly space, coffee cooling in her hand. The children’s voices lifted around her; high, uneven, full of joy. This time, she actually listened.

They had changed the words.

No longer was it the hard-edged march that had been drilled into every cadet since the age of two. The melody was the same, but the words floated softer, reshaped. Someone, maybe all three teachers together, had rewritten it for the children.

The new lyrics kept the cadence but swapped triumph for belonging, conquest for care:

“We stand in line, we lift as one,
Not to fight, but greet the dawn.
No need to bow, no bent-down knee,
We rise, we build, we choose to be.”

She blinked and her lips parted in silent disbelief as the words sank in. The rhythm was the same   still drilled into her bones from endless morning marches   but the meaning? It had been rewritten.

Reclaimed.

And then she was crying.

“Doctor Zira?” A voice floated past her. “Are you… all right?”

She wasn’t all right. The children were singing something new, and it split her open. “I-I-I…” she could not speak, and a sob emerged on the exhale and then 

Arms settled around her, catching her. She sobbed into the soft, slick, unfamiliar fabric against her cheek. The words of the song were destroying her.

“All right,” the voice said. Not Nyxal. Firm and in control. “Come here.” The arms led her to her own office. “Sit.”

Zira collapsed into the seat, coffee still clutched in one hand, trembling. Gentle hands relieved her of it. She tried to apologize, to explain, to pull herself together   but nothing made it past her throat.

Beside the chair knelt the sorceress. Castaspella. Of Mystacor.

Kneeling. Beside Zira. Her hands loose, open on her thighs, not touching, not crowding. Just there.

It was some time before Zira’s sobs stopped. And in all that time, the warm hand on her arm never moved.

“Shh. It’s all right. You’re all right. It’s fine.”

A fresh drink   not coffee, something hot and herbal   was pressed into her hands the moment her fingers steadied.

The soft muttering of “It’s all right” and “You’re fine” seemed to bind her together, like silk drawn through the skin to stitch a wound.

Zira’s breath finally came easier. She took another sip, and when she looked up, Casta had found a chair to sit on, smoothing her skirt like nothing had happened.

“Thanks,” Zira said hoarsely.  “It’s just…”

“I know.” The woman stopped Zira’s explanation and smiled, her lips curving, but the crinkles around her eyes spoke of pain and hard-earned compassion. “I think you’ve been running on caffeine and spite for far too long.” Her expression took the sting out of the words.

Zira exhaled, shoulders sagging. She could only take so much emotion. “Spite is easy,” she quipped. “Caring is hard.”

The woman’s face fell slightly then. “Yes. Caring hurts.” Her face told Zira she knew exactly what she was talking about.

The tea was sweet with honey. Zira could feel the sugar moving into her blood, and some herb in it was settling her, bringing her energy down from the high jagged edge of hysteria.

“Nyxal tells me I am not allowed to work today,” Zira said finally. “But I am allowed to speak with you, apparently.”

The woman smiled, the expression reaching her eyes. “Yes. Catra mentioned that we should discuss what resources and supplies you need.”

“I sent you a list.” Zira leaned back slightly, arms crossed now, mug empty but still held like a shield. “You’ve been here all of what, three days? And already you’re planning clinics?”

“Yes,” Castaspella said calmly. “But I’m not moving forward without you. Or without Nyxal.”

Zira squinted at her. “You say that like it matters.”

“It does,” Casta said simply. “You know this place. You know these people. You’ve earned their trust. I haven’t.”

There was a pause.

Zira looked down at the mug. Her fingers flexed around it. “You have no idea what these kids have been through. What we’ve been through.”

“I have some idea,” said Castaspella. “I just don’t pretend it’s the same.”

That… earned a little twitch of a nod from Zira. Not agreement, but not dismissal either.

“I was one of the few sorcerers who escaped being chipped,” the sorceress said softly. “I should have been there, but… Prime’s forces… they had overwhelmed our strongest. I never thought Mystacor could be taken. But I also never thought Micah could be taken.”

“He’s a friend?” asked Zira. It was not a question she would ordinarily ask someone who was not her patient, but she needed as much information as she could gather.

Castaspella didn’t look away, didn’t flinch from the question. “He’s my brother.”

Zira’s breath caught, not from surprise exactly, but the words ached. “I’m sorry.”

Casta nodded, accepting them. “Thank you.” A pause. “I feel like, between Beast Island and getting chipped… not all of him came back. There are pieces he’s still looking for.”

“We all lost pieces of ourselves.” Zira swallowed the rest of her tea and glanced at the sorceress.

“Yes.”

“If… if your people can understand that, perhaps this will work.”  After a moment, she said, “If you send me someone with soft hands and princess eyes who thinks trauma can be cured by thinking happy thoughts, I will feed them to Melog.”

“That seems fair.” The sorceress gave a short laugh, not mocking, not shocked. Just amused, and a little tired. “Given what I know of Melog, they would definitely help with that.” 

Zira eyed her, lips twitching despite herself. “You’re not what I expected.”

“I rarely am,” Castaspella replied. Then, a little softer: “And neither are you.”

That one landed.

And suddenly, Zira no longer despaired of the peace treaty. It no longer felt false. The woman’s knowing words spoke of weariness and pain as deep and wide as Zira’s own. Her black eyes spoke volumes. This was someone who had known loss.

This woman really did want to take care of the children.

Zira let the silence settle for a beat before saying, “If we try this… It’s not a project. It’s not a pilot. It’s not some Mystacorian charity badge. It’s a promise. These kids don’t get second chances at trust.”

“I know,” said Casta.

“I’ll think about it,” Zira said. “You’ll let me do the interviews?”

“I’ll bring the first batch to you myself.”

That, finally, got her to nod. “All right then.”

She leaned back in her chair, the tea heavy and warm in her gut. She eyed the sorceress across from her, wary, but no longer guarded. “We don’t just need specialists,” she said finally. “We need teachers.”

Castaspella inclined her head, waiting.

“Prime hit our major health care facility when it became clear we weren’t going to roll over to his demands.”

“I didn’t know that,” Casta said softly.

“Most of my staff?” Zira went on. “Didn’t go to medic school. Most just finished their support specialist qualification, and that was that. They were food prep, logistics, or sanitation. A couple had field aid skills   but even that’s a stretch. Some clerks. I’ve got one kid who used to repair field scanners who’s now stitching wounds. And doing a damn good job, too.”

Her voice caught, somewhere between pride and exhaustion. “We lost our doctors. Our instructors. We’re patching things together with duct tape and trauma protocols scribbled on the backs of ration slips.”

“We can help with that, too,” Casta said gently. “Instructors, if you’ll have them. People who know how to teach when the foundation is cracked. Who won’t talk down to your people or treat them like they’re stupid for learning medicine in a war zone?”

There was a pause. Zira looked away. “It’s not like Hordak or Shadow Weaver ever particularly cared about saving sick kids,” she muttered. “I expect we’re years behind you when it comes to helping children recover.”

Castaspella’s eyes softened. “And yet you’re still here.”

Zira gave a dry laugh. “Yeah.”

The space between them held something fragile. Not pity, but a sort of recognition.

Zira studied her. “You really believe in this?”

“I believe in what you’re doing,” the sorceress said. “Mystacor’s whole purpose is to teach   not just sorcerers, but healers of every kind. And because we’re bound to teaching, we’re bound to learning. What I’ve seen already has impressed me. I think we could learn a lot from each other.”

The silence that followed was heavier, but not cold.

Zira reached for her cup again. “You send me someone who can teach sterile technique without needing sorcery. I’ll make sure they don’t get eaten alive.”

Casta smiled. “Deal.”

The campfire light was pleasant as Micah sipped his drink. People gave him a wide berth, more wary of his title and reputation than of the man himself. Most averted their eyes, letting him linger in the shadows unnoticed.

Castaspella had warned him not to aggravate anyone. He’d said he’d try, but made no promises. His sister had always understood people better than he did. 

He’d been sitting there for some time when a man stopped beside one of the empty seats near the fire. “Mind if I sit?”

Micah glanced up. The man wasn’t young could have been forty, could have been sixty. Beast-type. Heavy-boned, broad-shouldered, with the look of someone who’d spent most of his life carrying more than his share. His fur caught the firelight in streaks of gray.

“Not at all,” Micah said, tipping his head slightly.

“Thank you.” The man sat slowly, his gaze cautious but not unfriendly. “Your Majesty,” he added, a touch gruffly.

“I abdicated,” Micah replied with a faint shake of his head. “My daughter is Queen now. These days, I’m just Micah.”

Something flickered in the man’s eyes humor, maybe. Or approval. Micah couldn’t tell, but the man’s shoulders eased a little, and the deep lines in his face softened.

“All right then… Micah.” The man leaned forward and extended his hand, slow and careful.

Micah took it. His grip was firm. The calluses marked the man as a fighter. “I’m called Atax.”

“Good to meet you, Atax,” Micah said, releasing the handshake with a nod. “I have to admit, I appreciate the company.” He let his eyes drift across the perimeter of the firelight where others watched, uncertain whether they could or should approach.

“Yes, sir.” Atax followed his gaze. “Ah… I just wanted to thank you for going easy on Zira.”

Micah offered a tired smile and nodded. “Adora understands the dynamics here better than I do. I trusted her to do the right thing. And… I try to respect the chain of command.”

Atax tilted his head. “Sir?”

“She knows this place. And healers…” He lifted both hands in a loose, resigned gesture. “They carry a different kind of weight. When they snap, it’s because they’ve been holding too much for too long. My sister’s a healer. I’ve seen it.”

The man nodded, took a sip from his mug. “Seems like you worked with the commander before?”

“I did.” Micah’s expression darkened slightly. “When Prime invaded and Glimmer was unreachable, Bright Moon needed a leader. They couldn’t find a better one, so… they asked me.”

Atax huffed a soft chuckle. “So you were Adora’s CO.”

“Technically.” Micah smirked into his drink. “Though I think she always listened more to her conscience than to command.”

The beastman’s eyes flicked to the fire. “Did you… know she used to be Horde?” He whispered it, as though he was unsure if he was sharing confidence.

Micah let out a long breath. “I knew that.” He didn’t say anything else. He wasn’t sure where Atax was going with this, but he didn’t want to be baited into something.

“Everyone thought she got killed,” Atax said quietly. “Back then. Guess she got captured?”

“Honestly?” Micah shook his head. “I’m not clear on the details. I was on Beast Island when all that happened.”

Atax nodded. “Some pretty wild stories around camp.”

“Yeah,” Micah said, cautiously.

“I taught her when she was just a little kid,” Atax added, his voice softer. “She was as loyal as they come.”

“She still is,” Micah said without thinking. Then he winced at the obvious deflection.

Atax hesitated. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

Micah waved his hand slightly. “Go ahead.”

Atax exhaled hard through his nose. “I keep thinking about that kid I trained. The one who got up early to practice forms and paid attention in first aid class so she could patch up her friends. She was sharp. Brave. Word was, she was being groomed as Shadow Weaver’s successor.”

“She disappeared just before Thaymore.” Atax stared into the fire, his broad shoulders tense. “I was at Thaymor. We heard she got captured or something, so a team of us was tasked to rescue her. Some people swore they saw her, but I never did.” 

“I did see the new Princess. We were all scared shitless.” The soldier gave a low, bitter chuckle. “We took a lot of damage. When I heard Shadow Weaver was still looking for the girl, I told myself she must’ve deserted. That she’d gotten out to the Crimson Waste.” 

“But, Thaymor…” He took a giant swallow as if to fortify himself against his next words. “That’s where She Ra… what? … possessed the girl?”

Possessed. To Micah, the word felt wrong to describe She-Ra, but… maybe? What else could induce someone to betray their homeland in a few hours? He could understand a soldier standing up to what they see as illegal orders, but to defect entirely? Not when she was already being groomed for a position where she held the power to change it?

Micah met his eyes, and for a moment, the fire crackled between them. He  gave a single curt nod.

Atax didn’t speak for a while. He stared into the flames like they might burn an answer out of the coals. Then, voice low. “Thaymor was supposed to be her first mission.”

Micah didn’t answer. Just sipped from his mug and let the silence stretch.

“The recon was bad. I know that. But if Adora had led as planned…”  His voice twisted, bitter.
“We’d have taken the town with maybe one or two casualties. Maybe. She would’ve seen the layout. Would’ve realized they were civilians. She had the instincts.”

He swallowed, jaw working as if holding something back. “Instead, that bastard Grizzlor got it. And he didn’t fucking care.”

His claws tapped once, twice against his mug. “If she’d been in command that day, she would’ve stopped it, Micah. She always knew when to hold back. She pulled her punches even in drills.”

Micah’s voice was quiet when it came. “Maybe she couldn’t live with it. You said it yourself-- you thought she’d deserted.”

Atax turned his head slowly. His eyes were hard and glinting. “Deserted, yeah. Lots of smart folks headed out to the Waste, or else they found a nice quiet corner of Etheria to live their lives. But what makes someone raise a fucking sword against the people they grew up with? What makes someone like Adora become a traitor?”

“Hordak…” Micah began feebly. He didn’t finish the sentence. Let it hang there like smoke.

“Nobody ever fought for Hordak,” Atax said softly. “Okay, sure. You get raised on all these lofty ideals. The Horde is bringing order to Etheria and whatever. But it doesn’t take long before you realize that ideals don’t even repair the holes in your boots.”

The man took another long drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and shook his head slowly.

“ No. Nobody fights for ideals. Sure, the officers talk about that, but everyone knows its bullshit. We fight for our friends. For the people we care about. Adora had a real chance to make a difference, and she… walked away.” He winced like he was in pain. “No. Worse than that, she fought against her own squad. Her own family.”

The silence that followed was brittle. The fire crackled between them, and neither moved.

Micah stared down into his drink. The words “possessed the girl” still echoed in his mind, but what did it mean? Glimmer and Angella had told him the story of how Adora became She Ra. But he never considered those implications before.

“I’ve been asking around. I had a chance to talk to Scorpia about it. She tells me that it was the crazy night that Prime invaded? That happened because Adora broke that damned sword.”

Micah didn’t look up. His fingers curled tighter around the cup.

“I guess, everyone thought it was permanent?” Atax went on. “No more sword. No more She-Ra.”

Micah swallowed. He remembered that too well.

“But then she came back,” Atax said. “Not Adora. She-Ra. ” His brow furrowed, the words uncertain, as though they tasted strange in his mouth. “Only she said that She-Ra’s different. Like maybe the sword… influenced Adora. ”

Micah’s head lifted slightly at that.

“I worked for Shadow Weaver for a long time,” Atax said, still watching the flames. “She could twist people up like that. Control their minds. This was like that.” 

He turned, then. Met Micah’s eyes. “I’ve been asking around, trying to piece it together. What happened to her? You know? I mean, when you and I turned against our own, we were chipped.” He shuddered.

“That sword wasn’t a gift. It was a cage. A leash. And whatever snapped when it broke…” He shook his head slowly. “She’s free of it now, I guess. But, I gotta ask, what’s she doing here?”

“I don’t really know. “ Micah sipped his drink. 

The beast man tilted his head, his eyes narrowed. “So, she hasn’t been exiled here or whatever?”

Exiled? Micah wondered where that came from. “She asked for the assignment.”

“She’s been giving some of the kids lessons. They don’t realize that she’s gotta be Horde.” A little half smile curved his mouth slightly. “They follow her around like she’s their squad lead.” A little chuckle came out of the man’s mouth, and he shook his head. “And she is amazingly patient.”

Micah shared a smile. It was easy to imagine.

“How are you, Adora?” Aunt Casta asked. “I’m glad you could join us this morning.” 

Her voice was kind, but Adora heard the weight of unspoken expectations. She had not been able to sit down with Micah at all. A creeping horror seemed to come over her, and she wanted to climb out of her skin anytime she thought of sitting down with him. 

The blonde fidgeted, sighed, and looked down at her breakfast. “I’m okay.” 

Catra exchanged a look with the sorceress before starting hesitantly. “So, when Sparkles and Arrow-boy get here, do you want… ? 

“Glimmer and Bow?” Adora interrupted sharply, “Here? When?”

“Um, yeah.” Again, her eyes flicked toward Aunt Casta. “Sparkles said she wanted to visit next month. Remember?”

Cold lead settled into Adora’s stomach. “I- no- when did she say this?”

“Yesterday. She said she copied you on the message.“ Catra ran her hand through her hair. “Did she forget?”

“I-I… “

“You never read it. Did you?” Comprehension dawned in Catra’s eyes.  “Have you read anything she’s sent?”

Adora hung her head. “No,” she said in a fragile voice. “I just can’t.” It sounded cowardly. Because it was cowardly. But every time Adora tried to open it, she wanted to throw up. Adora hunched, feeling Catra’s eyes but completely unable to meet her gaze.

“Okay.” Catra’s voice was soft, and Adora chanced to look at her face. Her brow furrowed, but she did not look angry. “Do you want to talk to them?”

Adora shook her head.

Catra nodded. “Okay.” She didn’t say anything else.

“You think I’m being unfair?” Adora growled.

“Me?” Catra chuckled. “Come on, like I would care about that.” She scooted closer, bumping her shoulder into Adora’s. “I care about you. I can see you’re hurting, and if you aren’t ready yet, well, that’s your business.”

“Oh.” 

“Can you tell us why you don’t want to talk to her?” Aunt Casta asked softly. 

Could she? Adora did not know. It was just the anger and disgust on Glimmer’s face when she had said, “Your best isn’t good enough,” still haunted Adora’s nightmares. It haunted her the same way Angella’s final words in the Portal did.

 “I told you,” she muttered to Catra.

Catra tilted her head. “Okay.” She sighed. “We have a few weeks. Maybe just..? I don’t know, sit with it for a while?”

Adora visibly relaxed. “Okay.”

“If there is anything I can do, please let me know, dear.” Aunt Casta said. “I’m happy just to be a sympathetic ear, if nothing else.”

Vaguely Adora nodded. Aunt Casta had been very kind for the last week, running interference with Angella and Glimmer. But having her and Micah at camp was still exhausting.Adora had only come to sit with them in the mess tent after Catra texted that Micah had gone for a walk.

“Adora!” a voice called, and Adora turned to see Sarah stride over. “Good to see you!”

A genuine smile lit her face. “Hi!” She stood to hug the woman. “Sit with us!” Adora chirped, suddenly feeling lighter. 

Catra grinned and moved down so the woman could sit on Adora’s other side. “Hey, Sara.”

“Hello, Ambassador. And…” The specialist peered at Aunt Casta, then wiped her hand off on her thigh before extending it. “Um, I’m Sara.” The specialist was not yet entirely comfortable with the new custom of handshakes rather than salutes, but as the new R&D Second to Entrapta, it was clear Sara was trying to set an example.

Graciously, Aunt Casta stood and extended her own hand. “Sara! Zira was telling me about the work you and Entrapta are doing on prosthetics and assistive tech.”

Sara grinned and sat down. “Thanks! I’m back here for a couple of weeks to bring some of our patients their devices and help them learn to use them.”

“Commander. Good to see you.” Nyxal hurried over as soon as she spotted Adora loitering in the hallway. “Are you all right?”

Adora straightened automatically, then forced herself to relax. No point pretending she hadn’t been standing outside the nursery door for five minutes, trying to talk herself into going in.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, flashing a smile that wobbled at the edges. “Melog told Catra you always need help with the little ones. One-on-one time, right? I’ve been helping at the school, but Lonnie said you needed people more.”

Nyxal’s ears flicked forward. “We do,” she said after a beat. Her expression softened. “We’ve got two new arrivals this morning.. Grizelda is outside, keeping an eye on them. Why don’t you go out? If  the kids are used to seeing you here, they’re more likely to engage with you.  Maybe just sitting nearby? That helps more than you’d think.”

Adora nodded. “I can do that.”

The light was bright and warm. She waved at the teenager who sat watching them sat on the grass, almost in the same spot Micah had taken yesterday. Melog slunk behind her and flopped down, basking in the sun. Adora scooted closer and pillowed her head against Melog’s flank.

Two children played a few paces away. They looked about four or five years old. One was a wide-eyed human girl with dark skin and a riot of curls, who was carefully braiding the long, silvery hair of a smaller satyr child with rust-red skin.

The silver-haired girl did not speak. Her gaze kept flicking toward Adora, uncertain, though she never held eye contact. The human girl stayed beside her, humming a little song, her small hands steady and sure. 

“This was a good idea,” Adora murmured to Melog.

Catra was in meetings again; another round of tense, glitchy calls with no consensus. Spire was too far. The Capital; too political. Mystacor too... glittery. Bright Moon was dismissed out of hand. Perfuma didn’t have a venue large enough in Plumeria, and both Thaymor and Alwyn had vetoed the idea outright: peak harvest.

Adora had tapped out after the first few rounds. She wasn’t built for endless diplomacy.

She’d wandered to the nursery where no one was worried about optics. Just blocks. Naps. Snacks. That, she understood.

And maybe she was hiding. Micah was packing to return to Mystacor. Glimmer would be arriving to pick him up, and the thought of running into her made Adora’s stomach twist. She couldn’t even bring herself to open the messages.

The grass was soft. Her eyes slid shut. She wasn’t asleep; not really. Just drifting. The light on her face reminded her.

A cardboard box. A day like this. And shame so thick in her mouth, it choked her. 

Adora couldn’t speak.

No, that wasn’t quite right. Shadow Weaver corrected anyone who asked. “Not can’t. Won’t."  She would chuckle and play with Adora’s ponytail. “She’s just difficult.”

The words were fond, pretending to be a shared joke.  But that took none of the sting. It was the voice Shadow Weaver used when she didn’t want people to see how weak Adora really was. And Adora knew she was supposed to smile.

Shadow Weaver always told her she couldn’t afford to be weak.

One instructor had tried to intervene; said Adora needed time with other cadets. Social development. Practice.

She’d been at the creche maybe twenty minutes before the others figured it out: something was off. They asked her name. She couldn’t answer. All she could think was that Shadow Weaver would be furious. Convinced she was doing it on purpose.

“Thinks she’s too good to talk to us,” one of the bigger girls sneered. She shoved Adora hard.

Adora fell onto her butt and sat in the dust, trying not to cry. She knew what Shadow Weaver would say: “Don’t be such a weakling. Shove them back.”

But she didn’t know how. Weren’t they supposed to play nice? Work together? That was how you built order. That was how Etheria was supposed to be.

She wandered the playground, no longer trying to join in.  What was the point?

Shipping crates were scattered around the yard for the kids to play in. All but one were full. One stood empty; maybe a place to hide until the urge to cry passed.

Except it wasn’t empty.

Furry brown ears. Fluffy hair. Mismatched eyes. They peeked over the edge, focused on her and then widened. They crinkled with delight, and vanished again.

When she crept closer, she found a girl about her size sitting inside the box, drawing on the cardboard walls with a crayon.

“Hey,” the girl said.

Adora wanted to answer. She really did. But the words were buried too deep. She was sure this girl would be like the others. She’d laugh, too.

But she didn’t. After a pause, the girl’s ears twitched again. Her eyes lit with curiosity “What’s your name?”

Nothing came out. Adora swallowed. Tried again. Still nothing.

The girl didn’t push. Didn’t tease. She just kept drawing stars, like it didn’t matter.

Adora curled her fingers into the soft floor of the box. She leaned forward, just a little. Then, her voice barely more than a breath, she whispered:  “…Adora.”

The girl’s ears flicked forward. Her whole face lit up. “I’m Catra,” she said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. That night, Catra slept in Adora’s room.

That wasn’t how Adora remembered the story. Not the version Shadow Weaver had told her. But she could feel the cardboard   rough under her fingers. Smell the crayon wax. Hear the quiet scratching of stars drawn on cardboard.

A tug on her sleeve pulled her gently back to the present.

Adora blinked as morning reasserted itself around her. The curly-haired girl stood beside her now, eyes wide and solemn, one hand on her hip.

“Do you know any songs?” the girl asked, very seriously.

“I… ” Adora glanced at one of the teenage caregivers, who grinned and gave her a big thumbs-up.

“Maybe,” Adora said, her voice steadier now. “What kind of song?”

The little girl beamed. “The one with the hand claps. But we forgot the claps.”

“Forgot the claps?” Adora echoed, trying not to laugh.

The satyr child had wandered closer too,  not quite looking at Adora, but not looking away, either.

Adora sat up straighter, patting the grass beside her. “Okay. Show me what you remember. We’ll figure the rest out together.”

