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But still she did not cry out. Verena whispered prayers as she worked — half to comfort Roxy, half to steel herself. The belt muffled it only slightly as the edges of the capsule stretched her farther than she thought possible. This tale does not seek comfort or triumph. Roxy lay still, drenched in sweat, her face contorted in silent pain. No weapons. They never suspected that deep within her, past layers of bruised and trembling muscle, pulsed the one thing that could awaken a Space Marine’s broken armor and turn him into a weapon again. Still sealed.”

He said nothing. Each movement brought fresh waves of agony. It was a tool. Roxy sobbed around the belt. “Roxy,” he rasped. Her vision swam. “You carried it,” Verena whispered, touching her brow with a trembling hand.