Chapter Text

“They want to do what?” Lonnie blinked at Catra and sat down hard in her chair. “Here? What the actual fuck? Why?”

“Because nowhere else was acceptable,” Catra shrugged, trying to keep it casual, since she knew Lonnie would be the hard sell.

Kyle and Rogelio glanced at each other, then at Lonnie. Both men looked curious and perhaps hopeful, but Lonnie’s stance was closed, her head tilted in suspicion.

“Acceptable?” Lonnie tasted the word like it was sour.

“Refuge was never the site of a battle,” Catra really did not want to search for another place to hold them and have to go through even more meetings and negotiations after she and Glimmer had gotten both the Alliance and the Horde Council to agree. “The place doesn’t carry the same sort of baggage the Capital or even Spire does.”

Some of the ire faded from Lonnie’s hazel eyes and she hugged herself. Catra couldn’t help but wonder what horror Lonnie was flashing on with her thousand yard stare. “Yeah, okay,” she muttered. 

Rogelio, sitting between them, put his hand on Lonnie's shoulder as she studied the table top. Finally,  she looked up and seemed to rally. “Where are we going to put everyone? How are we gonna feed them?”

“The Joint Council is giving us grant money,” Catra said, cajolingly.

“Grant money?” Kyle’s ears perked and his blues eyes lit up. “How much grant money?”

Catra tipped the tablet so he could see the sum on the screen.

For a moment, Kyle stared at the numbers, silently naming the sum. Rogelio’s eyes flicked to Catra, apparently catching the excitement in Kyle’s scent.

People underestimated Kyle. Always had. There was a reason they used to cover for him, even when he tanked their bot-sim scores.

Lonnie saw it too. Probably clocked the exact moment his inner bean counter turned those zeros into purchasing power. Into power supplies. Reels of wire. Comfortable cabins. Water that didn’t have to be hauled in barrels.

The grin started slow, then bloomed wide across his face. “We’re in!” Kyle gave Catra a high five.

“Kyle,” Lonnie groaned — but Catra could already feel it shift. She’d won. Lonnie and Rogelio always followed when Kyle took a stand.

Rogelio looked up from over Kyle’s shoulder, bared his teeth, and huffed his approval.

“Fine,” Lonnie muttered. “But you guys are going to be on call with me every godsdamned night because you know there’s going to be at least two riots a week.” She waved vaguely toward the window. “And fuck, how are we going to keep the Alliance folks from just tearing up the place and…”

Surprised at Lonnie’s worry, Catra reached out a hand. “Hey. Come on. It’ll be fine.”

The dark-skinned woman turned away, her scent uneasy and sad. “Yeah, whatever.”

Rogelio caught Catra’s eye and flicked his gaze at Lonnie’s back. Catra nodded.

Kyle had already pulled out a notepad and was scribbling fast. “So we’re going to need quarters for at least twice as many as we have here. And we’ll want a nice amphitheater…”

Without another word, Rogelio stood and took Kyle by the elbow. They were already halfway out the door when Adora stepped into the command office.

Kyle lit up. “Adora! Guess what? We’re hosting the hearings!”

Adora stopped in her tracks. “The what?”

“The Truth and Reconciliation hearings,” Catra said, still seated, tablet in hand. “I asked you to meet us here so I could explain.”

Adora looked between them. “You didn’t mention anything about hearings.”

“I was getting to it,” Catra muttered, a little defensive. 

Lonnie leaned against the edge of the desk, arms folded. “They picked us. Refuge is neutral ground, and we’re not Bright Moon.”

“But… “ Adora stared at Catra like she'd just suggested inviting Horde Prime to brunch. “Shit,” she muttered.

“See!” Lonnie growled, waving a hand at Adora and turning to face Catra. “She gets it. It’s going to be a nightmare.”

“Kyle and Rogelio seem pretty excited.” Catra cocked her head. She could hear the two talking about building plans from here.

“They’re idiots.”

“Well, yeah.” Catra said patiently, considering Lonnie was not wrong.

“They like building things,” Lonnie shot back. “They’ll be less excited when there’s a diplomatic incident in the mess hall or when a delegation from Mystacor wants breakfast at the same time as a Hordefolk survivor group from Drylock.”

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” Catra admitted, looking up from her tablet, “but it’ll be ours. We get to host it. Shape it. Keep it from becoming another spectacle for the Alliance’s press corps.”

Adora slowly sat on the edge of the desk. “Who else knows?”

“Only us, for now,” Catra said. “Glimmer’s going to make the announcement later this week. But she wanted me to give you a heads-up.” A pause. “She’s coming. Officially.”

Adora’s shoulders stiffened. “Of course she is.” She crossed her arms and looked away, chewing on her lips as though she feared what she would say if she kept talking.

Lonnie raised an eyebrow. “And this is a good idea, why?”

Catra didn’t answer right away, peering at Adora. “We have to do it somewhere, and this is the only resettlement camp that is smack on the border.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I’ll need to expand the security teams,” Lonnie said finally. “And we’ll need a conflict de-escalation protocol.”

Adora stood. Her voice was quiet. “I’ll talk to Zira. She’ll know who can be trusted to talk people out of their trees and who’s a loose cannon.”

“Will the Alliance be as careful?” Lonnie asked, sounding like she was trying not to sound suspicious.

“I’ll talk to Aunt Casta. She and Glimmer can get with Juliet about who might be a good fit to come.” Catra grinned, “I promise no one else wants the war to start over. That’s the whole idea of these hearings. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna go reel in those two assholes before they end up planning a replica of Bright Moon’s plaza. THey were a little too excited by the sparkles.”

“You okay?” Catra asked Adora after Lonnie was outside.

Adora stood, arms crossed, hovering rather than taking a seat, tense and trying not to show it. “What’s the timeline?” Her voice mock casual. 

“Horde Council wanted to start in six weeks.” Catra’s eyes strayed out of the window, following Lonnie’s back. “I convinced them the Princesses would need at least twelve.  

A little bark of laughter came out of Adora’s mouth. “Are you kidding? THey’ll need that just to send out invitations. We’ll probably have to go drag them here.”

“Really?” Catra eyed Adora. “Even Mermista seemed pretty onboard yesterday. What did she tell you?”

The simple question seemed to upset Adora. “You talked to Mermista yesterday?”

“Uh, yeah. You know the whole weekly conference call we’ve been doing?”

“Oh.” Something in Adora’s eyes sagged. “Right. I forgot. That’s you, and Glimmer and the rest.”  

“Yeah. The ones you keep saying you’re too busy for,” Catra retorted, unable to keep the sharpness out of her voice.  “You’d know all this already.”

“You all seem to be getting along fine without me.” She growled. Without another word, she stormed out of the door, turning up the well worn path to the sparring ground.

Hours later, Adora stumbled into their bedroom.

“You okay?” Catra asked quietly. She had left the little night light on, knowing that Adora would trip if she didn't.

Adora gasped and jumped. “Sorry. I thought you were asleep.”

Catra sat up, blinking at her in the low light. “Where’ve you been?”

“Got... stuck in my head,” Adora muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. She sank down onto the edge of the bed. “I'm sorry.  I'm shit company.”

“Yeah, cause I'm so easy to get along with.“ Catra smiled, showing one fang. “Don't worry about it." She brushed Adora's hair back. "I'm just glad you came back. You seemed upset earlier. Wanna talke about it?" Melog had been encouraging Catra to ask things like this, even though the last thing she ever wanted to talk about was feelings.

Adora hesitated, then asked softly, “Are you going to testify?”

“I’m sure a whole lot of people are going to have questions for me,” Catra said dryly.

“No, I mean… are you going to…” She raked her hand through her hair and pulled out her pony tail as she searched for the right phrase. “Tell your side. Or whatever.”

Catra was quiet for a moment. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Perfuma had explained the proposed rules. She said it wouldn’t be cross-examination, and no one would be forced; but Catra wasn’t sure how she felt about talking. About putting herself under a microscope.

She exhaled slowly. “It seems so… I worry that people will think I’m trying to justify shit. Makes it feel like a performance.”

Adora didn’t argue. She pulled off her shirt and then shucked her trousers, crawling in beside Catra. Neither of them said anything else for a moment. But when Catra reached for her hand, Adora squeezed back and turned to face her wife.

“I’m going to testify.” Blue eyes glowed at Catra in the dark, and Adora’s mouth was firm. “As She-Ra.”

Blinking, Catra propped herself up on her elbow. “Yeah?” Adora carried more than her share of remorse. Aunt Casta had gently asked Catra about it, expressing hope that Adora would open up and talk to someone. But maybe the first time she talked about this mess shouldn’t be at a public hearing?

“At least it’ll clear up the confusion if the whole camp sees me transform.”

The next few weeks flowed past Adora in a blur. She threw herself into the preparations—supply chains, troop housing, security rotations—anything that didn’t involve feelings. Anything that didn’t require her to think about the hearings themselves.

Each night, though, she dutifully knocked off when everyone else did, on pain of Lonnie and Catra’s displeasure.

It helped, a little, to act normal. To work beside the others like nothing was looming. But the weight never left. She carried it in her shoulders, in the corners of her mouth, in the way her hands curled too tight around her clipboard.

The three senior cadet boys volunteered for any work group she was in charge of. They joked among themselves, hauled lumber and dug trenches. They treated her like she was a normal officer. Like she belonged. She didn’t want to lose their friendship. For weeks she had been telling herself there would be plenty of time. Until there wasn’t. A week before the hearings were set to begin, she knew she couldn’t wait any longer.

“Hey, guys? Before you head to dinner—can we talk for a second?”

Garin must’ve heard something in her voice. “Sure, ma’am. Is everything okay?”

“I just wanted you to hear it from me…” Adora said softly. “I… um… I’m planning to testify.”

That landed like a dropped wrench.

The three of them stared. Mo’s brow furrowed. Garin shifted on his feet. They glanced at each other, silently daring the others to go first.

“Ma’am?” Mo finally asked, sounding uncertain and very young. “We’re still not sure what the hearings are.”

Garin nodded, Adam’s apple bobbing. Erin crossed his arms, wary.

Catra, Kyle, and Rogelio had been running into this all month. Hordefolk didn’t trust the concept. To them, a hearing still meant confession. Control. Punishment.

The only thing that would convince people was seeing it in action. That was why Adora had already spoken to Perfuma. She would go first. 

“They’re supposed to… help,” Adora said. “To hear people out. Let them say what happened to them. Maybe fix some things. Or at least name them.” She was not at all surprised the boys had not asked her about them. She should have talked to them earlier. 

Erin tilted his head, brow furrowing. “Is it like… I heard that they were going to use a truth spell? when Shadow Weaver used to make people confess to shit?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought… I mean, Catra said…”

“No,” Adora said quickly. “It’s called a hearing because everyone gets to speak. And when the person speaks, they get heard. It’s not about guilt. It is about truth. But no one’s will get any spells put on them. It’s not about accusing anyone. We all carried a lot through this war, and we’re still carrying a lot now.”

Silence again.

Then: “So… why are you testifying?”

Adora breathed in slowly. “I want to talk about… what I did.” She tucked her cold hands under her thighs.

The young men looked at each other again.

“Ma’am?” Erin asked carefully. “I don’t think I understand.”

“I— I just didn’t want there to be any surprises,” Adora said. “I wanted you to know.” Her voice caught. “You guys being my friends has been really good. But I get it if you don’t want to hang out with me anymore.”

All three of them shook their heads, startled, confused.

“It’s just. You should know…” She looked down at the floor, then back up at them. “I really am She-Ra.”

The three boys’ confusion deepened. Mo’s heavy brows knitted together, while the two others looked at each other, both shaking their heads.

 “I’m sorry.” She whispered suddenly unable to sit here anymore. She had always deliberately avoided talking about the war with anyone in camp. But she couldn’t keep denying it. Everyone would hear about her soon. “Excuse me.” She refused to sit here and embarrass everyone by crying

The three boys sat frozen in Adora’s wake.

“What the fuck was that about?” Erin asked.

The flap of the tent rustled closed behind her. Silence settled back over the bench like dust.

Mo exhaled. “I have no clue.”

“She said she’s She-Ra,” Garin said slowly, like tasting something unfamiliar. “She said it before, but I thought she was kidding.”

“Can’t be,” Erin scoffed. “She-Ra’s like eight feet tall. And has antlers.”

“Yeah, but..." Garin gestured vaguely,  "Adora was so upset.”

Mo rubbed the back of his neck. “She said she was sorry. And she looked like she was gonna cry.”

They all nodded.

“She said she wants to talk about what she did, ” Mo said. “That sounds like… bad. Right? Like a confession.” He stared toward the sunlight slanting in through the flap. 

"Let's go get some food." Erin said, standing up to get in line. While they waited, the three of them did not speak to each other, each of the boys wrapped in their own thoughts.

“You ever talk to anyone who met She-Ra in battle?” Erin asked, after they got back to their table with their trays.

“I mean, yeah,” scoffed Mo. People loved to brag about survivng encounters with She Ra. “What’s your point?”

“It's just that... I was thinking... ” Erin turned back, his pale lips turned down as he picked up his fried tubers with his fingers. “Everything I ever heard about her kinda sounds like Adora.”

“What do you mean?” Garin asked, frowning.

“Like… she always played fair.” Erin put out a conciliatory hand as both Mo and Garin opened their mouths to deny a Princess could play fair. “She and Perfuma. Everyone said they were different? Remember?”

Both mouths closed as the two boys considered the stories they heard. 

“She’d never go after you if you were down.” That was actually in the tactical manuals; She Ra always left troops an avenue of retreat.

“Do you think she made herself too much of a pain to the Bright Moon people? ” Garin stared at the flap. “What if this is some kind of setup?”

Mo’s head tilted. “Setup?”

“Like… what if they’re going to blame it all on her?” Garin said. “Tell everyone that She Ra was the source of all the Princess damage.  Putting her on trial instead of anyone else.”

Mo’s expression darkened. “She’s the most famous name they’ve got. Big, shiny, dramatic ending. 

“They wouldn’t—” Erin started, but stopped as he thought about it. “I mean. Would they?”

“Queen Glimmer lets off that scary-ass weapon thing so Prime takes the fucking planet. Catra has to save her ass. The Queen, instead of owning up to her war crimes, lets She-Ra take responsibility.” Garin said. “Feels like something Bright Moon would go for.”

“You think Queen Glimmer is behind this?” Erin asked, more stunned than angry.

“She’s coming, isn’t she?” Garin shot back.”You think she can stand to share fame? With her Second?”

They were quiet again. Then Mo said, “Adora looked scared.”

“Really scared,” Erin agreed. “Like maybe she thinks it might go that way too.”

Garin looked between them, voice low. “We can’t let that happen.”

“They’d better not try anything,” Erin muttered. “She’s our officer.”

“And Catra’s true love,” Garin added with a touch of awe. They all pretended not to read the battlefield romances, but everyone did. This week, someone had released a one shot that had the two lovers crawling across broken ground toward each other. The image made his throat thick.

“Maybe that’s why Catra wanted to have it here,” Mo said slowly. For weeks, everyone had speculated, but no one gave a straight answer about why these apparently Etheria-shattering hearings were being held in Refuge. Maybe now they had it. “I mean, that’s why she sent Adora here in the first place, right? To protect her.”

“Yeah. That makes sense,” Erin agreed, eyes wide. “I mean, I know Catra’s on the comms with Queen Glimmer every single day. Felina told me she’s the only one who can keep the Queen in line. That’s why they made her Ambassador instead of Council head.”

“That’s gotta be it.” Garin looked grim. “Catra brought the hearings here so she can protect Adora; or She-Ra, whatever, from the Queen. She wants her own squad at her back if this turns into another war.”

“We’re gonna have to keep an eye on things.”

Erin sat up straighter. “I know a guy in the mess tent who hears everything. I’ll get him to track the Bright Moon people. And there’s Aimee in quartermaster—she’ll know where they’re bunking.”

“I’ll check the hearing schedule,” Garin said. “See who’s testifying that week. And we won’t let any of them get her alone. Especially not the Queen.”

“But who else should we tell?”

“Force Captain Atax,” Mo said without hesitation. “The commanders listen to him. He knows Adora’s been teaching us—he asked about her last week. Like he was worried.”

“Felina’ll get it too,” Erin added. “She’ll tell Catra.”

“And Specialist Trevor,” Garin said. “Doctor Zira will listen to him. Plus, Felina’s mom is Entrapta’s Second and she’s friends with Adora. If she’s in trouble, even if she won’t say it, we’ve got her back.”

“But…” Erin chewed his lip. “What if this whole thing…” he waved vaguely around them at the tents and preparation zones, “what if it’s just a distraction? Like, they’ll have the commanders and Catra and everyone tied up in diplomacy, and then;” He made a little exploding gesture with his fingers. “Poof. She’s gone.”

A chill passed through the three of them and the hair stood up on the back of their necks. They were only just old enough to remember how people would talk in whispers of people being disappeared by Shadow Weaver.

The three of them sat there a moment longer, feeling the air shift around them. They were ready to stand by Adora. She was Alliance, but she was  their Alliance officer.

Chapter Text

One week until the hearings started.

According to Perfuma, it wasn’t going to be like Catra’s trial, where they were looking to assign blame. Perfuma kept saying, “It’s for honoring your truth.” Whatever that meant.

It was called a hearing because they were supposed to be heard.  The format was that the Princesses would all be called up to speak. To keep it civil, questions for them would be submitted ahead of time, and an advocate would do the questioning 

That was the official story.

It’s not a story, Adora told herself. That’s what it is. 

No matter how much she tried, she could not stop ruminating on it. Why the fuck had she volunteered to go first?

After she told the boys last night, she’d fled to her quarters. She couldn’t stand to see their faces as it sank in: she hadn’t been kidding.

She really was She-Ra.

They weren’t around this morning. No surprise there. Adora would probably have to leave after the hearings. It was doubtful anyone in the Horde would want to be in close quarters with her once they knew for sure.

Her stomach was a solid knot. No appetite, no sleep. She grabbed a few ration bars from the mess tent: bland, nutritious and quick. Easy enough to eat on the way to her meetings and that meant she did not have to talk to anyone.

People were watching her again. The weight of eyes on her back. Hushed conversations as she walked by. Maybe the boys had already started talking. Maybe someone had published some good smut on the backchannels.

More Horde culture she’d completely missed. Shadow Weaver had been very strict about “frivolous” use of the computers. The computer was for work only. The backchannels the boys told her about, where people kept up with each other, shared art, and exchanged gossip had not even been a concept.

At least now, Adora finally knew the reason why conversation stopped when she entered the room. Even Kyle, Lonnie and Rogelio did it.  She had always thought it was Catra’s fault. Shadow Weaver had told her it was Catra’s fault. 

“It’s her attitude,” the woman would say.  “ No one wants to be close to a feral little animal. ”

But it wasn't Catra, was it? It was her. Golden Girl. Shadow Weaver’s ward. Shadow Weaver’s little pet . Obviously it would be far too dangerous for anyone to ever include her in the illicit comforts that made up the bulk of Horde culture.

They would not have been wrong. 

If she had found out about a market thing, come across someone barbecuing lizard on an engine block, or read one of the fics people regularly shared, she would have told. It would have offended her sense of order. She would have thought it was “disrespectful.” Possibly even treasonous. She would never have been able to keep her stupid mouth shut about it.

What she wanted to do was go to the Crystal Castle to punch walls and jump off cliffs, until the shame and fear and dread were subsumed by the physical pain. But she couldn’t just disappear right now. Too much to do.

For when she needed the riot of feelings in her chest to calm down, she had scoped out a quiet rock behind where they parked transports. She would take a quick detour, get her head on straight, and then go to this meeting.

Glancing around to make sure she was alone, Adora clenched both her fists and pummeled the rock for all she was worth. Knuckles cracked then shattered. Both fists looked like ground meat. 

She reached out her hand, invoking her sword which came to her in a flash of light. It felt heavy as she raised it and the words seemed to stick in her throat, but the magic poured over her. 

 Another reason to do this all the way over here. The transports hid the light show. 

For a second she thought she heard Mara’s voice. “Adora! Stop! ” But that was just in her head. 

When she looked down, She Ra’s hands were pristine and whole again.

It was not enough. Just once was never enough. At the Castle, she could spend hours doing this, but she reminded herself she had little time, if she wanted to get anything done today. 

She dropped the transformation and clenched her healed-but-aching fists, grunting as she struck the rock. Over and over, hitting it like she would a sand bag, without even taping her fists. Knuckles crunched and shattered. A dark blood stain spread, adding to the one already on the surface she was punching.

Punch. Transform. Heal.  

The sword came to her more slowly this time, the magic seemed to twist in her hands. She gritted her teeth. This was her magic, it would do as it was told . 

And it did, erasing the hurt. At least until the magic drained away, shrinking her, leaving her aching and worn. But the dull burning in her bones was not enough to quell the shame that overwhelmed her.

Again. 

“Adora?”

In her mind, a cacophony of voices wailed, high pitched with distress, a chorus that exhorted her to stop. She was stronger. They wanted her to stop, but the pain drove them away, leaving blessed silence as her hands came apart. 

“Adora!” 

A hand with claws extended wrapped itself around her wrist and pulled it sideways so her fist missed the rock. Interrupting the strange trance of pain.

“Adora! Stop! What the fuck are you doing?”

Sweat stung Adora’s eyes. The grip was light, the hand small, she could have shaken it off even without transforming, but the frantic voice almost screaming her name made her turn to look directly into two green eyes. 

“F-Felina!” Adora gasped. Static filled her brain. What could she say? “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you. Catra sent me.” Slowly the girl let go of her wrist, her eyes round and scared. “What are you doing?”

“Oh…  pfft. Just you know…  training.”

“No.” The girl said it flatly, just like Catra would. “You’re not.” 

Blood dripped onto the ground from Adora’s smashed knuckles which were rapidly swelling, blooming with bruises. 

Fuck.

Felina blinked at Adora, her ears tilted back. “You want me to find a first aid kit, ma'am?” she asked, as calmly as asking if Adora wanted her to pick up lunch, although her pupils were tiny slits and her tail lashed. 

“Uh. No. That's okay,”Adora  mumbled. This was bad. Catra was going to be so upset. She needed to do some damage control before all hell broke loose. “I can… fix them.” She started to reach out her hand and then she looked again at Felina’s ruffled fur. “I, um, have to transform. Is that okay?”

The girl’s eyes grew bigger. Her ears went back, pinning to her skull, her tail puffed out straight behind her, but she nodded and stepped back.

It took a moment to call up the sword with Felina standing right there, but after a second it came.  Adora would never be able to get Felina’s terrified expression out of her head, the way she stepped backward until she was against a transport.

She Ra’s hands were clean and whole. And then they shrank, leaving only her own calloused ones. Like always, the transformation left her looking clean and uninjured. 

Fortunately the pain stayed.

Awkwardly, both of them stared at each other. Felina finally broke the silence. “Do you cut yourself, too?” She asked, for once looking Adora dead in the eye. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” Adora blinked, confused.

Felina gave a little sniff. The kind Catra gave when she was trying to decide if a person’s face matched their scent. 

“Some of the cadets do that,” Felina said, in that flat voice again, her green eyes hard. “When things get bad.”

“What?” Adora remembered the claw marks that Catra sometimes carved into her arm. But those took days to heal and Catra had already had a bad infection from it. This wasn’t the same thing at all.  

“No, of course not! This is just...” Adora trailed off at Felina’s scoff.

Eyes fallen half shut with displeasure, the girl raised an eyebrow. “Ma’am? Please, don’t treat me like I'm stupid.” She stared a moment longer, then she asked. “You do this a lot?” 

Then, perhaps worried that Adora might interpret her questions as disrespect, she flushed under her fur and looked away. “I’m sorry ma’am, this isn’t my business.”

“Are you going to tell Catra on me?” Adora whispered. A childish thing to say, her voice sounding like a little girl’s; caught out and exposed. 

Solemnly Felina shook her head. “No. I won’t say anything to Ambassador Catra.” Her shoulders dropped and her expression was unreadable as she searched Adora’s face. 

Relief. So strong Adora's knees went weak. “Thank you.”  

She looked away, uncomfortable. “Yes, Ma’am.”  

“So, why did Catra send you?”

“Everyone’s in the new power plant.” Felina told her stiffly. “The commanders and the ambassador went to watch Entrapta put the core in.”

“Okay.”

“She sent me to find you because your comm is turned off. “

Right.

“Should I tell the ambassador you’re on the way ma’am?” Felina shifted on her feet. “I can also let them know that you’ve been… “ She paused, her mouth twisting to one side as though thinking hard. “...held up.” 

“No! No, it’s fine.” Adora forced some cheer into her voice. “I’ll head there now!” 

“Yes, ma’am.” The girl gave her another hard stare and then seemed to come to some kind of decision. “Permission to speak freely, ma’am?”

Adora sagged. Whatever the kid had to say, she deserved it and at least this time no one else was there. She nodded mutely.

“Uh… you know this isn’t… okay. Right?” Felina gestured at the dark stains.

Adora shut her eyes. No, it was not okay, but it was the only thing that ever helped. The only thing that ever shut up the voices in her head that told her what a fuckup she was. And it did not matter because it wasn’t like she was actually harming herself. It healed right away. It wasn’t like she was slacking off work or anything. 

But who the fuck was this cadet to tell her what was okay? The way the girl stared at her. What was she hiding behind that carefully neutral expression? Pity?

Adora could not bear it.

“I think you were right the first time.” Adora lifted her chin and used the iciest voice she could muster. “This is not really any of your business.”

Those green eyes hardened before they dropped. “No, ma’am. I beg your pardon, ma’am.”

 Shame flared in Adora again. The kid was only trying to help, but Adora was done talking about this. “Run and tell Catra I’ll be there in a minute.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” True to form, Felina saluted, then took Adora’s order literally, dropping to all fours and racing away.

By the time Adora reached the brand new power plant’s control room, Felina was nowhere to be seen. She must have kept her promise, because Catra greeted Adora with a smile and took her hand, but continued her conversation with Entrapta and the others, as they pored over the design plans of the place.

Entrapta waved at the blueprint. “So, once we dropped this part in, the reactor began transmuting ambient magic at scale.”

“How much can it absorb?” Catra asked, staring at the complicated schematic. Adora didn’t even bother to pretend to look.

“A lot. Easily enough for the whole settlement. Plus, even if it overloads, Sara came up with a rapid-sequence shutdown routine. Once it’s engaged, extra magic will bleed off into the ground. Like a lightning rod.”

“How fast can it disperse the energy?”

Their conversation was interrupted by Lonnie striding over from where she had been inspecting the control console. “So, it’ll work? Like you said it would? For real?” Lonnie’s voice was rough and strained. “So, this is all we need to be …permanent?”

Rogelio and Kyle put a hand on each of her shoulders. 

Grinning, Entrapta nodded. “Yep. According to the new Council mandates, a permanent power plant means it's a permanent settlement. It's been working for the last hour!” She turned to call Sara who was at the back of the room taking readings. “How's it going?”

“Everything's optimal.” Sara called back, illuminated by the pallid light of the screen she worked on. “Power draw is well within tolerances.”

“Wait…. It’s on? It's working? Right now?” Lonnie demanded, her voice strident, almost fearful. 

“Listen!” Rogelio barked suddenly. They all stopped and turned their heads, trying to figure out what Rogelio was talking about. 

Silence.

They stared at each other, as the world tilted on its axis around the quality of absence.

Finally that absence meant something.

Silence.  

The ever present drone of the generators no longer pressed on their eardrums. And yet, the computers stayed on, and the little lights on the printer burned steadily, proving it was not a power outage.

That was it for Lonnie. “S’cuse me, I gotta…”  Stricken, she jumped up and fled the room. 

 “Did I do something wrong?” Entrapta’s eyes widened with confusion as Rogelio and Kyle glanced at each other, and then at Entrapta. 

“You go,” Kyle told Rogelio. “I can finish this up and join you guys in a few.” 

Before he followed after Lonnie, Rogelio lifted Kyle off the ground in a bear hug. “Can we talk about it tonight?” Adora heard him rumble quietly into Kyle’s shoulder before he dropped him and followed Lonnie

“It’s okay.” Kyle shook his head, smiling shyly at Entrapta. “Lonnie never expected Refuge to become permanent. I don’t think she really believed it was going to happen even after the Council approved it. “

Entrapta blinked rapidly, still confused.

“Makes it a real place to live.” Kyle sniffed and his words sounded watery. “It means folks who live here can get waivers and raise some kids that maybe don’t have to be soldiers.”

That shy smile still curled Kyle’s lips as he wrapped one arm across his chest. He swallowed. “We started the paperwork, actually.” He turned and looked over his shoulder at the door, where his partners had gone. 

“But Lonnie didn’t want to request reassignment to a settlement though.” He sniffed again and used the heel of his hand to brush at his face. “ I never really expected Refuge would become a settlement. It was just two buildings and a bunch of tents when we got here.”

“How many people were here?” Adora asked, curious.

“Three, maybe four hundred.” His normally clear voice was thick. “Instructors, support specialists, a few combat specialists and all these kids. Then a couple weeks in, we saw a bunch of drones headed to that Alliance town that used to be on the river? They got attacked. There weren’t any Alliance units around as far as we could tell. A bunch of us went to help out.” He shook his head grimly. “There wasn’t anything left. We helped who we could, brought them back here. That was before the whole chipping thing started.”

“I can see why Lonnie didn’t want to file for reassignment.” Adora said. “You three really built something here.”

Kyle’s face lit up at the praise. “You should have seen it when we got here!” he gushed. “After we helped that town, there was a lot of salvage material and we had a few transports. Then, we got a lot of folks from the mining settlements when Prime started hitting them. They knew it was here and that it had air cover. It made sense.

“If you want to head out, Catra and I can finish up here.” Adora said, smiling. “It sounds like you three have a lot to talk about.”

“I guess we do.” He grinned as he followed after his spouses.“I’m gonna go catch up with them. See you guys at dinner?”

“Yeah, okay. See you later,” Catra said absently as she studied the schematic.

“Sara?” called Entrapta, pulling her gloves back on. “Do you have the scanner? I wanted to see what the output is.”

“Yeah… just give me a minute.” The specialist’s voice sounded weak and breathy. Catra’s head shot up and Adora spun around to look.   

At the work table that was pushed against the back wall, Sara leaned on one hand bracing her weight on a locked elbow, the other shaded her eyes. Her ashen face gleamed with sweat.

“You okay?” Adora asked. She’d noticed Sara looking pale but thought it was due to the light of her monitor. 

“I’m a little dizzy. That’s all.” Her voice was far too quiet.

Catra quickly snagged a chair and pulled it over. “Sara, come on,” she said, the words gentle, almost cajoling.  “Have a seat. You want some water?”

 Sara sucked in a huge breath. “I’ll be fine soon.” Her hands shook as she raked back her hair. “Don’t worry.” She waved as though to dismiss everyone’s concern.

“Yes, but you don’t look fine now ,” Catra observed. “When did you last take a break?”

The silence and the awkward way Sara would not look at her told the story.

“Oh! Sara!” Entrapta’s eyes narrowed with a precision Adora had never seen directed at a person. “Did you get overfocused and forget to eat?”

“Yeah,” Sara admitted faintly. “I think so.” 

Catra bit her lip for a moment and sighed.  “Hey… ah… “ she fidgeted. “Um, not to get too personal, but…” Uncomfortably she shifted, crossing her arms, as though trying to think of what to say. “I can tell you’ve had your waiver…um …approved.” 

The hesitation conveyed her meaning. 

“When you’re waiting on a new recruit, it can make you feel pretty shitty to skip meals.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “I mean, I… ah… I just know it's a thing.” she finished, quietly. “So just fucking sit before you fall down.”

Though Sara raised an eyebrow at that, she dropped into the chair with a grunt. 

“Do you think you can eat some soup?” Entrapta asked. “I’m pretty sure I saw some in the mess tent.  I’ll bring some back for everyone!” Without waiting for a reply, she spun on her hair and hurried out the door.

Catra poured some cold water from the pitcher on the table and pressed the glass into Sara’s hand.

“Thank you.” Sara wrapped both hands around it and squeezed, like it was the only thing tethering her to the earth. Then she pressed it to her forehead.

“That’ll probably work better if you drink it,” Catra said, when it became clear Sara wasn’t planning to move.

“Yes, ma’am.” Sara straightened, sheepishly formal, half raised her hand in the now-familiar gesture of an aborted salute, instead wiped her sweaty forehead and gulped half the glass.

“Better?” Adora asked, crouching beside her and putting her hand on Sara’s knee, worried at the woman’s pallor.

Sara swallowed again and nodded. “Yeah.” She waved vaguely at her midsection. “Sorry. It’s… It’s passing now. It never lasts long.” 

“It’s okay. We get it.” Catra said quietly. She grabbed a second chair and sat down. “And next time you feel dizzy, go ahead and have a seat, I don’t care who’s here, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you ma’am.” Still overly formal but at least she didn’t salute. She wiped her face with her sleeve again. 

Adora stayed at her side, anxious.

“Sorry. It came on all of a sudden.” The woman folded her arms and rested her head on her knees. “Give me a minute.”

Her shoulders shook and Adora could think of nothing else to do but pet her back. Catra looked just as baffled as Adora felt. It took a couple minutes, but finally, Sara picked up her head and Catra was ready with another water bottle.

“Better?” Adora asked. Still kneeling, she put her hand on Sara’s, who covered it with her other hand. 

Before Sara could reply, the door banged open. “I got soup!” Warbled Entrapta. Behind her,  Felina trailed behind with a rolling cart that had bowls of soup, sandwiches and fruit. Entrapta must have found Felina on her way to the mess tent.

“Mom?” The girl’s eyes narrowed as she stopped in front of Sara. “You’ve been crying. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Sara said, trying to brush it off, but her nose sounded clogged.

 Felina glared, ready to launch claws at someone. “And that’s why I smelled tears from down the hall?” The girl put her silver and black ears back and her black tail lashed. 

“It’s just… we talked about this… “ Sara glanced at the other women, “Growing a new recruit is hard.”

Entrapta nodded, sagely. “The increased caloric need can make her vulnerable to sudden hypoglycemia that can cause mood lability, unsteadiness and even syncope.”

“What does that mean?” Felina asked blankly.

“She forgot to eat and she feels like shit.” Catra supplied.

“Seriously?” The girl hissed, outraged. “Don’t you remember what the medic said?”

“Felina, I’m fine,” Sara protested.

“That’s not what Dr. Zira said,” Felina growled. “She said you’re still underweight. You need to eat more and rest more. ”

Adora and Catra backed away so Sara could pull her chair to the table.

“The medics said she should rest more?” asked Adora. “Do you hear that, Entrapta?” The tech Princess was terrible at remembering that people needed to stop for breaks and Sara was just as bad. 

Entrapta nodded, briskly and called out, “Emily! Take a note for the admin system. My second, Specialist Sara, is to be limited to thirty-two hours of duty per week. Also, break times during shifts shall be observed.” She grinned at Adora. “Emily does a great job of keeping track of things like that!”

“Snitch,” Sara mock-growled at Felina, but the girl stuck out her chin and the tip of her tongue at her mother. 

Something in Adora’s chest ached, but Sara giggled like a cadet at her daughter's antics. A loose, delighted sound that made Adora grin back before she realized she was doing it.

The girl set out the food on the table and then stepped back, but Catra asked, “You eat yet?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“All right, but come sit with us anyway. I hate people hovering like that.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Felina grabbed a chair and sat next to her mom.

For a few minutes they didn’t talk. Adora was starving, but that wasn’t unusual.

“You should take the afternoon off, Sara!” chirped Entrapta, suddenly. “I can handle winding things up here.”

For a minute, it seemed Sara would refuse, but then she looked around at the four of them and appeared to change her mind. “I am a little tired,” she allowed.

Catra shared a look with Adora, who nodded her understanding. 

“Can I walk you back to your quarters.?” Adora asked Sara, 

“That ‘s probably a good idea.” Felina said. “I have class in a few minutes.” She glared at her mother. “So someone has to make sure you behave.” 

Rolling her eyes at the fuss, Sara nodded and took Felina’s proffered hand to help her stand up.

As they left the power plant, Sara saw Felina flexing her claws, her tail stiff and a little puffy. 

“You okay?” Sare draped her arm across the girl’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. 

Felina put her arm around Sara’s waist. “Yeah.” Her eyes flicked toward Adora. 

Interesting. 

“See you after class?” Felina asked. 

That was also interesting. Generally Felina spent her afternoons with her friends.

“Sure. You want to meet up for supper?” Sara said. 

“Sounds good.” Felina looked relieved and squeezed Sara’s waist again. “I gotta go, or I’ll be late.”  With that she hurried away.

“She’s probably decided I need someone to make sure I eat.” Sara shook her head. “Hey, I have an idea,” she said brightly. “Have you been to the sauna yet?”

“Wait, what?” Adora’s head swiveled around, her eyes wide. “We have a sauna?”  

The woman was so surprised that Sara grinned. “Have you done one before?” 

Obviously recalibrating, she blinked down at Sara.  “I… Yeah, but in Mystacor.”  

“You wanna come with me?” she offered casually. “You look like you could use it.”

For a moment, Adora opened her mouth like she might say no, then shrugged, and said, “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

These last ten weeks had seen a building frenzy.They had built new permanent living quarters, new dining halls, new kitchens.  Each new barracks had rooms for family quarters as well as bunk rooms. Each sleeping room had its own toilets. A real luxury. 

Sarah, as Entrapta’s second, had been issued a suite of command staff quarters, meaning she had an ensuite bathroom and shower, but she usually came to use the common showers. It was the best way to keep up with the camp scuttlebutt. And her ensuite did not have a sauna.

They discarded their boots at the door where a set of boot shelves had been installed. A nice touch to keep the locker room clean.

The brand new facilities were bright and airy. In the locker room, hooks for clothes lined the walls and clean towels were stacked on shelves. Skylights let in the daylight and the new wooden benches gleamed blonde. Immaculate white tiles lined the walls and the floor was cedar slats.  

“Oh, wow. This is… this is gorgeous.” Adora gasped, as she shimmied out of her clothes and hung them on a hook. 

“Right?” Sara grinned. “I guess the idea is to impress the Princesses.” 

Several doors lined the walls. Sara led the way to the one that opened into the dimly lit sauna and the heat swept out to meet them. Inside, three tiers of benches rose against the wall. They glowed with faint golden light where sun filtered through the skylights. Fragrant steam hissed from the rocks. 

Spreading out her towel on the lowest bench, Sara unclipped her brace and used her hand to lift her bad leg up. Then she lay down on her back. Soon the baby would be too big for her to do this. She ran her hand over the bump. It was just starting to show under her coveralls, but naked it was obvious.

Adora settled on the middle tier, putting her elbows on her knees, opening and closing her hands.  For a few minutes they stayed silent and Sara let her eyes slide shut. The heat soaked into her bones and she felt her whole nervous system uncoil.

“Has the Horde always had saunas?” Adora finally asked.

“Yeah.” Sara chuckled. “Of course, it was usually when someone ran a water pipe through the engine compartment of a transport into a shower tent. It was never as nice as this. “ She stretched and yawned. “I guess I should go cool off before I overheat. The medics say the little recruit might not like it.” 

Slowly, taking care to not move too quickly, Sara sat up and wiped her face, then clipped her brace back on. “We’ve got soaking tubs, too.” She stood and picked up her towel.  

“No way!” Adora exclaimed, picking up her own towel and following Sara back into the locker room. “I had no idea!” 

“Yeah. Crazy, right? We’ve got hot and ice tubs. The medics had them put in here, so folks don’t have to hike over to the infirmary to use them.”  She opened the door next to the sauna.  “I’m not supposed to do ice baths after a sauna at the moment, but this one is just a cool tub.”

A small pool big enough for three or four people was sunk into the floor. Sara folded her towel, settling down on the edge and dipped her feet in. 

 Adora sat down next to Sara and leaned forward to put her hands in as well as her feet. “Ohhh. That’s nice.” She opened and closed her hands again in the cool water. 

 “Ah, Adora?” They probably would not have a chance to talk again, and Sara wanted to make sure Adora understood what she was going to say during the hearings.

“Yeah?” 

Sara fidgeted. “I wanted to make sure you heard it from me first. I’m planning on testifying. And… um I want to let you know I was going to talk about how I got this.” She waved at her knee.  

Adora went pale to the lips. She tried to say something, but only a squeak came out. She covered her mouth with her hands

“It’s okay.” Sara put a hand on Adora’s shoulder, and squeezed. “I wanted to tell you what I was going to say. Please?” 

Without removing her hands, Adora nodded.

“I don’t  want you to feel blindsided.” Sara raked her hand through her hair. “I was going to talk about that day, for a reason. I don’t want you to hear this for the first time when we're up before a tribunal.“

“Okay.” Adora’s voice seemed small.

It took a moment to gather herself. It was still hard to talk about, even after all this time, but she knew she had to. 

“I was watching for Rebels on the scanners.” It was easier to talk about this if she did not look at Adora. Instead she studied the designs that lined the bottom of the pool. Someone had gotten creative and painted fish on the tiles. “I didn’t see you at first.”

She shook her head. “Well I did, but I didn’t realize . I must’ve looked up at just the right moment. You came around the rock, and I saw you all alone. I didn’t call out the alarm, I thought you were some random scavenger or something.” A faint, ragged chuckle. “That red jacket wasn’t made for stealth.” 

A rough breath.

 “For a minute, I saw you , not She Ra.” She stared at her hands for a long time. “It happened so fast. I didn’t see your face. Not really. But the way you moved. You looked… so damned tired. There was this half-second when I thought you were going to walk away.” She looked down again.  “And then there was the flash.” 

“There’s a lot of it I don’t remember.” Sara blew out a breath and turned slightly away.  “But, the flash,”  It had been so bright through the scanner that her vision exploded in black spots. “I remember that.”

She shivered and withdrew her hand. “After that, well, you know how it was. What happened.”

Adora nodded, her eyes shimmering. 

“And then… I was lying under the console. It… didn’t hurt then. My legs I mean. My head hurt and I was all cut up, but I was waiting for you to come back and finish me off. Markus… “ she trailed off. She cleared her throat. “Markus was Trevor’s dad. He didn’t make it.”

Adora pressed her hands against her mouth and the threatened tears spilled down her cheeks. Sara’s gut knotted up, but she was glad she had decided to talk to her privately first. Saying this for the first time in public, in front of the whole camp and stars knew who else would have been cruel.

“But, I could see daylight from where I was stuck and I saw you again. Through the hole you tore in our tank.”

Even now, Sara called up the image easily. The image she would take to her grave: She Ra walking away, her gait hesitant, her steps heavy.

“And then… you were walking away.” A hitch in her breath. Tears flowed unnoticed down Sara’s cheeks and she sniffed. “I couldn’t believe it. Dragging your ass. Like you hated the mission.  You weren't excited you won. You weren't on the comms telling everyone about it. “

“I…” Suddenly the specialist felt less sure. This was pure speculation, but it had felt so clear at the time.  “I had the idea that you were crying.  I know it was impossible for me to see, maybe it was the way you walked? Or maybe it was just projection? I don’t know, but it was like you didn’t want to go home. And all I could think was, ‘Shit, she doesn’t want to be here any more than I do.’ “ 

“Derrick and Chuck were losing their minds. Them and the other crews? They ripped the tank apart.” She took another grounding breath. “I don’t remember much about that, except watching She Ra stomp away. She looked back for a minute and all I could do was pray that she didn’t turn around. Because, if she did… they’d have to retreat or re-engage. Either way it would have been bad for me.” 

She reached out, her hand cold on Adora’s shaking shoulders. “Derrick always says…” She sucked in another gasp. “He says he saw the Horde girl in you that day. You came in, did your job, followed your orders. Just like us. And when you achieved your objective, you let us go. You knew the rules.”

“H-how can you think that?” Adora’s voice cracked, like wanted to scream, to howl, but Sara held her eyes.

“Hey. Hey. Don’t.” Sara’s voice was low, rough. She needed Adora to understand this. “I’m not trying to hurt you. It was a war. None of us started it.” She swallowed hard. “The Princesses… They killed my folks. My Tom.  Meg. Amy. Markus. They killed so fucking many of us.” She blew a sharp breath out of her nose,  fighting down her temper.  

“But… from what I hear, Hordak started this. And, well, he and Shadow Weaver were worse.”

Tears flooded her cheeks, dripped off her nose and she gave in, putting her face in her hands. Adora’s hand landed on her shoulder.

“But She-Ra…” Slowly, Sara sat up, wiping her eyes. “She…  I mean you… You never hurt anyone if you could help it. If She Ra was there, we knew we could retreat. We wouldn't be drowned. Or frozen. Or teleported off a cliff.”

“I used to wonder,” she added after a beat. “Why She-Ra always held back. Couldn’t figure it out. Now I know. And that’s what I’m going to talk about.” She met Adora’s gaze. Steady. Unflinching.

“And now I know for sure who you are?” Her mouth quirked. “Shadow Weaver’s missing ward? Fuck. Bet you signed on with the first squad who was nice to you.”

Adora blinked, startled, then sheepish. “Glimmer and Bow… They took me to a festival. I’d never been to one before,” she whispered. “I’d only ever eaten ration bars. I didn’t know there was… anything else.”

“Thought so.” Sara’s smile was sad. “Too risky to invite you to anything, in case you told her. And I bet Shadow Weaver wasn’t generous with your rations.” She squeezed Adora’s shoulder. “Explains a lot. People fight for their friends. Not causes.”

She paused, then murmured, “I think that’s why I believe we can have peace.”

“I don’t understand,” Adora whispered.

Sara’s voice hardened. . “The Princesses talked a lot about treating people right. But they came through our lines and hit everyone. Combatants or not.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Adora. That Horde girl. The one that followed the rules. Treated us like people. Without her, peace would be impossible.” 

Chapter Text

Sara had never had such an afternoon in her life.

Real food for lunch that she did not have to catch and cook herself. A sauna in the brand new facility. A facility supplied with clean, soft towels she had not had to steal and pools for cooling off. Showers with hot water. 

When Adora left her, she texted Felina to let her know she was going to take a nap, and they should meet for a late dinner. It was going to be crazy until the hearings were over, so who knew when they'd get the chance to spend time together.

She was glad she had a chance to talk to Adora. To explain what she was going to say, and why. At this point, few were willing to testify. Scorpia and Perfuma had done their best—recruiting Chiefs, Seconds, anyone respected enough to prove it was safe.

Sara wanted to talk about that day-- she wanted to explain how that Horde girl played by the rules. Like them, she had her orders. And like them, she fought for her friends. It was important to remind the gathered Hordefolk that She Ra had been the weapon, not the mastermind.

Hell, at that point in the war, Horde soldiers were better off than Adora had been. The Alliance had been chasing its own tail thanks to some brand new intel. Catra’s reforms had them taking and holding more territory than than the Horde ever had. The average soldier was better equipped and better fed than they had ever been.

Who was responsible for She Ra being thrown at enemies all alone? Before she had met Adora, she never really gave it a thought. She Ra was terrifying; she did not need backup. That flash haunted Sara’s nightmares. Her bad leg and cybernetic nervous system were testament to the Princess’s destructive power.

But seeing the messed up kid behind that flash? Sara shuddered. That girl carried far too much. Sent into battle with no one to even watch her back? She Ra was strong, but Adora was just human. And now it seemed like she was hiding from anyone connected to Bright Moon.  

Recently Sara heard that Shadow Weaver had advised Queen Glimmer after Queen Angella went MIA. Shadow Weaver loved to send folks who pissed her off on shit missions.

The first testimony would be in seven days. Six, if you counted the opening ceremonies.

After class, Felina got a text that her mom was going to have supper late, so she had time to kill. That gave her more time to consider what to do about Adora

She did not like Adora, but as Derrick always told her, she did not have to like someone to watch their back. 

And Felina knew, deep in her bones, Adora needed someone to fucking watch her back. Not Catra. Catra had too many crazy important things to do right now.  That was why  Adora didn’t want to  tell her.

Felina totally got that. Shit, she would never bug Sara or Derrick about her emotional spirals right now. That was what her friends were for.

Who were Adora’s friends? The camp commanders came to mind but Lonnie, Kyle and Rogelio were as busy as Catra. 

On any other day, Sara or Derrick would be the go-to for something like this, but Derrick was one of the Security Chiefs for next week and Sara had enough on her plate between growing a new recruit and the electronic upgrades she and Entrapta were overseeing.

“Naw, man, I’m not walking into Catra’s office and telling her that.”

”Yeah, but someone needs to tell her about what’s going on with Adora.”

The two names made Felina’s ears twitch and she looked around the busy new plaza (that’s what they were calling it. It still was the parade ground in Felina’s head). 

Three young specialists huddled together on one of the new wooden benches. She’d seen them around before, but she could not remember their names. Maybe a year or two older than she, their insignia marked them as engineering support specialists.  

The speaker was a dirty blonde full-human, his companions were one beast-type boy and the other boy was probably an orc/human hybrid by his scent.

The beast boy looked up at her approach. The other two were so deep in their conversation that they failed to notice Felina walk over. “Hey, guys?” she started.

The three of them stood when they took in her insignia. 

“You need something ma’am?” 

“Uh, yeah.” Awkwardly she smiled at them. It was weird to be called ma’am. She was still not used to the way even full grown specialists deferred to her. “Um… As you were.” She shifted, nervously.. “I… heard you talking. About Adora.”

Once she would have known exactly what to say to them, but her officer cadet pin made their eyes spark with distrust. She did not know what to tell them to make them understand she was trying to help.

They stuffed their hands in their pockets and regarded her suspiciously and then looked at each other. 

“You’re Felina. Catra’s aid? Right?” the beast boy asked, as if making a decision.

A little guarded, she nodded. 

“I’m Mo.” He pointed at the light haired full-human. “That’s Erin.” He pointed to the orc hybrid. “That’s Garin.”

She nodded, waiting for them to get to the point.  

“Can we sit?” Garin asked, gesturing at the wooden chairs scattered around the plaza. At her nod he brought one over.

“We’re worried about Commander Adora,” Mo said, sitting when she did. “And we figured you might be able to tell Catra.”

“How come you’re worried?” Felina asked.

The three looked at each other, silently negotiating who wanted to spill the bad news to an officer. Felina recognized the look. Finally, Garin and Erin’s pleading eyes convinced Mo to speak up. “She told us last night she was She Ra.”

Felina nodded, feeling a little disappointed. They probably just thought Adora was losing her mind, because of how much she pretended to NOT be She Ra. 

“She is. I’ve seen her transform.” Pride crept into her voice. “I was at Spire.”

“That’s insane. We totally thought she was kidding." Mo shook his head. “It’s not about that. It’s…” he trailed off as though he had a hard time explaining.

Garin jumped in. “She was crying and talking about how she needed to talk about what she did. She was really upset, like she thought she was in trouble.” He looked at his friends for confirmation. 

“Yeah, and I heard you talking about the hearings." Erin nodded excitedly. “You and the others were at my table the other day.”

The “others” meant the six other officer cadets here at Refuge

“You said that Catra was on the comms with Queen Glimmer all day. That Catra is the only one who can keep her in line.”

Had she? Felina could not remember talking to the specialist, but that sounded like something she would say. Vaguely she remembered talking to the group in the mess tent the other night.

“So, why is she coming? What are all the hearings about, for real? Adora said she wanted to talk about what she did, like she was confessing to a tribunal,” Mo eagerly added.

The hearings. 

Felina had taken notes for so many meetings about the hearings, but she still did not quite get what they were for, since Perfuma insisted that they were not criminal trials. 

She looked around at their blank faces that mirrored her own confusion. “Yeah, I don’t quite get it either,” she admitted. “But Catra says it’ll be easier to understand once it gets started.”

Garin looked around, leaned forward and asked quietly, “Felina, do you know why they stationed Adora way out here?”

Biting her lip, Felina shook her head. “Honestly? I have no clue.”

“Lots of folks are wondering if she was exiled,” Erin put in, keeping his voice low.

Exiled? She had not heard that. Just the word was scary. Felina shivered. Most people would rather get a clean laser blast to the face.

Something weird had happened the night of the reception for Queen Angella-- she heard Sara talking to Derrick about it on their way home. 

A few weeks later, Felina was assigned to Refuge because Catra was there. And it was clear Catra was there because Adora was there. It was equally clear Adora did not want to go back to Bright Moon. 

“I think she came here because she wanted to, but I don’t know why.”

“So, why’s Queen Glimmer’s coming here, now?” Garin asked. “You see how much money they’re spending on this.” He waved his hand around the plaza, with its new greenspace and rec area. Kids played in the fountains they had installed, chasing each other around the water spouts that responded to touch, while caregivers watched them indulgently. “I mean, why?”

Here, Felina did know the answer. “They’re holding it here because no one else wanted it.”

The three nodded. “That makes sense.” Mo rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. “I mean, this is where everyone goes when there is nowhere else to go.”

“It still doesn’t mean that Adora’s not in trouble,” Garin muttered. He stood to pace. “I still think they’re setting her up.”

“Setting her up?” Felina tilted her head.

“They’re looking for someone to take the fall.” 

That wasn’t what Felina expected, but like what the rest of what the boys said, it made a terrible kind of sense. 

Mo’s mouth firmed to a grim line. “We’re worried this is a huge distraction.  Like they want to get Catra all mired in stupid shit so they can separate them.”

Nodding his head in support, Erin said, “I figure we can make it hard for them to catch her alone, at least.”

“Yeah, we can be like her unofficial security detail.” Garin  added stoutly.

That sounded like a solid plan. One that Felina could help with.

“Talk to Derrick,” she told them. “He’s assigning security details to all the Horde delegates and he’ll get here tomorrow. He can assign you officially to Adora, because she’s considered Refuge Command Staff.”

Their eyes lit up. “Really?” Mo exclaimed. “That would be great!”

“Yeah, hang on. I’ll text him right now.” She took her tablet out of her bag. 

“Whoa! You got one of those?” Erin leaned forward to look covetously at it. “I always wanted to try one.” A wry little smile hovered on his lips. “I took a few coding classes in my training,” he said wistfully. “I know that’s a really good one.”

Felina typed in the message that Adora needed a security detail and gave Derrick the boys’ names. He replied with a simple thumbs up.

“What does that mean? Is he messing with us?” Erin asked, looking over her shoulder. 

She grinned. “No, when Derrick does it, he’s being straight. He’s my dad.” She loved saying that. She did not add that Derrick would assume Adora’s security detail was Catra’s orders.

“Thanks, Felina!” Mo’s face was wreathed in smiles. “This is just… Wow.”

“You’re welcome.” She walked a little taller as she left them. But the conversation left her wondering who to tell about the other thing; she knew she could not carry it alone.

“You okay, Felina?” 

The cadet jumped, because she was so deep in thought she had not even heard anyone come up beside her, but she grinned at him. “Trevor! They finally let you out of the infirmary?” He was still in his medic’s uniform. “What are you working now? Triple shifts?”

He grinned back. “Dr. Nyxal only lets us do doubles. She even throws Dr. Zira out these days when she’s been working too long.” He fell in to walk beside her. “You going to dinner?” 

“Yeah. Meeting Mom in a bit.”

“How’s she doing?” Trevor leaned in to ask quietly.

Felina shrugged. “You’d know better than me.”

Trevor shook his head. “No, Dr. Zira’s super strict about that. Records are need-to-know only. Don’t get her started on privacy.”

“Oh.” Felina thought about it. “So, like, if I went to the medic for something, they wouldn’t tell you about it?”

“Yeah. They wouldn’t even tell me you were there until they knew you were okay with it.”

Blinking, Felina considered that, then, “If-if I were worried about someone, and I told one of the medics about it, would they be able to keep that quiet too?”

“Is Sara…?” Trevor jumped on that immediately.

“No.” Feline put her hand on his arm and gave him a smile. Sara was as much Trevor’s mom as Derrick was Felina’s dad, after all. “Although, I gotta tell you what happened today.”

While they walked to the mess tent, Felina regaled him with the story of meeting a very excited Entrapta who insisted that Felina needed to help her take a metric shit ton of tiny bowls to Sara, Catra and Adora. 

Supper with Trevor and Sara was fun. They had not had a chance to be together like this for a few weeks. Afterward, Felina told Sara that she was meeting some of her classmates and she’d sleep in the bunkroom.

Instead of heading to the new cadet barracks, Felina made a detour to the infirmary. Trevor had mentioned that Nyxal was on shift tonight.

 A dark haired drow woman sat at the front desk, reading something on her comm pad, with her head propped on one hand. At first she didn't even look up, only moving her eyes. “Can I help you with something?” Her voice was flat, as though irritated to have her reading interrupted. 

“Yes, ma'am. I’m here to see Dr. Nyxal? Does she have a minute?”

The woman clicked her tongue. “If you need a medic, you should go to the emergency clinic.”

“No, I need to talk to her.” Pushing her luck, Felina gestured toward her insignia. “I’m Ambassador Catra’s aid.” 

“Huh?” The woman lifted her head and Felina tried to look like she was on official business, standing at ease with an unbothered expression. She was glad that drow, like full humans, were bad at figuring out when people were lying.

The woman hit the button on the comm. “Dr. Nyxal?”

“Yeah, Moon?”

The drow woman pinched her mouth like she'd eaten something sour. “Ambassador Catra’s aid is here. Should I send her back?”

“Yes. That’s fine,” came the reply.

Felina followed the woman's directions to Nyxal’s office, but the canid woman sat on one of the benches lining the hallway with her feet up, cradling a cup of coffee.

She smiled tiredly. “Felina, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What can I do for you?”

Nervous, Felina stammered, “I-I needed to ask you something?” She did not know Dr. Nyxal except for what Trevor told her. On the other hand, the medic’s whole mission was to help people and Adora really needed the help. “I don’t know where else to go with this.”

Nyxal’s white ears perked up and her nostrils flared. She turned, putting her feet on the floor and patting the space beside her. “What’s going on?”

No turning back now.  

“It's kind of private.” Felina sat down beside the doctor. "Trevor told me anything I tell you is confidential."

“Of course.” Nyxal smiled.

“This morning, Catra sent me to find Adora.” Instead of looking at Dr. Nyxal, Felina looked down at her hands, thinking of Adora’s bloody swollen knuckles. Her misshapen fingers. The sight had been so surreal that Felina had not even been able to interpret what she saw at first. 

“She shuts off her comm sometimes when she goes for her runs. So, someone saw her down by the transports and I went to find her.” 

It had been so scary. Adora was strong and she knew how to punch. Without anything to cushion them, she had mangled her hands so badly that Felina couldn't understand why Adora wasn’t in shock.

“Go on.” Nyxal tilted her head sideways, as Felina groped for words.

“I… um… saw something I shouldn’t have.” Felina winced. She didn’t mean to make it sound like Adora was doing something illegal. “I mean…”

Nyxal did not move, just sat waiting.

“I found her beating up a rock. She fucked up her hands really badly. They were all smashed. And bleeding a lot. Her  hands, I mean.” During class Felina kept smelling the blood. Afterwards she found tiny spots of blood on her uniform. 

“I saw her tonight, though.” Nyxal’s head tilted more, her ears fully upright, her eyes never leaving Felina’s face. Not disbelieving, just confused. “She dropped by to sit with the kids. She’s been doing it a few nights a week. She seemed fine.”

Oh. The medic didn’t know. Would she believe Felina?

“You know all those rumors? The ones about her and Catra and She Ra?”

Nyxal nodded.

“Well, Adora really is She Ra.” Felina said bluntly and then paused to watch Nyxal’s face.

The medic blinked slowly, nostrils flaring again as she caught Felina’s scent. Her brow furrowed, thoughtful. “For real?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s just that… I think Adora is scared of upsetting people. So she talks about it like she’s joking.”

“That… would make sense.” The medic’s head slowly straightened. “Go on.”

“She beat up the rock and then she did that light show thing and transformed. I guess it fixed her hands.” Felina stopped again, considering. “But then she became Adora and did it again.”

“Did it again?”

“Yeah, like she’d punch the rock to break her hands, and then make her magic fix them.”

“Where was this?” 

Encouraged, Felina pointed in the general direction. “Behind the transports. There’s a rock there with blood stains on it.”   Asking for verification meant the medic was taking her seriously. 

Slowly Nyxal stood. “That’s not far. Can you show me?” 

Felina nodded. 

Nyxal's hand landed on Felina’s shoulder, her grip firm. “If this is a Princess Hunt,” The woman’s eyes narrowed and she growled a low canine warning. “I’ll skin you alive.”  

“Understood.” Felina knew that Nyxal must deal with a lot of people fucking with her. There weren’t many hybrid medics.

“Hey, Melog?” Nyxal called.

Catra’s friend paced into the hallway from the darkened ward and chirruped at Felina, coming over to rub their cheek against hers. The weird tickly feeling made Felina giggle in spite of the situation. 

They touched Felina’s nose with theirs, then sat in front of Nyxal as though awaiting a briefing. 

“I’ve got an errand.” Nyxal told them. Felina was pleased to see that she talked to Melog like a person.  Not everyone did.

“Will you be okay here, for a minute? Zira’s gone to bed, but you can get her if there’s an emergency.”

The great cat nodded slowly and then stood. Noiselessly, they settled sphynx-like in the doorway, as though to show they were on duty.

Nyxal picked up her comm. “Moon?” 

“Yes, Dr. Nyxal?” answered the voice of the woman at the front desk.

“I’m leaving for a few. Melog’s with the kids and Dr. Zira’s asleep. If you need me, ping me on my comm.”

A little pause. “You're leaving the kids alone?” 

“No. I told you. Melog’s here.” She closed the connection before Moon replied.

“Come on.” Nyxal jerked her head. “Show me the damage.” She led the way out the back door. “And let’s be quick.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Both hybrids dropped to all fours and raced off to the transport lot. Felina led the way around the back, skidding to a stop at the rock.

Standing as the medic caught up, Felina waved at the boulder. The rough surface sparkled where the dim moonlight caught, tracing a dark swirl of reflective crystal on the grey rock. The blood stain was a black patina about the size of Felina’s hand and small streaks showed where it dripped down.

Nyxal bent to sniff the black stain. “Thats Adora’s blood, all right.” Her scent hung strongly in the air under the coppery tang. So fresh, even the stink of grease and diesel fuel could not drown it out.

“I…” Felina’s heart beat skittered against her chest wall like a bird trying to get out. “I found her just destroying her hands. It was like she wanted to hurt.” 

Remembering Adora’s wild blue eyes, the strands of her hair escaping her ponytail, the way her voice went high pitched and little-girlish, Felina felt sick. 

“Yeah?”  Nyxal regarded Felina, tilting her head ,inviting her to go on.

“When I came around the corner…” Felina’s breath hitched. She was right here. I saw her do it twice before I grabbed her wrist. “ Felina’s fingers tingled with the remembered strength of Adora’s arm. Felina had instinctively grabbed her wrist and yanked sideways, unable to let the woman keep destroying herself.

“She asked me not to tell Ambassador Catra.  Like, specifically.“

“Did she?”

 Nyxal’s bright eyes focused on Felina who gulped, feeling caught. Like she snitched on a squaddie. “I only promised I wouldn’t tell Catra. “ She hurried to explain.“ But, Trevor told me that anything I say to you is between us, so…”

Nyxal smiled slightly. “Smart thinking, cadet.” 

The approval made Felina relax.

“Yeah, this kind of thing is best brought to medical.” The medic looked back at the rock and sobered. “I can’t approach her directly. Not without outing you.” She brought one finger to her chin and tapped her lips. “Unless…”

Crouching, she put her hand next to the dark smear and went still. One ear flicked at a nightbird’s call, but otherwise she didn’t move. 

A full minute passed like that.

Her gaze turned sharp again as she stood and began to speak in a new voice, measured, thoughtful, almost to herself. “You know, I think I got notified that someone was back here who needed me. That’s why I left the infirmary so abruptly. “

Catching on, Felina nodded quickly. “Yes ma’am.”

“So, I came out here, took care of whoever and smelled that.” She jerked her head at the boulder. “I mean, since the blood is so new it’s my duty to check up on Adora. Given how much of it there is, she could be badly injured.” 

A wry smile passed over the medic’s lips. “It wouldn’t be the first time some soldier blew off medical care  because it’s ‘just a flesh wound’”

Nyxal’s eyes snapped to Felina’s,  sharp and alert, her ears perked forward. “Good job, cadet. Head on back to your quarters, it’s light’s out soon.”

Almost giddy with relief, Felina saluted (she couldn’t remember anymore if she was supposed to salute medics or not).

“Dismissed.” Dr. Nyxal said, kindly.

Walking away, Felina saw over her shoulder that Dr. Nyxal was again crouching next to the rock, the moonlight glinting off the crystal swirl, her brows furrowed with concentration.

“Moon,” Nyxal called in to the front desk.

“Doc-ter Nyxal.”

The forced way the drow said “doctor” made Nyxal grin maliciously. Moon had straight up refused to call her doctor at first. Before Zira had a private talk with her, from which the drow had emerged with swollen eyes and a runny nose.  Now, Moon contented herself with making it sound like a curse.

“Yeah, I gotta go round up some asshole who’s trying to hide an injury from us. It may be a while.” 

“Should I wake up Dr. Zira?” Amazing. No problem with  Zira’s title.

“Negative.” Nyxal would not have Zira dragged out of bed. “We don’t have any inpatients in the regular beds and Melog’s watching the kids. Let her sleep.”

“Melog?” The words dripped with disdain. The drow’s attitude was probably going to get her fired once they got more help, so Nyxal let it slide. Sort of.

“Are you worried that Melog isn't capable?” Nyxal asked innocently.

Silence and then an irritated huff. “Well, it does seem very strange that we're letting an alien creature have free access to those little ones.” 

“Shall I call and let you share your concerns with Ambassador Catra?”

Silence and then a small, “No, ma’am.” 

Nyxal grinned to herself again as she closed the connection. Moon had shown up claiming to be an advanced medic, but turned out to be barely competent at paperwork. That was why she worked at the desk where she couldn’t kill anyone. She was used to getting things handed to her. All she needed was a wink and a smile. As opposed to Nyxal who fought tooth and nail for everything she had.

Things had gotten so much better since Catra and Scorpia took over. Hell, half the council were hybrids. But the changes were not going down well with the full humans or the folks that looked full human. Drow were especially snotty, since Shadow Weaver had been one. 

She’d heard that Adora was Shadow Weaver’s missing ward and wondered how that played out in her relationship with Catra. 

She shook her head. Not her business.

Well, unless the relationship was the reason for beating up rocks.

Taking her time through the camp, she contemplated what she would say; this time of night folks were usually headed back to their quarters. Finding them was not going to be a problem, but she did not have their direct lines and it would not be appropriate to put out a general call for something like this. 

Plus, if Adora was hiding from her, she wouldn’t want to give her warning.

No, she had to do a drop in.

Their new quarters were in one of the brand new buildings that went up in the past weeks. Boxy things, all prefab walls and temporary piping, but solid. Sturdy enough to withstand the magic storms they got sometimes.

The construction crews had only just finished surrounding them with  plants of all things. Whole beds of them. Lined up in tidy rows like they were meant to be there. Not weeds, but not edible plants either. With light colored flowers contrasting with the black leaves.

 Probably to help with erosion. 

As she walked by the sweet smelling plants, she remembered the dark, heavy oil her mother bought at market things. Cut with a little of the hundred proof alcohol she and her mom used to degrease linkages, it smelled almost exactly like the petal heaped flowers. It reminded her of the scent of spring when she was a kid. When the wind off the mountain blew the coal smoke away and Nyxal pretended she could be something other than a miner.

She smiled at the recollection as she continued into the building and rode up in the elevator, wishing her mother could see her now. 

Doctor Nyxal, Refuge Medical Department Second. 

She savored the title until the elevator door opened. In the hallway outside their door, Nyxal sniffed. No blood smell out here. Good.

She knocked.

The intercom on the door buzzed and Catra’s face appeared. “What’s wrong?” she asked, seeing the medic at their door.

A fair question this time of night. 

“Ah. Can I come in? I can’t talk about this out here.”

Catra sighed. “Yeah, yeah. Okay.”

The lock on the door clicked open. “Come in.”

Their new quarters smelled mostly of fresh paint. No blood. Given the amount she saw on the rock that shocked Nyxal, but Felina did say that Adora healed it with magic. 

Catra leaned against the wall, arms crossed, stripped down to shorts and bra. Nyxal felt terrible for intruding on their evening, but this could not wait.

“Who is it?” called Adora’s voice from the other room. 

“It’s Dr. Nyxal.” Catra called back.

“I’m sorry,” Nyxal said, taking heart that Catra did not look (or smell) angry. “This wasn’t something I wanted to talk about on the comms.”

Catra turned away and gestured for Nyxal to follow her into the living area where she sat on the couch. She waved at the chair. “Have a seat.”

Nyxal stayed standing. “I actually need to speak with Adora.”

“Me?” Adora came out of the bedroom,  already dressed for bed. Her scent began to spike with concern.

“Yes, ma’am.” Nyxal shifted on her feet, reining in the nervous urge to salute. She put her hands behind her back.  “Ah, perhaps I should speak to you privately?”

“Why, what’s this about?” The blonde frowned. “You can say anything in front of Catra.” She crossed to sit next to her wife.

That was probably a bluff, given the way Adora’s eyes darted around. Nyxal took a deep breath.

“Okay.” 

Now Nyxal sat, folding her hands on her lap. Catra’s nostrils flared and a frown line appeared between her eyebrows as she picked up on the pheremone signals of Nyxal's distress. 

“The kids are okay, right?” Adora asked slowly, trying to puzzle out this weird visit. 

“Melog would have said something to me.” Catra reminded her.

“Yes, ma’am . The kids are fine.” 

Adora had been coming by the infirmary a lot in the afternoons and evenings. She would spend hours with the kids. Sometimes, she would bring her three shadows. The three young men were so excited that she would deign to talk to them that they were happy to do anything she asked. 

Nyxal and Zira welcomed the volunteers. They were good with the kids, playing games and telling stories. Providing the focused attention the kids needed. However getting to know Adora was proving impossible.  She had tried, but Adora went out of her way to avoid talking to any of the medics.

It did not seem to be personal. That first night she had come in ready for a fight with Zira for no good reason, and then she had a panic attack. But the night she stuck up for Zira, it had been at one of the after work gatherings. Zira had been off duty and away from the hospital.

Abruptly Nyxal realized both women were looking at her expectantly, while she was lost in thought “I’m sorry.”

“You said that already,” Catra observed.

“This… is hard.” Nyxal admitted. She looked between the two women. “I got called out to check someone in distress. Out by the transports.”

Adora frowned, her eyes narrowing, suspicious.  Worried about what Nyxal might know, her scent souring from concern to fear. 

“While I was there, I smelled blood. I followed it and found blood all over one of the rocks. Like, enough to know someone was seriously injured.” She looked down at her hands rather than at Adora’s face. 

“It happens sometimes, you know.”  It was always difficult to approach someone who'd been hiding an injury and Nyxal wanted Adora to understand she wasn't the only one.  “People figure they’ll be okay, but then they’ll get an infection or something.”

Catra barked a nervous sounding laugh. “Yeah, we kinda know how that goes.” She looked furtively at Adora who had gone rigid, fisting her hands 

 When Nyxal raised her eyes, Adora’s face was a tightly controlled mask.  

“So, what? You need us to help track someone…?”  Adora’s voice was unnaturally high pitched.

Catra shook her head, looking tired. “Adora. I'm guessing Nyxal knows exactly whose blood it is.” She turned. “It’s Adora’s, isn’t it?”

Solemnly Nyxal nodded. “Yes.” 

“How could you possibly know that?”

Catra scoffed. And then tapped the end of her nose. “Idiot,” she muttered, throwing a dark glance at Nyxal.

Wordlessly, Nyxal took a knotted exam glove out of her pocket. and held it up “I took a sample.” She had scraped some of the dried blood into it “I can do a DNA test back at the lab. If you want me too.”

“I was just training.” Adora’s words were too loud, too fast. Like a badly rehearsed script.  “Felina came round the corner at just the wrong time.” 

The woman giggled, brittle and false.

“She just misunderstood!”

Nyxal blinked. She did not want the cadet to get blowback from this, but she had no idea how to call bullshit on Adora.

“Who said anything about Felina?” Catra asked sharply. 

Now the blonde opened her mouth and then shut it, her eyes darting around the room as though looking for an escape route.

Catra's voice was quieter now. “So what really happened?”

A pause.

“I know you’ve been hiding things, Adora. I thought we said no more secrets.”

“It’s not a big deal!” Adora picked up one of those weird square pillows that had appeared in every set of VIP quarters and set it on her lap with her arms around it, as though it were a shield.

“What’s not a big deal?” Catra stood and picked up her comm from the side table. “If it’s not a big deal, you won’t mind me getting Felina over here to explain exactly what she misunderstood.”

Adora’s eyes narrowed. Spots of angry color appeared on her cheeks and she made a noise in her throat that sounded like a hybrid’s growl.“ Whatever.” She hugged her pillow tighter and looked away.

 Nyxal cursed to herself. She hoped to keep the cadet out of it.  Adora could make Felina’s life very difficult. 

Instead of tapping her comm, Catra sighed and put one hand to her forehead as if it hurt.  She was quiet, then she dropped her hand, her eyes reddened but no tears fell.  “Why did I find bloody tights in the laundry a few months ago? “ 

Bloody tights? Implant failure, maybe?   

That would put a brand new spin on things. Shit, people could go off the rails in all kinds of ways if their contraceptive implant failed. In some ways, it would be the best possible scenario, because Nyxal could fix that.

“What?”

“Stuffed in with the laundry like I wouldn’t notice. I thought She-Ra always fixed your clothes. Or does it only work for that stupid jacket?” She twitched her ear like a fly landed on it. “The knees were all torn out. It looked like you’d taken a hell of a spill.

Nyxal sighed to herself, disappointed that  it sounded like a simple injury rather than her hormones freaking out. 

“And while we’re at it, why the fuck have you been lying to me about that fucking ruin?”

“What?”

“Adora! You erased the logs, but you never purged the data. I had Entrapta reconstruct it. You were out at that creepy temple for days. When you were supposed to be in Salineas.”

For a moment, Adora looked like someone had just swung a heavy weight into her face. “I didn't mean...” her voice cracked. She swallowed. “It’s not…”

Catra stood slowly. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Her tail lashed, all the hair on her spine was standing up and her ears were pinned. Nyxal could feel Catra almost vibrating with the force of her emotions. The magicat turned away and put both hands in her hair like she was ready to pull it out.

Slowly the fury faded from Catra’s scent as she mastered herself. Slowly her hands relaxed and fell to her sides.  She hung her head and blew out all her breath in a soft,  “whoo.” Her ears went up and the hair on her back flattened.

She turned to face them. “Thanks for bringing this to us, Dr. Nyxal,” she said quietly, hiding behind formality. “It’s late and I appreciate that you came to check on her.” Her eyes shifted back to Adora who was hugging the pillow as though it were a life vest on a sinking ship. 

Nyxal knew a dismissal when she heard one. She jumped up. “Yes, ma’am. I better get back.” She could not think of the last time she had been so relieved to leave a room.

Chapter Text

The door closed softly behind Nyxal.

Head hanging, her back to Adora, Catra leaned against it with one outstretched arm, forcing herself to breathe through one of Perfuma's breathing exercises, while Melog hummed in the back of her mind. No words came through the bond, but she understood. The image of a cat turning her back until her hackles went down and she would not indiscriminately injure the undeserving. Fume for a minute. Don’t speak until your teeth and claws are under control.

They were clear across camp with the kids, but that little distance didn’t matter for this. They only needed to help her not say things she couldn’t take back.It let her stay in the room without flying into a rage.

She’d thank Nyxal for bringing this straight to them later. Probably. Right now she had to deal with this. The last time she’d felt this tight in the chest, she’d been the one in a defensive huddle on a couch. 

Melog brought that image forward: sitting on Muriel’s couch, waiting for her world to cave in, terrified Adora would hate her. 

The anger drained from her chest and she straightened. When she was sure she would not snarl, she turned.

Curled around the pillow on her lap, with her broad shoulders hunched and head bowed, Adora looked so small that Catra’s heart turned over. 

Melog faded from the back of Catra’s mind with a feeling of “call if you need me.”

Grateful for Melog’s tact, she focused on her wife and took a deep breath.  “Okay. You want to tell me what happened?” She kept her voice soft, nonaccusatory. 

“No.” The word was fragile, high pitched. A choked off sob. 

Yeah, stupid question.

“Adora. Look at me.” Catra kept her voice soft and sat next to her wife. “Please?”

Wet grey eyes peeked out from behind the pillow and then closed again. Fine tremors ran through Adora’s body as tears flooded down her cheeks.

“Hey.” Without another word Catra wrapped her arms around Adora, purring to help calm them both. 

They sat wrapped around each other until Adora stopped shaking. The camp (it was more like a town than a camp, now) was almost silent, the only sound the crunch of the night patrol’s passing feet.

When Adora pulled back, she would not look at Catra. She sat hunched and still, hugging herself. The only movement was opening and closing one fist.

“Take your time.” Catra reached to push stray hair behind Adora’s ear. “But I need to know what happened.”

It was late. She had early meetings.

Fuck it. She’d cancel.

“You’ve been doing this for a while.” Not a question. She wouldn’t insult them both by pretending she didn’t know.

Adora nodded, tightening her grip on the cushion.

“Since the war ended?” Almost six months. Maybe more.

A little half shrug.

Catra knew Adora. Knew her tells. After a Shadow Weaver “disciplinary session,” she’d be like this. Still and silent, jaw locked, fighting to keep everything inside. But they never needed words.

“During the war?”

Adora’s gaze snapped to hers, gray eyes too bright. Her lip trembled. She opened her mouth, and then the tremors took her—whatever she meant to say lost somewhere between thought and breath. That was confirmation enough.

Catra reached out, laid a hand on her shoulder, rubbing slow circles to soothe the shaking while a terrible suspicion crept in. “Were you doing it the whole time you were living in Bright Moon?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.

Adora gave a shaky nod.

The implications crashed down like an avalanche. Like a fist in her solar plexus. Like Hordak’s chamber when he sucked out the atmosphere. Her lungs burned and Catra rocked back, stunned.

The. Whole. Time?

The thought was cold. Absolute. 

The memory of smoke rising over Thaymor was burned into Catra’s soul. She never spoke of it but she used to ruminate on it, alone in her bunk at night. The confusion, the fear she felt when Shadow Weaver said Adora was captured. The tank commander who let her take the wheel for a bit. The fear when she finally found Adora, who seemed off of her head, babbling about it being a peaceful village. All Catra wanted to do was take her home and get her to the medics. Catra had zapped her twice because she knew that there was no way she could get a resisting Adora into the tank.

 And then She Ra was there and her Adora was gone. 

In her teenage mind, Adora had thrown Catra aside for those people. It only made sense to assume her new friends were watching her back. That someone in that shining castle was offering the comfort Catra never could.

That had been the foundation of it all. The justification for every cruel thing she’d done. The unshakeable belief that Adora had traded up: for a better cause, better friends, a better life. It was the only thing that made the pain of abandonment feel like a fight worth having.

And it was a lie. A lie she’d told herself because Adora was just as alone and terrified as she was. 

Melog hummed in her head, dragging her back from the edge, reining in her impulse to start the whole war over again. Reminding her that, short of capturing Adora and dragging her home, there was nothing she could have done. 

And she had tried.

Clutching the cushion, Adora pulled her knees up, burying her head in her arms, her sobs almost silent. 

“Hey,” Catra croaked, opening her arms, scooting around on the couch. “Come here.” 

Adora fell into Catra’s arms, smelling of salt and grief and pain.  Abandoning her pillow and burying her face in Catra’s shoulder.

She hugged Adora closer to her, rubbing her back and purring. The couch was wide enough for both of them, barely. Adora let Catra rearrange them with her eyes screwed shut, like a bag of wet sand in her arms, limp with exhaustion. 

Catra pulled the knitted blanket from Aunt Casta around them, the soft wool heavy and comforting.

The dawn light was peeking through the blinds when Adora woke Catra by crawling over her. 

“Where are you going?” demanded Catra, instantly alert. 

A scoff and a wave at the bathroom door. Adora disappeared, and then came out pulling her bra over her head.

“We need to talk about this.”

Sighing heavily as she pulled on her shorts, Adora grunted acknowledgement, if not agreement.

“Adora… I’m serious.” Catra swallowed, fighting down the urge to snap. She gritted her teeth and remembered how Melog was always telling her to trust, but vulnerability was never easy. Even with Adora. “I-I’m really scared for you.”

That got Adora's attention. She stopped tying her shoes and stared at Catra as though shocked that someone would be afraid for her. Or maybe just shocked that Catra would admit to fear. For a moment Catra thought she had gotten through. 

But then Adora shook her head. She signed, “Going for run,” like they were back in the bunkroom trying not to wake Lonnie up. Too much emotion on too little sleep, no doubt. 

“Adora?” Catra struggled with what to say. She wanted to yell, to demand that Adora not leave her sight until they talked about this.  

But, she knew how this felt. How talking about the infected wounds she’d given herself felt like scraping her soul raw. So much worse than merely physical pain. Melog counseled patience. Let Adora process this reveal. Let Adora come to her.   

Melog had made one suggestion. Catra wasn't sure it would do any good, but they said it might help and couldn’t hurt.  They were usually right. 

“Adora? Don’t hurt yourself this morning. Please?” 

Eyes beaming incongruously blue in the dim light, a slight but palpable tingle of magic lifting the hair on Catra’s arms, Adora paused and then hesitantly nodded. 

Melog said She Ra’s magic had “opinions.” Did that mean it agreed with her? Maybe She Ra was trying to protect Adora; Melog always felt that was why the bloody tights were left where Catra could find them. 

“Promise?” Catra asked, biting her lip. 

In the silence that followed, Catra thought of that moment on Darla. Adora had carried her to bed, put her down somewhere she could rest and it seemed so impossible. Half-delirious, and hardly daring to believe her rescue was real, Catra had turned her claws on herself, trying to rid herself from Prime’s uniform, from the memory of his touch, from the thoughts he put in her head. 

Holding Catra’s wrists in an iron grip, Adora had demanded Catra stop. That she promise. It always felt like that was the exact second she became convinced of her rescue. 

Slowly, Adora’s shoulders relaxed and her eyes faded back to soft gray. “Promise,” she whispered, barely audible even to Catra and made the sign. 

That was the best she could probably do right now. “Meet you at lunch?” 

Adora had turned, but she stopped at the door, nodded without turning around, and then slipped away.

Leaning her head back on the couch, Catra rubbed her eyes. Well, at least she knew why Adora had been sneaking off.

Five days until the hearings started. Four until the whole fucking world got here. Three until Sparkles and company got here. There were worse times for Adora to lose her shit, but not many.

She tapped her comm. “Hey, Felina?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The poor kid sounded terrified, her voice tight and hoarse.

“Cancel my morning meeting. I’ll be there in about an hour. Grab some breakfast for us and meet me at medical when Nyxal gets off shift.” She paused, considering. 

“Y-yes ma’am.” 

Whatever Felina saw, it must have been bad, given how fast Adora brought the girl up. Catra had a sneaking suspicion that it had been Felina who alerted Nyxal. This wasn’t a secure line, so Catra did not want to say much, but she could not leave the poor kid hanging like that, waiting for all hell to break loose. “It’s okay. No one’s in any trouble.”  

“Uhh. Yes, ma’am.” The girl’s voice was unsure, still scared. Fuck. She could almost smell the girl’s nerves through the comm.

In her own cadet days, only a few instructors ever really acknowledged her existence, they just knew that she and Adora were always a package deal (Why had Shadow Weaver not separated them earlier? Funny that she never wondered that). But once in a great while, one of her instructors would give her praise and she lived for it.

“And… I think I probably should say well done. I assume it was you who looped in Nyxal?” Catra said it almost off handedly, as she had heard people praise Adora. No surprise. Surprise always made praise feel false and sour. Just acknowledgement that her competent aid had once again dispatched her duties. Competently. 

“Oh! Yes, ma'am, it was.” The sharp exclamation of surprise made Catra smile despite herself. “Thank you, ma’am!”

The connection clicked off and Catra thought about who to call next. She’d been waiting for this. Adora had been under so much stress and the fact that she would not even attend a meeting with Sparkles was worrying. No matter how many times Catra had tried to talk about those worries, the more determined Adora was to deflect it. 

And, to be honest, she had seemed better. More centered. Less twitchy.

Fuck.

Catra could have kicked herself. Of course Adora was better, she’d been beating the shit out of herself. Blood on a rock? How much? Enough that Nyxal could identify the source. How many times had Catra seen Adora make that exact gesture, opening and closing her fists like they hurt?

Dozens of times flashed through her mind. Dozens of times since they came to Refuge. Since the War ended. 

Since Catra had been laid out on Darla’s deck and been dragged back to life by golden light. 

Through that lens, a lot of tics  were now suspect. Holding her arms wrapped around her ribs. Shaking out her hands.  Sleeping like a rock, still and silent.  

Clumsiness. 

Adora had never been clumsy. No one who trained that much, who was that good of a fighter was clumsy! 

Unless she nursed an injury. Unless the pain made her stiff.

Okay, maybe Catra wouldn’t murder the whole Sparkles family, because Catra was clearly so much worse. This wasn’t Adora heading somewhere far away to fuck around. This was Adora doing who-knew-what to herself right under Catra’s nose.

Her claws flexed against the couch until fabric tore under her fingers. She didn’t even notice until stuffing pushed up between her knuckles.

Right under her nose.

Her chest burned, pressure mounting behind her ribs. She thought Adora was safe now, safe with her. And still, Adora had been bleeding. 

She punched in the code, calling Bow.  

“Hey, Catra!” Bow’s cheerful face appeared on her screen. “You folks all ready for…”

“Did you know that Adora hurts herself?” Catra demanded, cutting him off. “And I do not mean that she’s a klutz. I mean on purpose.”

He opened his mouth and then shut it. “I… thought she stopped,” he finally said, faintly. 

“What?” Catra’s vision tunneled and she sank her claws into the couch. “What do you mean?”

Melog was suddenly in the room 

“After she broke the sword, she was in a bad way. Before we left on Darla, she wouldn’t sleep. I could barely get her to eat. She’d throw herself into battle like she could still transform. So, she’s doing that again?”

“So, you didn't know she was injuring herself? The whole time she was at Bright Moon?” 

“What?” Bow blinked rapidly. 

Okay, it was new information to him.

“And she’d been using She Ra’s magic to hide it,” Catra finished.

The silence stretched so long Catra thought the screen froze. When he spoke again,  his voice was soft and quiet. “What has she been doing?”

“We haven't been able to talk. But it was bad. One of the medics found her blood.” Catra sighed and told him about Nyxal’s visit and then about Adora’s lies. “She told me last night.”

“I never thought she’d do anything like that.” Bow said slowly. “How long?”

Ragged, high pitched laughter burst from Catra. “Probably since the day she arrived in Bright Moon.”

Silence. Bow stayed still so long Catra thought her screen had frozen, but then he closed his eyes and grimaced. “When she first got to Bright Moon, she couldn’t sleep alone.” His eyes opened and they were full of pain and regret. “I didn’t realize until she broke the sword that she used to transform to make up for not sleeping. But after battles, she slept like a rock. It wasn’t until I got hurt and she healed me that I realized that meant she’d been injured.”

“Was she injured in battle or did she do it to herself?”

Bow’s silence spoke volumes, his face blanking as he seemed to rethink some things. “Fuck.” He finally grunted.

“Yeah.” 

Running didn’t slow Adora’s heart down, but it gave it a reason to race. It gave her a reason to sweat. To feel the burn in her gut. 

The new perimeter road took her beyond the transport storage, out to the piece of ground that now hosted market things three days a week. Today it was packed with people setting up for next week. They expected the camp to double in size during the hearings. These people were merchants from the surrounding towns and villages.

After that it took her further away, to the fields put aside for wagons and tents. It was empty this morning, although people were supposed to start arriving tomorrow. A huge grey boulder sat near the road in the middle of that empty quiet field. 

Adora slowed, then stopped. Staring at the dull rock. Her hands tingled. Took a step.

“You promised!” Catra’s voice echoed in Adora’s head. 

Fuck it. Catra did not need to know. She would not know. Not if Adora was careful.

Another step. And then two more. Out here, away from the people, 

No.

The word descended from the heavens. Golden light filled her. Not transforming her body. But something happened. 

Mara stood between her and the rock, given form by the golden light. “You promised.” Profound sadness filled her brown eyes. Then the corner of her mouth lifted in a sorrowful smile and she brushed Adora’s cheek. 

A moment of vertigo. Magic flaring and then dissipating.

“Commander!” Someone yelled. 

Quickly she wiped her eyes.Hopefully they’d think the tears were from the unexpectedly cool breeze that seemed heralding a change in the weather. 

She turned around. She felt calmer. She was calm. Not happy, not feeling any less awful, just calm enough to focus.

“Commander!” Three boys jogged up to her, all sporting thousand watt smiles. 

“Guess what?” Garin blurted, so excited he bounced on his toes.

Erin swatted the other specialist. “You don’t ask officers to guess. What’s wrong with you?” 

Garin shoved him back, still grinning.

 Mor rolled his eyes at them. “Chief Derrick assigned us to be your security detail!” he told Adora proudly.

Security detail? 

Shit. 

Catra didn’t trust her.

 Is she wrong? The thought floated through her mind in Mara’s voice. Any righteous indignation over not being trusted was snuffed out.

Adora’s silence made them falter.

“Um. If that’s okay, ma’am?” Garin asked, concerned by her expression. 

“We know it's not necessary ma’am.” Erin hastened to say. “But Derrick says you’re camp staff and all the Bright Moon folks are having security…”

“Yeah!” Mo nodded quickly. “He said it’s an honor thing. Like…” he leaned forward conspiratorily. “If you’re She Ra, you ought to have an honor guard. You know? Like Hor…” he cut himself off and started over. “Like the other Princesses have.”

Now, Adora wanted to cry. Catra didn’t trust her, but she made sure no one would know why she had security. An honor guard, so Refuge’s staff wouldn’t look shabby.

Something in her face must have reassured them because their smiles returned.

Garin nodded quickly. “We’re getting issued dress uniforms, ma’am! Like fancy ones. We get them today!”

Dress uniforms were rarely worn. Rarely even issued. So rarely, that no one in the Alliance had ever realized that Adora’s jacket was part of it.

Of course, the dress uniforms now would more than likely look completely different. 

The three were so excited that Adora could not find it in her to be mad. And, well… Catra wasn’t wrong. Plus, everyone knew she liked working with the boys. More than one person remarked about how Adora should be an instructor.

“Anyway, Derrick said all the camp commanders are getting their own details!” Erin put in.

She grinned at them and they perked up with her approval like three flowers following the light. 

“Are you going to visit the kids this morning, ma’am?” Erin checked. They’d been going to the infirmary three mornings a week. 

Still a little preoccupied, Adora nodded. A morning with the kids would be easy. At lunchtime, Catra would want explanations. Adora didn’t have any.

What did it matter? It wasn’t like She Ra couldn’t heal her instantly. Adora had never gotten sick since she found the sword. Well, not with any real illness. Not with anything that stopped her fighting or working.

She was surprised that the boys still followed her through her morning duties. Apparently they decided to disregard her confession about She Ra. Adora was baffled. Maybe they still didn’t believe her?

It made the morning blessedly normal. They chattered all through breakfast. Like every day for the past few weeks, people waved cheerfully at Adora as she led them like a line of ducks over to the infirmary. The waves still resembled salutes, but they were informal enough to make Adora feel warm. 

Nyxal was still there. She generally worked nightshift, keeping watch over the little kids. She was giving Zira report so Adora and the boys headed out to where the children were starting morning assembly.

They had been coming here for weeks. Two hours, sometimes three. Long enough that the little ones expected her, saving seats, tugging her toward games, showing her treasures like flowers or rocks.

It was the happiest she ever felt; quiet, steady. The kind of happiness that settled in her bones instead of flaring up and burning out.

Here, no one needed She-Ra. They just wanted someone to listen or watch. Tie someone’s shoes. Read a book.

The kids clustered near, as they always did, bright eyes following her every move. They relaxed around her in a way they didn’t with anyone else, their morning jitters quieting as they leaned unconsciously closer. Adora didn’t question it. 

Catra glimpsed Adora walking around the corner and stopped, letting her and the boys who’d been following her head out into the playground to hang out with the kids. Melog was already there, contentedly dozing. They needed sleep, they stayed with the kids each night. Catra wondered if all that purring tired them out.

Melog brushed Catra’s mind with the idea that Adora wouldn’t see her cross the hall to Nyxal’s office, where the medic and Felina were waiting. 

Plates of eggs and bacon rested on Nyxal’s desk, but Felina and Nyxal weren’t eating. Melog advised her to always encourage her staff to eat before her, but the assistant and the doctor stared at her, waiting to find out if they had done the right thing. 

“Go ahead and eat,” she said, gesturing. “It’s okay, no one’s in trouble.”

Sitting in the chair Nyxal offered her, Catra sighed and started eating. The other two followed suit automatically. Catra did not speak until at least half of it was gone. “Thanks for bringing this to me, Nyxal.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Nyxal’s shoulders dropped and she ate with a bit more interest. 

Felina still leaned against the desk vibrating with tension, her lip caught between her fangs. “She told me not to tell you.” 

“And you didn’t. You told Nyxal. Taking something like that to medical is what you do, right?” Once again Catra had to thank Melog for helping her. She cringed when she thought of the way she used to treat Lonnie, Kyle and Rogelio when she was in command. Melog was always there to remind her where she was. How she had promised herself she was going to be better.

Adora didn’t have that, did she?

“Yeah, it wasn’t your fault you found a whole bunch of blood.” Nyxal put it stoutly.

“It wasn’t that.” Felina’s hackles were up and distress wafted from her in waves. “I saw her.”

“Saw her?” Catra pounced on the words, she couldn’t help it. “What was she doing?”

Felina closed her eyes and swallowed. Her claws dug into Zira’s battered desk and as if to brace herself. When she opened them, her green eyes had gone harder than they had any right to. “She was hitting that rock with her bare fists.” A quick gasp as she looked between Nyxal and Catra. “Over and over. They were… They were bad.”

“How bad?” Nyxal asked gently.

“Really bad. Her fingers bent wrong and they were really messed up. She was grey when she got done, you know?” Felina made a vague gesture at her own face. “I thought she was going to pass out, she looked so bad. And then she did that light show thing. And then she was completely healed.”

“She transformed.” Catra’s voice was heavy. “And then what?”

“She did it again. I watched her wreck her hands and then fix them.” The girl shifted, hugging herself. “When she did it again, I was so freaked out I grabbed her wrist.”

“You did what?” Catra’s ears went flat. She was lucky Adora hadn’t flattened her.

Felina flinched but met her eyes. “I grabbed her wrist. I couldn’t just stand there. She looked at me like…” her voice cracked, “…like I’d caught her stealing.”

Nyxal’s voice was softer. “And then?”

“She asked me not to tell you. But then she said I misunderstood.” 

The silence stretched. Catra’s tail lashed once, her claws flexing against her thigh. “Of course she did.”

“She doesn’t usually treat me like I’m stupid.” Felina’s shoulders squared, like she was bracing for punishment. She flicked a glance at Nyxal. “I promised I wouldn’t tell you. I didn’t promise I wouldn’t take it to medical.” 

Catra smirked in spite of herself. The kid was good. 

“Um… something else.” Felina rubbed the back of her neck, ears twitching. “My mom… You remember the night she helped you drag Adora back to your tent?” 

“Yeah?” Catra’s tone was wary now.

“I, um, heard her talking to Derrick after. I guess Adora had been punching rocks then, too, until my mom got her to stop. And Trevor told me she was crying and talking about Shadow Weaver. She, uh…” Felina’s eyes went wide, her tail lashing in agitation. “I guess she said some pretty messed up things.”

Catra’s claws flexed against the desk. “What kind of things?”

Felina flinched. “Trevor didn’t say exactly. Just…” Her cheeks darkened under her fur. “Ah, you know chapter thirty four of the cadet health manual?” she whispered, squirming with embarrassment. 

Nyxal and Catra looked at each other. Nyxal’s eyes were so wide, they showed the white all the way around. That chapter featured lurid descriptions of how the Princess’s forces sexually abused prisoners. 

Catra’s claws gouged the wood of Nyxal’s battered desk, the scrape loud in the silence. Rage flared hot in her chest, but she swallowed it down before it could spill over at Felina. The girl was practically shaking apart already.

“Chapter thirty four?” Catra rasped, low and dangerous.

“Like… you know… the part where it talks about… ah.. coercive situations. Trevor said it sounded like one of those situations.” Felina nodded quickly, eyes wide, ears pinned. “I swear I’m not making it up. Trevor wouldn’t lie about that. Mom told him to keep quiet, but I overheard her and Derrick talking.” Her ears went up and her eyes widened. “And, well… she said everyone knew what Shadow Weaver was like.”

For a long moment, no one moved. The air was thick with the unspoken: Adora’s pain wasn’t just about fists and rocks. 

“She believed something coercive happened?" Nyxal repeated carefully. 

“That’s what Mom thought.” Felina whispered. “Like that Shadow Weaver did something to her.” Her eyes welled up with tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But people…”

“Talk loud.” Nyxal crossed her arms across her chest. “Yeah, we get it.”

Static filled Catra’s head, as though someone had clubbed her with a baton. Glad she was already sitting down, she clutched at the wooden surface. The worst part was the horrible lack of surprise. It wasn’t new information, it was information brought into focus. 

Melog was back in her head, pushing the image of Adora out in the yard, showing several of the kids how to use staves cut down for their size. The children and the three teens with her all intently followed her through the forms.

Safe. They were all safe, under Melog’s watchful eye. 

“Catra?” Felina said softly. She clutched her tail as though to keep it from lashing and her pupils were blown. 

The terror on Felina’s face and Melog’s support brought Catra back to herself. 

A terrible certainty now filled her, but once again Melog helped her think instead of blindly lashing out. 

“Felina?” Catra’s voice was soft, but the girl still flinched. “Thanks. For bringing this to Nyxal.” She forced herself to meet the girl’s eyes. “I mean it.” She drew in a breath. And then another. “You did good. Really.”

“Ma’am?” Her ears went up a little. “Are you okay?”

Catra nearly laughed. How the fuck was she supposed to answer that.

“She’ll be okay.” Nyxal came to Catra’s rescue. “Felina. Go down to the break room and make the ambassador some tea. There’s some teabags in the drawer. Put in three packets of the white sweetener from the bowl. The ones marked sugar.”

The girl nodded and fled. 

A hand was on Catra’s shoulder; Nyxal steadying her. “You should finish eating,” the doctor said softly. She picked up Catra’s plate and put it in her hands. A fork in the other. “You’re not going to help anyone if you fall out of your chair.”

From Melog, a sense that Nyxal was exactly right drifted into Catra’s head.

She shoved a mouthful in. It tasted like ash, but with effort she swallowed and then a second one. Then she put down the plate and fork to put her head in her hands. 

Aunt Casta would be back tomorrow. Perhaps this time the sorceress would find those forbidden books on necromancy.

The door opened. “Thanks, Felina.” Nyxal whispered. “Why don’t you head out? Cancel any meeting Catra had for the rest of the day.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The door closed.

Dizzy, Catra put her head on her knees- her breath was too quick and shallow. Melog’s bulk was suddenly there for her to lean on, their weird tickly scent letting her know she was safe. 

Safe. She was safe. Adora was safe. They could face the memories together. Right now they were safe

Around and around the mantra went as Melog dragged her back from whatever edge she stood on.

“What does she mean, ‘everyone knew what Shadow Weaver was like?’” That had sounded like more than the old witch’s usual cruelty. Catra’s voice came out sharper than she meant, claws digging crescents into her palms because she could not sheath them.

Nyxal’s breath caught. She swallowed audibly.

The silence stretched.

Catra almost snapped, setting her teeth, feeling the acid well up in her throat, but Melog’s weight pressed steady against her shoulder, humming reassurance. Safe. You’re safe. Adora’s safe.

“I’m not sure.” The doctor breathed, finally. “I grew up in one of the mining settlements. I never saw Shadow Weaver or Hordak, except on the vids.”

“Text Sara. I need her here.” 

Melog nudged the mug on the desk toward her paw. Mechanically, Catra lifted it, her throat parched. The warm liquid went down, but it didn’t thaw the ice lodged deep in her stomach.

“She’s on her way over.”

Listlessly, Catra picked at her food while they waited. It didn't take long for a knock at the door. 

Nyxal stood up and opened it, ushering Sara in quickly.

“What’s going on?” The specialist asked Nyxal, her eyes narrowing in confusion.

 “The ambassador needed to speak with you.” Nyxal turned back. “Ambassador, if you don’t need me any more?”

“She wishes to give you privacy,” Melog supplied.

 Right. 

“Thanks, Nyxal.” Catra took another drink of the tea. It was one of those calming blends. Stars knew she needed something. Maybe Kyle had more vape pens stashed away.

“Ambassador?” Sara walked over and sat in the spare chair. “Are you all right?” She scooted forward a little.

“Did Felina tell you what happened with her and Adora?” 

Sara paled. “Oh, no. Did she… yell at Adora or something? I am so sorr…”

“Huh?” Belatedly, Catra remembered the animosity Felina had for Adora. “No, no. Nothing like that. No, she walked in on Adora punching rocks.”

Now, Sara understood exactly what Catra meant. “You mean she was pounding her hands to bits, again?” She put one hand over her mouth and then moved it to her chest. 

Catra nodded. And then, “The night you helped me drag Adora to bed… You told me she’d hurt her hands.” She hoped Sara understood what she was talking about.

Sara nodded. “She was pretty drunk.”

“Did she mention why?”

“She mentioned Shadow Weaver.” As if that explained everything. And maybe it did, but Catra needed something more specific.

Taking a minute to breathe, Catra closed her eyes, centering herself. She opened her eyes and forced herself to ask. “What did she say happened with Shadow Weaver?”

The other woman looked away. “That’s not really my story to tell, ma’am.” She turned her dark eyes back toward Catra and wrapped her arms around her belly, looking like Adora had last night as she clutched her pillow. “But I can tell you that Shadow Weaver had a long history of…”  She cut herself off and coughed. “Everyone knows what she was like.”

“You mean evil?” Catra hissed. 

Sara huffed a harsh chuckle. “I mean a particular kind of evil.” Her voice dropped, her gaze fixed on the floor. “I know something about that.”

Catra’s ears pinned back. “What?”

Sara’s scent spiked with distress. The hormones gave her scent weird notes that Catra had no experience with so all she could tell was that Sara was distressed. But the variety of distress was hard to pin down.

In the silence of the office, Catra could hear the kids were still out in the yard and Sara turned her head to look out of the window. She clenched her fist and turned back, her soft brown eyes turned hard and distant.

“When we applied for a waiver for Felina, we weren't expecting to get approval. Tom was a magicat. Shadow Weaver never approved 'mixed couples,'" Sara used her fingers to make air quotes, ”But, I heard people bargained with her. That was the rumor. That if you went to her directly, you could… make a deal.” She swallowed, her throat working. “She liked to have subjects to… experiment on.”

Her hands rubbed over the swell of her belly, protective and ashamed all at once. “And she got off on it.”

The words dropped between them like a stone.

Catra felt her claws gouge into the arms of her chair before she even realized she’d moved.

“I don’t remember most of it. I don’t like to think about it.” Sara’s voice was hushed now, ragged. “When I left the Black Garnet Chamber, I was bleeding.” She waved vaguely at her lap. “She said she gave my fertility a boost, but I think she was just entertaining herself. Or maybe she was sincere, but she…”

Trailing off, Sara ran her hand through her hair again, restless, as if she couldn’t figure out what to do with herself. Catra waited, holding her breath, waiting for the inevitable words.

“I… don’t know what to call it.” Sara’s laugh was bitter, gone as quickly as it came. “She gave me my waiver exam and removed my implant herself, rather than send me to the medics.” Her hand went back to her belly. “She wasn’t… gentle.” Tears flowed down her face and a little sob emerged from her lips.

“You don’t have to…” Catra sat appalled at herself. She didn’t need to know this, not if it hurt Sara to talk about it.

 “S-sorry.” She grabbed some tissues from the box on Nyxal’s desk. “It’s nothing… just hormones.” 

“And she did something to me, with magic.” Sara whispered as she mopped her face. “It wore off eventually, but…” she shuddered then sniffed.

Catra pretended not to notice the tears.

“Anyway, it was just the one time.”

Catra barked a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “Just the one time?” Her ears pinned flat, fangs bared, trembling with the effort of keeping her voice low. Wood splintered under her fingers as her claws dug deeply into the armrests of Zira’s chair. “Sara,” she rasped, voice shredded with fury and grief, “she did that to you. Do you think she did that to Adora?”

“I think she did worse to Adora.” 

“Has she told you about it?” 

“Not, as such. But, I’ve known plenty of people…” she stopped and searched Catra’s face. Something like comprehension flowed into her eyes. “Catra? You and your squad were always pretty isolated, weren’t you?”

“Yeah. Well, not as much as Adora, but yeah.”

Sara shifted again, her chair was scooting around, ever so slightly with her movements, 

“She acts like something happened to her.”

“What do you mean? How can you tell?” 

Dark eyes bored into hers. “You know what happens if some poor bastard gets caught alone in the showers and their squad doesn’t back them?”

Catra froze. She did know. She remembered Rogelio’s massive arms crossed, Adora’s staff balanced across her shoulders, Lonnie’s batons held loose and casual at her side. Her own claws flashing as they explained things to three cadets from a different cadre, using tiny words so their tiny brains could understand. Kyle was off-limits. 

For months Kyle had been jumpier than usual, flinching at shadows, but eventually he’d settled down. When he had nightmares, Rogelio slept with him, like when they were little kids.

 All those nights when Adora stumbled into the bunkroom late, gray and hollow. Catra always slept with Adora. Until she left.

Once, Adora told Catra how she slept with a knife under her pillow because there was no one to watch her back at Bright Moon. Did anyone there ever sit with her after a bad dream? 

Bow probably did. Catra would like to think Glimmer would have. If Adora had asked. Which Adora never would.

It explained a lot.

“The truth is, we all knew who not to leave the cadets with, who not to be alone with.” Sara shrugged. “The regs say you can complain to your superior, but that never goes anywhere. So, like always, we took care of that stuff ourselves. Messing with the wrong soldier, or a soldier’s kid can get you fragged.” Sara looked away, voice rough. “But no one could say anything against Shadow Weaver. We all knew what way her tastes ran.” Her hand slid protectively over her belly. “The best you could do was not get her attention.” 

Now her voice was sad. “That’s why… I kinda get it, you know? If I had to deal with that on a regular basis, I would’ve run away, too.” 

A regular basis.

“Yeah.” Catra’s voice came out raw, shredded at the edges. 

Her claws were still buried in the wood, but her mind had already leapt somewhere darker. If Sara knew… if everyone knew…

Her gut twisted. 

Adora, the perfect cadet. Adora, who followed rules to the letter. Adora, who always insisted Shadow Weaver only wanted her to “focus harder.” Adora, who never complained.

Adora, who slept with a knife under her pillow at Bright Moon, because there was no one there to guard her back.

“Shadow Weaver fucked with her memory.” Catra said. “I don’t think she remembers.”

“That makes sense. Shadow Weaver did that a lot.” Sara sniffed. “Like I said, I don’t remember a lot of what she did.”

“What should I tell her?” Catra felt lost. How was she supposed to tell her anything?

“You don’t,” Sara said, her voice low and firm. “You don’t tell her. Not now. Not just based on her drunken rambling and my… my one bad day.” She squeezed Catra’s hand. “She’ll remember in her own time.”

A terrible thought crossed Catra’s mind. “But… you say everyone knows what Shadow Weaver was…” Catra couldn’t name it. Every word stuck in her throat. A horrible thought crossed her mind. “Is it a good idea for Adora to testify?” She raked back her hair.

Sara scooched closer and put her hand on one of Catra’s, as she white-knuckled the arm of the chair.

“I don’t know, but I don’t think any Hordefolk will want to talk about that. I mean, I don’t see what it would get them.” She shook her head. “If anything, being Shadow Weaver’s ward makes it easier to understand why she defected. The old witch had a lot of victims.” Her dark eyes turned cold. “And there were others she granted favors to… no one wants to admit to being involved in any of that kind of thing. There was a lot of payback near the end of the war. Nobody wants to invite that.”  She took a deep breath. “I’m more worried someone on the committee from the Alliance will ask her about Shadow Weaver. Wasn’t she calling the shots in Bright Moon just before Prime invaded?”

“Shit. They probably will.” Catra’s voice was a whisper, all the fight gone out of it, replaced by a hollow dread. “I can’t just… let her go up there. What if someone starts asking about Shadow Weaver and it… it keys something in Adora’s head right in front of everyone?”

Sara bit her lip, thinking. “Maybe you go to the committee? To Queen Glimmer. You tell them that questions about Shadow Weaver are considered off-limits.”

Catra’s ears twitched. “They’ll want a reason. Sparkles will definitely want a reason. She’s worried. She’ll want to know.” She did not know how Glimmer would take it. For the last six weeks, Glimmer had been sending Adora messages that Catra knew Adora had not read.

“Talk to Zira. She… “ Sara swallowed. “She used to work in the Capital. She could give you stories that would turn your fur gray. ” 

She faltered to a stop, as though she thought she was saying too much.  “Anyway, she could tell them it’s a classified Horde medical matter. That’s not even a lie. It’s the truth. You just… you don’t need to say why.” She bent her head and looked down at her hand on Catra’s. “That’s why Adora’s here. Isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know there’s a lot of rumors, but when I saw her at Angella’s reception, she seemed like she wanted to get away from Bright Moon. She hasn’t talked about it though.”

“Yeah,” Catra said, her voice losing its shattered quality, gaining the steely edge of command. “She won’t talk to Glimmer at all. She’s been trying to get a meeting with her for weeks.”

Sara watched her, understanding dawning in her dark eyes. “So the Queen already knows something’s wrong. She just doesn’t know what.”

“And she’s desperate to fix it,” Catra finished. “I’ll talk to the committee. None of them want to hurt Adora.” At least Catra was pretty sure they didn’t. But there was a lot of accidental hurting that could happen. It still wasn’t clear what Adora was going to say or why.

Sara gave a short, humorless laugh. “Then you’ve already got your answer. If she can’t even stand being in the same room as Queen Glimmer, do you really think she could sit in front of a hall full of the whole world and get grilled about Shadow Weaver?”

Catra’s claws flexed again, splinters littering the floor. “No. She’d shut down. Or go to pieces.” She tapped Felina’s code on her commpad. 

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“Will you send a message to Glimmer and tell her this mornings’s meeting is back on?” The worst thing to do would be to go off half-cocked over this, so Catra needed a few minutes to get her shit together.

Zira’s office was a cluttered sanctuary of reports and medicines. A flowering plant with yellow blossom sat on the window sill, its fragrance contrasting with antiseptics. A farmer had been selling them at the last market thing.

Catra tried not to think of how the only flowers in the Fright Zone had grown in Shadow Weaver’s garden.

 “Ambassador,” Zira said, setting her commpad down. “I assume this isn’t a social call.” The older woman looked Catra up and down, her sharp eyes missing nothing. She took in Catra’s rigid posture, her pinned ears, the silent, determined presence of Melog.

“No.” Catra closed the door behind her. “I need your professional opinion. As a medic who has served the Horde for a long, long time.”

Zira leaned back in her chair, tilting her head.

“I need you to back me on a medical restriction for the hearings. I need to declare all testimony regarding Shadow Weaver’s personal… conduct… towards a specific individual to be off-limits. For that individual’s mental stability.”

Zira’s gaze didn’t waver. “The individual in question being Commander Adora.”

It wasn’t a question. Of course she knew.

“Yes.”

“And the reason?”

“The reason is that… “ Catra stopped, this felt like snitching. But, Nyxal knew, and Zira would have access to Adora’s files, anyway. “Adora’s been hurting herself.” 

The medic nodded, her hands folded on the desk.

“And, I think it has to do with Shadow Weaver. And I don’t think Adora remembers.” 

“Nyxal briefed me, Ambassador.” Zira held up a hand. “Just before she left for her quarters.” 

“Sara said you had stories about Shadow Weaver.” 

“I do. I had to put some of her subjects back together,” Zira said quietly, sadness settling over her features. “Shadow Weaver’s ‘experiments’ weren’t confined to magic. Especially in her favored subjects.”

The air left Catra’s lungs. Favored subjects. Adora. Always Adora.

“Will you back me?” Catra’s voice was tight.

Zira looked up, her expression grimly resolved. “I’ll write the order myself. I’ll put in the file that forcing testimony on this matter would be negligent and would directly undermine the healing purpose of these hearings.” She picked up a stylus. “Queen Glimmer may be a monarch, but she is not a physician. She will defer to my expertise.” The doctor’s eyes flashed. “In fact, I would recommend that all the testimony regarding Shadow Weaver be done in a closed session.”

That was probably a good idea, if what Nyxal said was true. “Thank you, Zira. I’ll tell them that.”

“Don’t thank me,” Zira said, already beginning to write. “Just make sure they pay attention."

Back in her office, the preliminary witness list was waiting on her data pad, sent over yesterday. Catra’s eyes scanned the names, her mind cross-referencing them with a lifetime of Horde gossip and hierarchy. She saw the potential risks, the loose threads. 

Her meeting with Glimmer was just before lunch.

Glimmer’s face appeared on the screen, looking tired and hopeful. “Catra! Is everything okay? Bow said you called him earlier and you said…”

“We need to talk about the hearing parameters,” Catra cut in, her tone all business. She couldn’t afford to get sidetracked by Glimmer’s concern. Not now. 

Glimmer’s face fell slightly. “Okay… what about them?”

“I need to add one.” Catra’s voice hardened. “Effective immediately, all questioning regarding Shadow Weaver’s direct, personal interactions with Commander Adora is prohibited. It’s a medical restriction, signed off by Chief Medic Zira. Make sure everyone on the committee gets a copy with that on them.”

“But… of course Shadow Weaver’s name is going to come up. She was central to the war!”

“I know what she was!” Catra’s control slipped for a second, a flash of fang, a low growl in her voice. She reined it in, her voice dropping to a deadly, quiet calm. “This isn’t a negotiation, Glimmer. This is a notification. You don’t ask Adora about Shadow Weaver. Pursue this line of questioning, and you will actively cause her harm. Is that what you want? After everything?”

Glimmer flinched. “Of course not! But… a medical restriction? For what?”

“Battle fatigue. That’s all you need to know.”  If Arrow Boy hadn’t filled her in, Catra wasn’t going to. “This is why she left Bright Moon, Glimmer. This is why she’s not talking to you. She’s trying to keep her head above water. Push her on this, and she will drown. And I will pull us out of these hearings so fast it’ll make your head spin. The Horde delegation will walk. Is that clear?”

The threat hung in the air between them. Glimmer stared, her expression a war of frustration, confusion, and genuine fear. 

“Catra…” she began, her voice edging toward indignant.

“Is. That. Clear?” Catra repeated, each word a hammer blow.

Glimmer’s mouth hardened and tried to stare Catra down. But then something changed in her face and she changed her tactics. “Bow told me that Adora’s having a really hard time. But why doesn’t she come to us?”

“This is why,” growled Catra. “Did it ever occur to you that she might not want to talk to you when all  she gets is you demanding answers? Answers that you disregard if you don’t like them? Shall we talk about your relationship with Shadow Weaver? How she was the one who thought it was a good idea for you to activate the Heart of Etheria?”

The air crackled with the force of the low blow. Catra watched the indignation on Glimmer’s face shatter, replaced by a shock so profound it was almost physical. The color drained from the queen’s cheeks.

“That’s not fair,” Glimmer whispered, the words barely audible. 

“None of this is fair!” Catra snarled, leaning into the screen, her ears flat against her skull. “You want to talk about fair? Adora… That bitch… what she did...” she broke off with a growl as Melog tried to help her get her breathing under control, help her stop the horrendous imagery that popped up in her mind. “So no, Sparkles, it’s not fair. It’s a fucking nightmare. And the least you can do is not make it worse by demanding she perform her trauma for your committee!”

“Wait… what are you… ?” Glimmer asked, like someone only just realizing they missed a vital piece of information. “What did Shadow Weaver do?”

“I don’t know. She doesn’t remember. Shadow Weaver fucked up her memory.”

“But… that didn’t work… you… let us go.”

Catra cackled, she couldn’t help it, the hysterical sound made Glimmer’s eyes widen. “Do you think that was the first time she ever did it?

“Oh.” Hand over her mouth, Glimmer looked like she was trying not to puke.

“Yeah, Oh.” Suddenly tired, Catra said, “Anyway, Dr. Zira said a lot of people have testimony about Shadow Weaver that might better be done in closed session.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I… I’ll see to it.”  On the screen, Glimmer nodded again, sharper this time, her queen-face settling back over the cracks. “I’ll make sure the committee understands,” she said, voice low. “And I’ll… I’ll trust you to handle Adora.”

Adora and those three boys she’d been teaching came into the dining hall.  

Sitting next to Catra, Lonnie sighed. “Yeah, I see what you mean. She looks like shit.”

Catra rolled her eyes. “Better than this morning.” She waved and was relieved when Adora gave her a little smile.

Lonnie was almost finished with her food and she threw her trash onto her tray. “Hey, Golden Girl. You ready for all hell to break loose tomorrow?”

Nodding, Adora didn’t look any happier about it than Lonnie did. 

“You and Catra have been working your tails off. Take this afternoon off, because you’re not going to have a free afternoon until this thing is over.” The first round of hearings would take place over the next two weeks. 

Lonnie pushed her tray away with a loud scrape and stood, arms crossed. “I mean it. Go spar, go nap, go…” she waved a hand vaguely at the two of them. “...do whatever it is you two do when you’re not driving yourselves into the ground. Because once the Alliance and the Hordefolk start sniping at each other tomorrow, you’re both gonna wish you were back in the Fright Zone.”

Adora gave a weak smile that didn’t touch her eyes, and snagged a piece of cheese from Catra’s plate. Catra remembered all the times she’d given Adora extra rations. Rogelio and Catra were luckier that way, their stomachs could cope with uncooked meat and they could forage. 

“You okay?” 

Startled, she met Catra’s eyes and shook her head. 

That was okay, Catra could work with that. Very gently she took Adora’s hand and brushed her lips against the knuckles. “Come on, you want to hole up in our room for a bit?”

Chapter Text

“Ooh, hey, look at her.” The young man’s “pspsps” echoed in the empty courtyard, followed by the snickering of his friends. 

They were three full humans from the Bright Moon delegation. They didn’t look like anyone important, their clothing marking them as some kind of support staff. They looked muscular too, like they did something physical for work. 

A tall, black haired man, about Trevor’s age, lounged on the grass, pale, freckled, his blue eyes leering as they followed her. A skinny, sandy haired man sat on the ground cross legged next to him and the third had brown curly hair and a baby face.

“Here kitty, kitty, kitty,” cooed the man with a round face while the others sniggered.

She rolled her eyes and flipped them off as she walked on.

The black-haired one stood up from the bench and gave the others a sharp “come on” wave. The three of them hurried to cut off her path.

“Come here, kitty, kitty.” Babyface grabbed his crotch and made kissing noises.

Felina’s ears flattened against her skull. She didn’t have time for this. She moved to step around them, but they shifted, blocking her.

“Are you impersonating an officer, pretty kitty?” The blue-eyed man’s voice was a lazy, entitled drawl. The other two fanned out, flanking her. “Maybe, they’ll be glad when we tell them we caught a thief.”

A low growl rumbled in her chest. “I have clearance to be here.” 

Her eyes darted around the deserted yard. No one. 

Of course not. This was the command section and it was the middle of the day.  

Felina had been working on logistics for the command staff; making sure their dress uniforms were delivered, but these guys didn’t have any reason to be here. 

“Yeah, right.” The leader jabbed a finger at the comm badge on her chest. “Who’d you steal that from?”

Her hand covered the pin involuntarily. “It’s mine. I’m an officer cadet.”

“Bullshit.” He stepped forward, into her space. “You just stole one and this place is so backward they just took your word for it.”

“Yeah, they got a lot of that. Did you see that dog they say is a doctor?” Skinny-guy said with a cruel laugh. “I couldn’t believe it.”

“Back off,” Felina growled as she felt the other two close in and shook her bag from her shoulder to the ground. Her claws slid out and she dropped into a crouch. They weren’t as big as the clones she’d fought, but they likely weren’t as stupid.

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Babyface took another step forward. “I think you need to give us that badge so we can return it to its rightful owner. And whatever else you stole.” 

Felina hissed at them.

Blue-eye’s smile turned sly. “Oooh. She’s mean.” He gestured at the other two, who lunged to grab her by the arms. “I’ve heard hybrids get that way when they’re in heat.” 

Felina ducked under their grasp, jumped, and used the biggest one as a ladder, scrambling up his chest.

“Fuck! You bitch!” he yelled as her claws scored deep lines across his face and chest.

She leaped from his shoulders, onto the other one who got in her way. He screamed too.  

A hand grabbed her ankle.  She twisted, kicking out with her clawed feet. They let go, but she fell. She tucked and her shoulder hit the concrete. That would hurt tomorrow, but it did not slow her down. Rolling to her feet, she dove past the two still trying to grab her. 

They were sloppy, slow. She was clean away.

Something hit her ribs, hot and sharp.

The world dissolved into a white-hot seizure. 

Her muscles weren't her own, locking and jerking violently as she fell to the concrete path. Her jaw clamped shut, biting her tongue. The coppery taste of blood flooded her mouth. No sound, except a high-pitched scream torn from her throat. 

Through the agony and the static shredding her vision, she saw the dark haired man’s smug smile. 

Then, it stopped. 

Get up! Get up! Get up!

Felina tried to make herself move. To lift her hands to claw the bastard’s face off, but her muscles wouldn’t obey her. 

“Quick, get her back here. Fucking bitch. We’ll make her pay for that.” 

One grabbed her ankles and pulled, dragging her across the concrete path onto the grass, uncaring that her head banged against it. Her vision exploded into white sparks. She registered movement, fingers scrabbling at her belt, tearing at her clothes. Their scents were a foul cocktail of adrenaline, testosterone, and anticipation.

Feeling was coming back into her limbs. Pins and needles like she’d slept on them; they felt like they belonged to someone else. She focused, blindly lashing out with her claws, and felt flesh part under her fingers. One of them screamed and she smelled blood. He was out of commission if his shrieks meant anything. 

“Get her hands! What’s wrong with you?!”

Her flailing claws were pinned and the big one sat on her legs. He grabbed her by the hair and slammed the back of her head against the ground. A great black wave threatened to pull her under, nausea clawed at her throat as the world spun.

“Come on. Hurry up!”

The sound of tearing fabric and cold on her legs cut through her haze of pain and disorientation. Her eyes wouldn't focus, thin saliva filled her mouth. Her stomach flipped, spasmed. With a convulsive heave, she projectile vomited her lunch directly into the man's face as he leaned over her.

He recoiled with a shout of disgust, rocking back on his knees and smacking her face.   

She fought to stay conscious. If they were stupid enough to get anything near her mouth she would bite it off.

The heavy weight pinning her legs vanished. The grip on her wrists was ripped away with a startled yelp. A new sound cut through the buzzing in her ears and the boy’s cursing. A voice, low and laced with a venomous calm that froze the air itself.

“What the fuck is happening here?”

“Sh-She’s impersonating an officer, ma’am!” the tall man babbled, his voice shrill with panic. “We caught her sneaking in here to steal stuff. We were gonna report her but then she attacked us! Look what she did!”

Gentle hands were on her shoulders, but the world tilted violently. Felina began to retch again, her stomach empty and heaving bile. Something warm and wet trickled under her hair. The hands helped her turn onto her side so she could throw up without choking. A jacket was tucked beneath her head. 

“Hey, Felina? It’s Mo. Tell me if anything hurts.” Hands felt along her face, the back of her head and neck. Felina couldn’t answer him, she whimpered as he found something that hurt on the back of her head. “Okay, I’m gonna look at the rest of you, just like in drills. Okay?” 

Quickly, carefully, he felt her body for injuries, muttering to her what he was looking for. His hands shook as though one of their instructors stood over them. 

“Erin, toss me your jacket.”

Fabric settled to cover her from waist to knees.

“How is she, Mo?” The voice was clipped, demanding a report. 

”Not good, Ma’am,” Mo said, his voice tight with a mixture of concern and fury. “They hit her head pretty hard. One of her pupils is blown. She’s bleeding. And…" 

She felt her shirt move as he found a painful spot on her ribs. 

“They used a stunner. One of those that you can use at a distance. The wire’s still stuck to her.” 

Somebody close by gasped and swore softly.

“She's burned too. Like they zapped her too long. Probably that’s why Numbnuts over there is covered in puke.” He patted her shoulder. “Good aim,” he whispered, just for her. 

The silence that followed was more threatening than any roar and a strange tingle of magic floated in the air.   

A comm chirped. “Medical?” 

A voice crackled over the comm. “Medical here.”

“This is Commander Adora. We’ve got a serious head injury in the courtyard of the command section living quarters. Cadet Felina’s been injured in an attack.”

Adora? Of course it would be Adora. But Felina did not feel nearly as resentful as she might have. Right now, she would have taken help from a clone.

“Copy.” A little pause. “The blue team’ll be there in about three minutes.“

Another comm chirp. “Commander Adora to Security Chief Derrick.” 

She was calling Derrick? Not any of the Alliance people?

“Derrick here. Go ahead.” 

Tears leaked from Felina’s eyes. She was stupidly grateful to hear his voice.

“We have a situation here.” 

Felina had never heard that tone from Adora before. Hard, cold and deadly.

“Three Alliance staff have assaulted one of our officer cadets. We’re in the courtyard behind the new command quarters.

The comm was silent for a minute. Derrick was probably swearing. Then it clicked on. “Be right there, ma’am.”

“Derrick. You should know.” For the first time Adora’s voice shook. “It’s Felina. Medical’s coming. She's injured and... It’s messy.”

A much longer silence. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Derrick’s voice was stiff. “Should I let Sara know?”

“Yeah. Have her meet them in the infirmary.”

Mo took his hand from her shoulder and the legs supporting her back moved away.  The motion made Felina retch again.

Someone else took his place. It was Adora, her calloused hands cool on Felina’s forehead. “It’s okay. We’ve got you.” 

Adora’s scent stung like ozone before lightning, making Felina’s fur prickle with static.

Magic.

A whimper emerged from her throat as she cringed away.

“Shh. Shh. It’s okay.” Adora gently brushed her hair back. A hesitant pause, then, “Felina? I can help you. With magic, if you’ll let me.”

With an immense effort, Felina opened her eyes. A soft glow emanated from Adora’s hands and lurked under her skin. The girl whimpered, claws scraping weakly at the concrete as she tried to push herself away from eyes that beamed with unnatural light. 

No. Not for any reason. She really would die first. “No. No magic,” she gasped, around a flash of terror. 

Those glowing blue eyes faded to gray and the woman nodded unhappily. “Okay, no magic.”

Felina let her eyes slide shut. When Adora’s hand squeezed hers, Felina squeezed back, grateful beyond measure for the contact.

“Derrick’s coming. And medical. Don’t talk if it hurts.”  Adora bent over her to keep talking. “You got them good. They're all bleeding. And then that one is just covered in puke. They had a stunner. They never would have gotten you if they hadn’t cheated.”  She paused. “Here comes medical. I’ll let Catra know what happened.”

Good. That was good. Catra would need to find someone else for a few days. Everyone would know Felina would have won in a fair fight.

The dark was pushing in again, so Felina rolled away with it, letting it pull her under.

The medics loaded Felina’s limp body into the skiff. Erin, Mo, and Garin stood watch behind the three attackers, now on their knees, hands on their heads, bleeding from the gashes her claws had left behind.

Adora didn’t care. Couldn’t. Her hands still shook from the adrenaline, her body humming with fury and disbelief. This wasn’t a battlefield. This wasn’t even about Felina, not really. It was just three little cowards who saw something they wanted and thought they had the right to take it.

Taking a shortcut from the perimeter to the center of camp, they had heard the scream. A high, feline shriek that turned her blood cold had stopped them in their tracks. It seemed to go on forever. Without even looking to see if the three specialists followed, Adora ran toward it. 

Three men pinned someone down. All three of them sported claw marks that bled freely.

One rocked back with a sound of disgust and then backhanded the person on the ground, replacing the yowling with soft moans. 

Sprinting across the courtyard, Adora grabbed the man by the hair. Praying she wasn’t too late as she hauled him out of the way, she looked down, terrified of what she would see.

It wasn’t Catra.

It was Felina.

Half conscious, clothes torn, Felina’s cheek was already dark with bruises under her fur. Her eyes were shut. Sound leaked from her throat. No words, just a low sound of pain.

Erin had dragged one of them away from her and had him on the ground. The third jumped up and tried to run. Garin went after him, easily tackling him. 

“I’ve got field medic training, ma’am.” Mo said. Without waiting for permission he knelt down next to Felina, checking her breathing and looking for injuries, turning her over when she started to retch.

Trusting in Mo’s word, Adora was relieved and grateful they were here. It meant she did not have to deal with all of them by herself. Firmly holding the assailant’s hair, she bent to bring his face close to hers. “What. The. Fuck. Is happening here?” 

Up close he stank; his clothes and face were wet and reeked of vomit. 

The dark-haired man babbled about Felina being a thief while he hastily pulled his clothing together and fastened his trousers.

“This is her home,” Adora said, her voice quiet and deadly. Inside, she was screaming. The war was supposed to be over. This wasn’t combat. This was something smaller, uglier and somehow worse.

A glow crawled up her arms now, blinding-white. She didn’t stop to think about what it meant. The prisoner whimpered, tried to look away, but Adora dragged his gaze back to hers.

For one searing instant she was small again, her body not her own, Shadow Weaver’s hand on her shoulder. A cold void where her memory should be. Something stolen.

“You don’t get to take it away.”

Adora’s hand tightened on her sword…

Her sword. The warm metal of the hilt already in her palm. The glow everywhere now, burning, spilling over. She looked down through a nimbus of white and gold at the sword in her hand. 

The power wrapped around her like armor, and it was more than gold and steel. It was warmth. Safety. A wall between her and the memory trying to drag her under. An anchor. A place to stand. 

Where Adora’s words would have fled, her breath stolen, She-Ra did not falter. She-Ra carried what Adora could not, spoke when Adora wanted to lapse into silence.

Quickly she looked at the three specialists that she’s been thinking of as her trainees. 

Their eyes were wide, their faces bloodless, but they held to their duties. Mo knelt at Felina’s side, Erin and Garin restrained their captives like she hadn’t just become their worst nightmare.

She let go of the prisoner’s hair and he crumpled to the floor cursing and whining about his rights as a citizen of Bright Moon.

“You’re not in Bright Moon.” Adora leaned over and grabbed his collar, pulling him to his knees. “Hands on your head.” She pointed her sword at him for emphasis. “Stop talking.”

Adora’s grip on the man’s collar trembled with the force she was holding back. Her voice came out ragged, uneven, every word like it had been torn out of her.

She heard Mo ask Erin for his jacket.

“How is she Mo?” 

”Not good, Ma’am,” Mo said, his voice high pitched, shaking. “They hit her head pretty hard. One of her pupils is blown. She’s bleeding. And… “ 

The hesitation in his voice made the hairs on Adora’s neck stand up. When he spoke again, he sounded choked.  “They used a stunner. One of those that you can use at a distance. The wire’s still stuck to her.” 

“Shit,” Erin swore softly.

“She's burned too. Like they zapped her too long. Probably that’s why Numbnuts over there is covered in puke.”

Right. That explained that sound and the smell of burning hair.

She focused and sent the magic away, bringing her comm back. She summoned medical, then security.

The young man kneeling at her feet was moaning about how he and his friends needed a healer. And this was all “that girl’s” fault (somehow). 

She tuned him out, resisted the urge to kick him, and hoped for his sake that he had not completed the act he had attempted. 

“Mo, take the prisoner,” she growled. 

The specialist jumped up so they could switch places.

She knelt down next to Felina. She wanted to take the girl in her arms, but she knew better than to move her. Her hands glowed almost without thought, a golden light radiating over Felina's injuries. I can fix this. Right now.

But she hesitated. Or maybe the magic did. An invisible barrier seemed to push back. In her mind, a flare of warning, light trembling in protest.

Her eyes darted to Felina’s bloodied face, twisted with fear and pain. In her bones, Adora knew how the Hordefolk felt about magic. What if healing felt like another attack?

Another violation.

When Catra had been on Darla’s deck, Adora hadn’t asked. Catra had been dying; a candle guttering out. Her soul had reached for the magic. Or maybe she had reached for Adora.

But Felina wasn’t dying. And this resistance wasn’t only hers; She Ra’s golden light itself recoiled, as though the girl’s soul warned her off.

“Felina?” Adora whispered, voice tight, praying the girl could even hear her. “Felina, I can fix this. With magic, if you’ll let me.”

The girl stirred, half-conscious. Her eyes rolled open, one pupil blown wide, the other a pinpoint of fear.
“N-no. No magic.” Her claws scrabbled weakly against the ground as if trying to push the light away.

Without Adora telling it to, the glow rippled once, then withdrew. The armor of power thinned and cooled, settling back into her skin like a living thing obeying its own conscience.

Adora’s breath hitched. “Okay,” she whispered, forcing her hands still. “No magic.” Her heart hammered against her ribs. This wasn’t her call to make. It was Felina’s.

Though the light faded, it didn’t vanish. It lingered in her skin, pulsing slow and low. Watchful, unwilling to interfere but refusing to leave.

Adora bowed her head, her hands still hovering over the girl’s trembling form. “We’ll wait,” she murmured, though she wasn’t sure if she was speaking to Felina or to the thing that lived inside her.

A faint shimmer traced her fingertips, the last echo of the power’s attention, gentle, steady, promising it would come when called.

Felina’s breathing evened into shallow, exhausted gasps. Adora squeezed her hand, grounding herself in the human warmth of it. The magic eased further back, content now, coiled and listening beneath her skin.

The girl let her eyes slide shut, going limp.

Now, Adora had only words. As useless as it felt, she knew Felina could hear her, so she kept saying the first things that came into her head. She let Felina know that Derrick was coming. That the assailants had cheated. 

“Hear that? Chief of Security Derrick is coming.” Mo gritted out to the scum. “He’s Felina’s father.”

The medics arrived and Adora stood to get out of the way. With a flurry, they packaged Felina up and took off before the security skiff swooped in with Derrick and three other specialists looking grim.

The three prisoners were still on their knees, their hands on their heads. The three young specialists stood behind them, their faces unreadable.

Derrick hopped off the skiff, angry breaths huffing through his oxlike nose. He marched up to Adora and gave her the crispest salute she’d ever seen. 

“Commander,” Derrick said, voice tight. “May I take your statement?”

“Yes, Chief.”

She walked him through it. The scene they’d found, how the three young men had been holding her down, what they were attempting, Felina’s condition. He recorded everything into his comm pad, and Adora watched the his face turn ashen as she spoke.

The security specialists took custody of the prisoners who moaned and wept. Whether it was pain or fear, she couldn’t tell. She couldn’t bring herself to care.

Mo stepped forward, holding up the weapon. “We think they used this on her, Chief.”

Derrick took it, and looked at the setting. His breath caught. “Where the fuck did you get this?” he asked the black haired one.

The young man spat at Derrick’s feet. “I don’t answer to Horde scum,” he hissed as though he were the protagonist of one of the back channel fics. “Go ahead. Torture me. You won’t break me.”

Derrick blew his breath out through his nose. His voice turned quiet. “Oh, son. Do not push me.”

“Chief?” Adora’s voice felt like it belonged to someone else. “I need to report this... incident to Queen Glimmer.”

That got his attention. His head snapped toward her. “So what, the Alliance just swoops in and takes them home?”

“No.” Her voice was steady now. For the first time in days, she felt clear. “To let the Alliance know that since this crime happened in Refuge, that makes it our jurisdiction. Not Bright Moon’s.”  She met his eyes.  “Ours.” She’d be damned before she let anyone sweep this under the rug as a misunderstanding.

One side of Derrick’s mouth twitched up into a fierce fleeting smile. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

The others on Derrick’s team dragged the three assailants to their skiff.

Adora turned to her three. “You three are dism…”

“I beg your pardon, ma’am.” Garin interrupted, his voice soft but resolute. “We really can’t be dismissed. We’re your security detail. Our orders are to go wherever you go.”

“But…” Adora blinked and her throat thickened. They just saw She Ra but they still wanted to stay? She didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded once and turned on her heel. The VIP quarters weren’t far. The three boys walked a little behind her to watch her back. The incident had them on high alert, she could feel the shift in the energy.

”Good job,” she told them quietly. “You guys did really well back there. Especially with She Ra showing up. I’m sorry.”

“S’okay, ma’am.” Mo sounded subdued. “Those assholes deserved it.”

“You told us about it.” Erin said, “But, I’m not gonna lie, seeing it in person is crazy.”

“You really don’t have to come with me… I’m not…”

Garin interrupted again, “Ma’am, all due respect, but we are not letting you be alone with the Queen of Bright Moon.”

They arrived at the VIP housing. Adora went to the suite Glimmer and Bow were assigned and knocked on the door.

“Yes?” Glimmer called over the intercom. 

For a moment it seemed Adora’s voice didn't work, but then she cleared her throat and straightened her spine.

“Your Majesty? I need to officially notify you of a crime committed by members of your delegation.”

The door slid open. Glimmer’s blooming smile faltered and faded. “Adora, what…?”  

Instead of making eye contact, Adora looked at Glimmer’s forehead. If she looked her in the eye, she might scream. “Three Bright Moon support staff were apprehended assaulting Catra’s aide Felina.”

Glimmer blinked. “Assaulting Felina?”

Adora pressed on. “And they used a weapon that’s banned under the Spire Accords.” It was a weapon that had been designed to slow down She Ra. The thought of it being used on a cadet made Adora sick to her stomach.

Glimmer’s eyes widened, her arms dropping to her sides. “Wait. What kind of weapon?”  

“A stunner,” Adora snapped. “One of the ones designed to take down Princesses.”

The Queen rocked back slightly, confused and defensive. “That’s a Horde weapon.”

 “Maybe you should ask your staff how it got here.” Adora’s tone was flat.

Glimmer’s mouth opened and closed, words failing her. “Where… where are they now?”

“Security has them in lockup. They’re Bright Moon citizens, so we thought you should know.”

“And Felina?” Glimmer asked, belatedly.

Adora’s jaw flexed. She didn’t look away. “She’s in the infirmary.”

The silence turned heavy between them.

“Wait, wait. Come in. Let’s…”

“No.” Adora stepped back. Her eyes glinted with unshed fury. 

She turned to go, but Glimmer’s voice caught her.

“Adora!”

Adora paused without turning. “This was a courtesy. You can talk to Security if you want answers.”

The door slid shut, cutting off Glimmer’s stunned expression. Adora turned on her heel, her three specialists falling into step behind her. The formal notification was done. Now it was in Glimmer’s hands.

“Okay, so all you guys know where you’re supposed to be first thing?” Lonnie finished the briefing.

Nods and murmurs of assent signaled the end of the meeting. As people picked up their notes and put comm pads into their bags, a feeling of terrible anxiety flooded Catra. 

It wasn’t her anxiety though, it was Melog’s.

A picture of the infirmary slammed into her mind: Dr. Zira bristled with fury. Felina wheeled in on a gurney, unconscious, bruises blooming on her cheek. The scent of blood and fear. 

She stumbled, catching herself on the wall. 

A growl in her ear and a clawed arm grabbed her elbow. Rogelio peered at her with concern. 

“They need us over at the infirmary.” Catra said, blinking, trying to clear her vision.

“Right now?” Kyle asked, surprised.

“Right now.”

“Sara? There’s a problem.”

The tone of Derrick’s voice made Sara’s heart jump. She knew that tone. That was his “notification” tone, Bad news. 

“Entrapta?” Sara said woodenly. “I have to take this.”

“Huh? Okay!”  Entrapta chirped, not looking up from her task.

Sara walked away from the worktable. “Go ahead.”

“Sara. You should sit down.” 

No.

Slowly, Sara sat down in the chair. “ What’s wrong?”

“It’s Felina.” Derrick hesitated.

Her heart, which had been in her throat, dropped to the pit of her stomach. 

“She was assaulted,” he finished.

Blood turned to ice water in Sara’s veins. Assaulted?  A million questions scattered through Sara’s brain, but only one was important. “Is- is she…?”

“They’ve taken her to the infirmary. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The infirmary. 

Sara could breathe again.

The infirmary.

Not the morgue. Not boxed up. Not waiting to be cleaned up for her Last Walk. 

“Adora told me she’d been able to talk. She has a concussion at least, but she was breathing when they took her. I don’t know anything else.”

“Thank you.” Sara exhaled, stupidly grateful just to hear his voice. Derrick never gave her false hope. 

With deliberate care, Sara stood.

Maybe she told Entrapta where she was going. Maybe Entrapta heard.

There was no point in running, so she didn’t run.

Zira was on duty. Zira was a good medic. 

Felina had been able to talk. Felina would be fine.

It was fine. She was fine. It would be fine.

The words kept time with her footsteps as she hurried to her daughter.

“Sara!”

Catra hurried toward her, followed by the three commandants. Somehow Sara had crossed half the camp without noticing. “Do you know what happened?”

They were asking her? 

“Derrick said Felina’s been assaulted.” The words felt unreal, as though someone else used Sara’s mouth. 

Kyle sucked in a breath. Rogelio hissed. Lonnie pressed her lips together and set her hand on the sidearm at her hip.

“By who?” Catra snarled.

“I… don’t know.” Sara hadn’t thought to ask Derrick.

Kyle put his hand on Sara’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll deal with that.” 

Rogelio rumbled agreement and Lonnie asked, “Derrick’s handling it?”

Feeling like she wasn’t quite in her body anymore, Sara nodded.

“All right. We’ll check in with him.” Kyle patted her shoulder. “Catra will go with you to medical.”

“I-I’ll be f-fine  Y-you can’t...” To Sara’s horror, she sobbed. The damned hormones had her all over the place on a good day.

Lonnie’s comm chirped. “Security Chief Derrick to Commandant Lonnie.”

“Lonnie here. Go.”

“Commander Adora apprehended three Bright Moon support staff assaulting Officer Cadet Felina. We’ve got them in custody and we’re currently holding them in the lockup. Do you want me to bring them to the headquarters?”

“Negative,” returned Lonnie, meeting Kyle and Rogelio’s eyes. “I’ll come to you.” 

“Acknowledged.”

It hit Sara, then, Derrick had not even informed the commandants before he called her.  

“Melog was right again, I guess.” Lonnie shrugged. “I told you this was going to be a shit show.” 

She looked at Sara. “You go to your daughter. This is my job.” She smiled, a vicious, feral expression that looked like a hybrid’s snarl.  

The weight of that fight was taken from Sara’s shoulders. It had always been her squad against the world. That the camp’s young command staff actually cared left her reeling

Trevor waited for her at the door of the infirmary.

“How is she? What happened?” Catra asked.

“Head injury. They took her down for a scan and treatment.” 

“How bad?” Sara breathed.

Trevor hesitated and Sara’s stomach dropped. 

“It’s not good,” he admitted. “But she was responsive when they brought her in.” He took her arm. “Come on, I’ll take you back.” 

The apprentice medic’s words were so careful.  Not awake. Not conscious. Responsive.

Deep breath in. 

Responsive was something. Responsive meant there was something left to fix.

A thick gelatinous wall seemed to separate Sara from everyone else. Terror like she never knew in combat made her hands shake, her stomach squirm like she’d swallowed live snakes. Even the baby in her stomach fluttered.

Fluttered. 

Oh, stars, she’d been feeling that for a few days. She hadn’t thought about it. But that was the baby, wasn’t it? Moving and kicking now, answering her panic. Feeling her fear.

Her breath hitched. One child lying still, one stirring within her and she was a thread pulled taut between them both.

Cold sweat dripped from her forehead. 

From far away, Catra said, “Sara, you need to sit.” Catra’s arm went around her waist to steady her and Trevor pulled her arm over his shoulder and they dragged her into an empty waiting room so she could collapse into a chair.

Trevor sat beside her, taking one hand in both of his. 

“D-don’t you have duty?” Sara’s teeth chattered. Why was she so cold? 

“Zira said I should sit with you,” the young man told her quietly. 

“I’ll be right back,” Catra said. “Melog will stay with you. I’ll go see what I can find out.” She closed the door behind her.

Brooding purple clouds gathered outside the window, slowly obscuring the late afternoon light that slanted across the newly tiled floor. Sara wondered vaguely if they were the first ones to use this waiting area. It smelled of floor polish and new paint rather than pain and fear.

The door opened again and Catra stood there, tightlipped, ears back, holding a steaming cup. She walked over to Sara. “Here, this helps.” 

Sara took the cup in her cold hand and Catra patted her shoulder,  “Melog will stay with you, okay? I’ll come back as soon as I know something.” Catra opened the and went into the hallway. “Yeah, Sara’s here.” she said to someone Sara couldn't see and turned back. “Would you want Adora to come to sit with you?” 

“That would be great.”

The three specialists with Adora followed her as she headed to the room where she was told Sara waited. They nodded as she signed “Sentry” at them, Erin and Mo taking positions on either side of the door, while Garin took his spot on the opposite wall.

Catra opened the door. Her eyes lit up when she saw them. “Holy shit what a mess.” She took Adora’s hand and heedless of the three youngsters, pressed it to her cheek. “You okay?” 

“Enough for now.” In spite of the grim situation, Adora relaxed into Catra’s touch and just breathed for a moment. 

Catra’s smile was small, but genuine. “Yeah? Good.” 

“Is Sara in there? I’ll sit with her, if it’s okay?” 

Before she let go of Adora’s hand, Catra leaned in and murmured , “Lonnie sent the footage over. She said not to show it to Sara, unless she specifically asks. I’m just going to go watch it.”

Adora shivered. No way would she watch that. It was bad enough seeing it the first time. 

On the little couch, the older woman sat with her hands wrapped around a cup.  Her black hair was beginning to show a scattering of silver and her tanned face was prematurely lined with stress and pain. Deep shadows showed under the haunted eyes that snapped up to meet Adora. 

In the chair next to her, Trevor sat, the medic apprentice seemed to be trying to disappear into the background. Melog purred at her feet, trying to comfort everyone in the room.

Closing the door softly behind her, Adora leaned against it. How the fuck was she supposed to tell her? 

“Adora?” The older woman bit her lip. “Derrick said you were with her when they brought her in?” 

“Yes.” 

“What happened?” 

“I apprehended three Bright Moon staff in the act of…” Adora’s throat locked around the ugly word, but Sara deserved to know the truth. “They were trying to… to…” She closed her eyes so she did not have to look at Sara when she said it. “We interrupted a sexual assault.

A sharp intake of breath. “They raped her.” Not a question, in a voice so flat and hollow that it hardly sounded like Sara’s. Her face settled into a mask of absolute neutrality, only her eyes sparked with fury.  

Hoping it was not a lie, Adora shook her head. “I think we got there before it went anywhere.” The whole scene played itself out in her mind again.  “We heard her scream. When we got there she was half conscious and still fighting them off. They stunned her and they hit her head really hard.”

Trevor stirred. “What is the Alliance going to do?” he asked, low and suspicious.

“It’s not up to them,” Adora told her, pushing away from the wall to stand straight, her voice stronger. “I just spoke to Scorpia, the Council and the Joint Committee. They are all happy to let us handle it ourselves.”

Sara tilted her head. “Will the Alliance let you do that?”

“The Alliance has no claim on Refuge.”  Adora growled. “Anyway, I’m a Princess. What’s the fucking point of being She Ra if I can’t protect my people?”

Sara and Trevor both blinked at her. When Adora realized what she said, her cheeks burned. She Ra was a touchy subject to Sara. “I-I’m sorry, I…” 

“Adora? You defended my daughter.” Sara held out her hand. Her voice was rough, but a tiny, proud smile ghosted across her lips. “Don’t ever apologize for who you are.”

“Thank you.” There was absolutely no reason Sara’s kindness should make tears start from Adora’s eyes.

Someone knocked. Adora jumped and turned toward it, knowing that the boys would tell her if it was someone unauthorized.

It was Zira, coming straight from surgery, her curly red hair covered with a cap and a surgical mask flopping loosely around her neck. She smiled when she walked in and Adora’s stomach unwound a little. 

“She’s out of danger,” Zira said, getting straight to the point. “She had a bleed, but we fused it and pulled out the clot. Her brain is still bruised, but she’s doing better than expected.” 

“Does she… Will she be all right?” Sara asked breathlessly.

Smiling more widely, Zira raised an eyebrow at Sara and went on in an almost conversational fashion. “I think so. You remember that report on novel materials for tissue repair you sent me?”

Sara blinked. “Yes?”

 “I called over to Entrapta and she sent me some preprogrammed to remove the clot and support the healing of neurons."

“She did?”

“She did. She said they’ll keep Felina unconscious until there’s no danger of brain swelling. Those little bots should have her head all cleaned up by the morning. And her recovery will take days rather than months.”

“I… didn’t know it could do that.” Awestruck, Sara shook her head. 

“What?” asked Adora blankly.

“The novel material. It’s Entrapta’s hair,” Sara told her. “It’s made of these… I’m not sure exactly what to call them, but they’re like microscopic bots. That’s why it does what it does.” She rubbed the front of her thigh. “That’s what I used for my legs. We use it in prosthetics, too.  ”

Zira nodded briskly and added. “The rape kit was negative as well.” 

The relief hit Adora like a sledgehammer and a wave of dizziness passed over her. She sat down hard next to Sara. The other woman wrapped her arms around her, shaking like a leaf. Adora patted her back.

“Thank you,” Sara whispered to Adora.

Zira’s smile turned malicious. “I sent Moon over there to check out the perpetrators' injuries. Apparently, Queen Glimmer is fussing about it.”

Back in her suite, Glimmer stared at the closed door.

“Assault?”

She shook her head, a defensive heat rising in her chest. Adora’s tone had been so cold, so final; Glimmer had never heard that voice from Adora. Ever! Was this really about Felina—or just another way for Adora to punish her?

“She didn’t even let me ask any questions,” Glimmer said, turning to Bow, who was still on the couch. She waved at the door. “She just dropped that and left.”

He frowned. “Yeah. It sounds really serious.” 

“It does.” Glimmer exhaled, searching for solid ground. “We brought in a lot of civilians. They were supposed to be screened, but most of them were volunteers. Friends of friends. People who wanted to say they’d helped at the summit. We didn’t have time for full checks.”

“So, you think somebody slipped through,” Bow said quietly.

“I think it’s possible they misunderstood something. Refuge is very different.” She rubbed her temples. “Half the people here have never even met a former Horde soldier before. What if it was a stupid argument that got blown out of proportion? I mean, everyone is hair triggered.”

Bow looked doubtful. “She doesn’t usually blow things out of proportion.”

“No, but if this turns into an incident before the hearings even start… ” She stopped herself, shaking her head. 

“Adora knows that.”

“Adora’s also hurting,” Glimmer said quickly. “You and Catra have both told me how… unstable Adora is right now.”

She stood again, decision hardening behind her eyes. “We need to get the full story. We’ll talk to them ourselves.”

“The staff she apprehended?” Bow asked, uneasy. “Is that a good idea?”

“They’re Bright Moon citizens. It’s my responsibility to hear their side before I make a judgment.” She held out her hand. “Come on. The sooner we get context, the sooner we can fix this.”

Outside, the afternoon turned sullen and still. Humidity and heavy clouds promised a storm. It felt appropriate.

When she identified herself to the person at the front desk, she expected to be taken immediately to the prisoners. Instead, no one at Security wanted to talk to her. They would not let her talk to the person in charge. They asked to see her ID, and kept talking about "clearances.” Then they said everyone who could give them clearances were busy. 

Worse yet, neither Catra nor Adora picked up her calls and Glimmer did not have the direct codes for the commandants’ comms. 

After forty-five frustrating minutes of browbeating, being passed around from one specialist to the next, and bureaucratic runaround, she was finally given permission to see her people.

Inside the holding cell section the air was damp and smelled faintly of vomit and fear. A Horde specialist stood by the wall, hands behind his back, gaze blank, nodding once as he acknowledged her, but he never took his eyes off the prisoners.

The three detainees sat at a narrow metal table up against the front of the cell. Another table with two chairs sat opposite it on the other side of the force field.

Bruised and bleeding they nevertheless hastily stood and bowed when Glimmer came in.  

They were just boys. The way Adora talked, Glimmer had been expecting hardened veterans. These were just some teenagers with the gangly energy of adolescent puppies, looking woebegone and frightened. 

The cell, though new, was bare of comfort. Rather than a proper bathroom, there was a sink and a toilet on the back wall with no privacy at all. A few threadbare towels were stacked on a metal shelf. Four bunks with thin mattresses each had an inadequate blanket and pillow. One tiny window showed the overcast sky outside. 

The dark-haired one smiled, relief evident in his features. “Your Majesty. Thank you for coming.”

Glimmer lifted her chin. “Of course. I wanted to hear your version of events. Please, sit.”

He exchanged relieved looks with his companions. “We’re glad someone does.”

“All right. Tell me what happened.”

“Yes, your majesty.” He nodded quickly. “We were on lunch break and we thought we’d explore the place a little, you know? We just followed one of the paths and we were up in the command section. Well that Horde girl walked by, and you know, we were trying to be friendly.”

“Friendly?” Glimmer asked.

“Yeah,” said the sandy-haired one. “We tried to talk to her and she got really weird about it.” He rubbed the tip of his nose. Blood stained his shirt that had been cut to ribbons. Apparently no one had thought to give him a new one.

“Yes, ma’am, we just said hello, tried to ask her where she was from. She acted like we weren’t even there.” The dark-haired boy’s voice caught, cracked with hurt pride. “Then she said…” He  pressed his lips together and glanced at the others. “Well, ma’am she called us words I don’t like to use.”

“Unprovoked?” Bow asked, raising his eyebrow. “Really?”

The three shifted guiltily.

“Well… “ The baby-faced boy spoke slowly, every word coming like a pulled tooth and his cheeks flushed. “We did kind of tease her.”

“Tease her?” Bow crossed his arms over his chest with a frown. “And that’s why she cursed you out?”

“Yeah. Just stupid stuff. You know.” 

“No. I’m not sure I do.”

It was funny when Bow tried to play interrogator, but Glimmer appreciated it.

The dark haired one’s cheeks reddened too and he looked away. “We didn’t mean anything by it. We just… When she didn’t want to talk to us, we sort of started talking trash.”

Glimmer frowned. “You talked trash to a Horde soldier?” 

“We didn’t know she was a soldier!” the boy argued. “She had some kind of Horde insignia. We didn’t think it could be real. That’s one reason we thought she was up to something.”

These boys looked like they were maybe a couple years older than Felina. Too young to sign up with the Rebellion. They could not fathom that someone younger than them was a real soldier. 

The sandy-haired one nodded in support. “Yeah. She was really pissed we were there.” Looking down at the table, the boy said. “I know we shouldn’t’ve done it, but we gave as good as we got. We called her some names. Just giving her a hard time, you know? What we didn’t know was that she had a stunner.”

Bow went still. “A stunner?”

“We didn’t even know what it was at first,” the dark-haired one said, running his shaking hand through his damp hair. The movement sent the smell of vomit wafting across the table. “Thought she’d stolen it. We were just trying to keep her from hurting anyone.” 

The third boy, baby-faced with unbandaged scratches dangerously close to his eyes, added with a nervous laugh, “She just went feral. You know how they are, right? Claws and all. We just defended ourselves.”

“Anyway, somewhere in the struggle the thing went off.” 

“Did you get stunned?” Glimmer asked the dark haired one. That would explain the vomit all over him. 

The boy gave Glimmer a brave smile. “Yeah, I guess we both did. I was touching her when someone hit the trigger and we both got zapped. I sort of collapsed on top of her and the next thing I know She Ra was dragging me up by the hair!”

“She Ra?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice conspiratorily. “She came in at the end. I guess she heard all the yowling and sort of freaked out. Like maybe… I don’t know… Maybe she thought we had her wife?”

That made far too much sense. A distressed magicat would sound like any other distressed magicat; of course Adora would have reacted on instinct.

“Have they had one of their healers look at you?” Glimmer thought they could have at least done that.

As one, they shook their heads.

“We were told Felina went to the infirmary. Do you know why?” Bow asked.

The black haired boy glanced at the other two. “I think the stunner? It seemed like she had a little bump on her head.”

Glimmer’s jaw tightened. They were bruised, bleeding, one still smelling of bile and Security hadn’t even cleaned them up. Whatever they’d done, this wasn’t how Alliance citizens should be treated. They’d gotten Felina medical attention for a bumped head, but couldn’t be bothered to get the boys’ medical treatment for these slashes.

"And they haven't even given you a change of clothes?" Glimmer asked, her voice tight with sympathy.

The dark-haired boy made a face, gesturing with his chin towards a stack of grey fabric. "They offered those.”

“Those?”

“We're not putting on their uniform,” growled the sandy haired boy. “Especially when it’s obvious it's just to humiliate us.”

The other one nodded. “They’re used. With the old Horde symbol on it. Like they’re trying to make a point.”

“Don’t you boys worry. We’ll straighten this out.” Glimmer would be having words with Catra about Security’s treatment of Alliance prisoners. She stood up but waved the boys off when they began to get up. “No, stay sitting. You need it.”

“Your Majesty?” The dark haired one’s blue eyes were bright and sincere. “Thank you. Really. I know we shouldn’t have teased her like that. We’re really sorry. We can tell her that, if you want us to. And then, if she wants to give us an apology, we’re happy to call it square. I guess we never thought about how just about every Hordie is a soldier.”

Glimmer considered that. Hordefolk liked to settle bad feelings on the training ground. They’d probably be fine with calling it a fair fight. 

“You might want to think about that, the next time you decide to tease someone. Soldiers can easily overreact to that kind of thing.” Glimmer said, relieved that the boy had come up with a solution. “But, yes. Perhaps we can just chalk all of this up to experience.”

Lonnie was not exaggerating about the footage, and Catra decided that, even if Sara asked, she would strongly counsel against watching it. 

No sooner had she left the conference room, intending to head over to admin, than her comm chirped. It was Glimmer. 

"About time you picked up!" The Queen announced imperiously. “We need to talk!”

“I’m at the infirmary,” Catra told her. “But, I’m heading to…”

With the sound of tiny windchimes, Glimmer sparkled into existence in front of her.  

This day just kept getting better. 

“Not here.” Catra turned around and led them back to the conference room without a word. Her neck prickled where her hackles were up and she didn't bother to still her lashing tail.

“Could you have let me finish my sentence?” she demanded as soon as she closed the door. 

“I was just going to tell you to meet us at the Admin offices.” Briefing the entire Alliance delegation at once would have saved her a lot of time. Now she was going to have to tell everyone again. 

This was such a mess. 

“Adora notified me first. She said she was taking jurisdiction.” The Queen shook her head, as though she did not understand. “I guess she’s still pissed at me.” 

“We thought we should find out what was going on,” asserted Bow. “We found out where they were being held.” 

Catra sat down at the white, oval table and pressed a button to bring up a screen. “So, you talked to the perpetrators?” 

“Adora said they had them in lockup. We popped out to the Security building.” Glimmer’s throat bobbed. “I… I wanted to get context before I came over here.”

“Context,” Catra echoed, queuing up the footage. “You mean excuses.”

“We need to deescalate this,” Glimmer added, her tone careful, deliberate. “We don’t want a diplomatic incident over a misunderstanding.” She sighed. “I can’t allow Adora to come down hard on a simple fight that got out of hand because of how she feels about me.”

“A misunderstanding?” Catra repeated, soft and flat.

“I meant… ” Glimmer looked at Bow for support, but he looked down rather than meeting her eyes. “I just mean that Adora’s not objective here. She’s angry at me.” She held up a hand when Catra opened her mouth to speak. “Understandably! But we can’t jump to conclusions. So I talked to them.” 

She pursed her lips disapprovingly. “And, while we’re on the subject, I know standards about how to treat prisoners are… different in the Horde, but they were bleeding, Catra. One had been sick all over himself. No one had even called in a healer.”

The conference room was unnaturally quiet. Thick carpet muffled their feet, an innovation by some of the engineers for more comfortable acoustics. The door was solid and blocked the sound from the hallway. Their words seemed to hang in the silence. 

“What did they tell you?” Catra gritted.

“Well… They admitted that they were giving her a hard time, and then she just lost it on them.” Glimmer looked sympathetic. “I had to explain that a lot of people who’ve been in combat overreact.” She put out a conciliatory hand. “I think we can just chalk it up to ‘lessons learned.’”

“Lessons learned, huh?” Catra raised an eyebrow.

“Well… Yes. They’re willing to drop it and apologize, if she is. Security doesn’t need to be involved.”

“That’s a relief,” Catra said, dryly.  “Is that what you were going to tell her mom?”

A little taken aback, Glimmer blinked. “I mean, I assume she’d be happy to hear that.”

“Refuge isn’t Bright Moon’s outpost,” Catra snapped. “And you don’t get to decide what justice looks like here.”

“Justice?” demanded Glimmer. “Seriously? Aren't you being a little dramatic?”

“Glimmer…” Bow touched her shoulder in a clear, “calm down” gesture. 

Catra grimaced and closed her eyes, calming herself.  “Did they mention that Felina was hit with an illegal stunner?”

“Yes! Adora told me!” Throwing up her hands, Glimmer scoffed. “Look, I know it was three on one. That isn’t okay. They understand that!”

She blew out a breath that puffed her cheeks and went on more calmly, “They only used it because they panicked.”

“Panicked?”

The attempt at calm was abandoned. Glimmer growled and touched her fingers to her temples with her eyes closed. 

“Yes, Catra! Panicked!"  She seemed at the end of her patience and her voice edged toward shrill. “Why was she armed, anyway?”

“Wait.” Catra said slowly as some of Glimmer’s reactions began to make a little sense. “They told you Felina had the stunner?” 

“Well, yes.” Glimmer seemed to feel that was self-evident.

“I’m not sure we should let them off the hook for that,” Bow said slowly. “I mean, they are pretty big. If they could get it away from her, then they probably could have gotten away."”

“They’ve never been in a battle.” Glimmer turned to Bow and made an impatient noise in her throat. “You saw how scratched up they were.” 

She went back to Catra. “And, I know Felina! Remember? She was a guerilla fighter! She’s dangerous! I saw her blow up at Adora on the day of the signing! She went after She Ra once! You told me yourself!” 

Crossing her arms over her chest and sticking out her chin, Glimmer’s eyes glinted with irritation. “And, yes. Those boys were wrong. They should know better! Of course they should!” She waved her hand around for emphasis. “But you should see them! I had to yell at Security to get them a healer. I’m just saying that it was a little disproportionate.”

Catra wanted to scream but took a deep breath instead. “Did you talk to anyone in Security?”

“No.” Bow sighed and shook his head. “We tried to get them to talk to Glimmer, but everyone was worried about whether they had ‘clearance.’ ” He made little quotes with his fingers. “We asked for the Security Chief, and they stonewalled us. They just plain would not talk.” He shrugged. 

“Did you Truth Spell their asses? The prisoners, I mean?”

“I didn’t think that was necessary,” Glimmer replied primly. 

“So, I guess you don’t know that Felina is in surgery?” Catra asked quietly.

“Surgery?” Her voice faltering, Glimmer looked genuinely surprised. “No! They said she bumped her head.” She went on in a much softer voice. “I’m sorry, they didn’t say it was bad.”

“Well, it was. It wasn’t one of them who was sick as shit. It was Felina. They beat her head against the ground. Zira said she had bleeding in her brain.” 

“Oh, no!” Glimmer’s hand floated up to cover her mouth. “Is she going to be okay?”

“I don’t know,” Catra admitted and tapped her claw against the table top. “And those ‘boys’ are all twice her size.” 

“Anyway, I’m not surprised they wouldn’t talk to you.” Catra rubbed her forehead with one hand. Her head ached. “The Security Chief was probably afraid that if he talked to you he was going to lose his shit.” 

They both looked at her quizzically.

“Derrick is Felina’s stepfather, if you don’t remember.”

Glimmer had not remembered, if the look on her face meant anything.

“Oh.” Bow swallowed. “That… explains some things.” He shook his head. “They were really pissed we were there. I sort of assumed it was just…” he waved a hand vaguely, “Just bad feelings in general. You know? The very stuff that these hearings are supposed to address.”

Inwardly Catra winced. These hearings needed to happen. Otherwise this peace would not last out the year. 

“Lonnie sent the surveillance footage.” Catra had already watched it once. Somehow it was worse than battlefield footage.

“You have surveillance cameras out there?”

 “Uh… Yeah.” She rolled her eyes and hit play. “Why wouldn’t we?” 

Maybe that was why the three thought they could get away with spinning the story for Glimmer. Fortunately the camera had pretty much caught the whole thing.

As they watched, the silence in the room became suffocating. The fight played out until that black-haired, blue-eyed pretty boy drew his illegal weapon. 

Glimmer and Bow looked sick.

The dart hit home. Felina screamed, a raw, animal sound, as her body seized, back arching, limbs jerking uncontrollably.

“Still think she just fell?” Catra asked, her voice like broken glass. She kept her eyes on the screen, her tail flicking, refusing to fast forward through the endless, agonizing seconds as Felina yowled, writhing in pain, ignoring the way her own muscles ached in sympathy. She was glad Lonnie had gone to talk to the bastards. After seeing this, Catra was ready to lose her shit.

Eyes shiny with tears, her hands over her mouth, Glimmer whimpered as the girl tried to fight back and the black-haired one slammed her head into the ground a few times. The girl spasmed against her captors, her head heaving up from the ground. Her mouth opened and she vomited explosively right into the man’s face.

And then, Adora appeared in the frame, grabbing the vomit-covered man by the hair, dragging him away from the girl. Her voice, calm and lethal, cut through the chaos: “What the fuck is happening here?”

The man’s reply was lost when a bright light caused the camera to glitch. 

The feed cut off. Finally, Catra turned her blue and golden eyes on Glimmer. “You were ready to walk into that waiting room and tell that mom that her daughter brought this on herself.”

Glimmer shook her head, tears bright in her eyes. “I didn’t… I wasn’t… ”

“Yes. You. Were.” Catra’s voice was ice. “You would’ve looked Sara in the face and told her those assholes were willing to drop it if she apologized.”

Glimmer gasped as she took that in.

“Now.” Catra tapped her claw on the table. “How do you think they got a hold of an illegal weapon?”

Bow and Catra talked about black market weapons and tracing them through contacts in Seaworthy or the Waste but Glimmer wasn’t listening.

Deep breath in. And another.

The ugly leer of the black-haired man was exactly like Horde Prime’s. He had never… but Glimmer had lived in terror of it.

Keep breathing. 

Of course Glimmer had heard the assailant’s side of the story first. Of course she took it as an accurate account. Her citizens would never lie. 

Only an idiot would take them at their word. When security stonewalled her, she assumed it was out of guilt or embarrassment. 

They were protecting Felina and her family from her. Because Glimmer had played right into the assailant’s hands, hadn’t she? Going off half cocked. Freaking out because one of them was still in vomit covered clothes and all of them were scratched. Demanding to talk to the head of security like she had the right. 

She’d walked in like she owned the place. No wonder Security shut her out. Refuge was nominally Horde, but in practice it was neutral. That’s why the hearings were here.

And she nearly walked into that room and faced Felina’s mother with those assumptions. Without understanding what they had tried to do.

Her stomach flipped again. For a moment she could see Prime, looking at her the way the black haired man looked at Felina. Predatory. Smug. The image that waited for her in every dark room, permanently engraved in her brain.

Outside, the thunder rolled, sounding like judgement.

Felina woke to a headache, the sharp scent of antiseptic, and the feeling of being gently lifted and set down again on a soft bed. She opened her eyes to slits. The room was dim, the blinds closed, but lightning flashed around the edges of the window.

Voices murmured softly in the hallway. Her mother’s scent told Felina she was nearby. Other scents lingered in the room: Derrick, Trevor, Catra, Adora.

Adora...

Jumbled memories began to surface, half-formed and slippery. She had been walking through the courtyard… three young men lounging on the grass… a fight? Someone hit her?

Nyxal’s voice drifted through the haze, saying something about needing to stay in the infirmary overnight.

Felina had never had to stay overnight before, not even when she’d broken her arm as a kid. It must have been one hell of a fight.

Where were her clothes? She wore only a soft hospital gown. Her mouth was dry. Little round disks were stuck to shaved patches on her skin, wires trailing from them. When she tried to move her hand, she saw the IV taped to the back of it.

The door opened and closed again, carrying her mother’s scent inside.

“Mama?” The tiny squeak came from Felina’s own mouth.

A gasp, and then Sara was there, holding her hand and brushing her hair back. “How’re you feeling?”

Felina wanted to say she was fine. The words almost made it out before her chest tightened. More images came flooding in. Her ribs ached where the stunner had burned her, and the memory of that white-hot current rippled through her nerves. 

After that, nothing. 

A small whimper escaped her throat.

“Oh, Kitten.” Sara hadn’t called her that in years, and Felina’s eyes spilled over.

“Shh. You’re okay. I’m here.”

Her mother’s hand was warm, solid, real. Felina turned her face into it, breathing in her scent, soap, oil, and the faint tang of solder that always clung to her clothes.

“Move over.” Sara sat on the side of the bed and swung her feet up so Felina could curl against her.

A minute later, Derrick came in to find mother and daughter asleep, their breathing steady and in sync.

Outside, thunder rumbled low and distant, the wind bringing the scent of far off rain.