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After dying with regret, Vladilena Milizé wakes up seven years in the past—back when she still had time to change everything. Once a privileged officer who unknowingly helped doom those she swore to protect, Lena now carries the burden of memory. Determined to rewrite fate, she vows to protect Shinei Nouzen, the boy she betrayed, and the Spearhead Squadron before the war consumes them all. But in a world ruled by cruelty and silence, redemption won’t come easily—and neither will his forgiveness.

Trace of Humanity

April 24th, 2145 – Training Grounds, Sector 4

The morning sun was sharp against the concrete, and Spearhead was already halfway through their daily drills. Dust kicked up as the Reginleifs roared over uneven ground, mock-firing in tight formation.

In the control tower, Lena watched silently through the observation glass. No microphone. No orders.

She'd disabled the live comms on purpose. Today was for watching, not commanding.

Her eyes followed Shin's Reginleif—flawless movements, no wasted motion. But she saw the signs now. His pathing was always one step ahead of everyone else. Always moving just fast enough to stay alive.

She took note and turned to Anju's unit. A little less rigid today. Curved wider than necessary in one maneuver—shielding Theo's exposed flank without a word.

Her fingers hovered over the comms switch… then pulled away.

"Mission deployment is in three days," Raiden muttered as they filtered into the room. "Another sweeping recon op."

Theo flopped into a chair. "Bet it's another suicide run."

Kurena rolled her eyes. "Only if we listen to her plans."

Anju took a seat in the back. "Her plans keep us alive."

Kurena frowned. "You trust her now?"

"I don't trust anyone," Anju replied, calm as always. "But I pay attention."

The lights dimmed, and the mission layout projected onto the wall. This time, Lena didn't appear live—just a recording. Her voice played clearly:

> "Projected movement places Legion units at these three choke points. I've marked secondary extraction routes in case of collapse. Priority remains squad survival."

No soft words. No guilt. No appeals.

Kurena folded her arms. "She's not even trying to act human."

Anju looked at the screen a moment longer. "Maybe that's the point."

Shin sat on his bunk, polishing a blade he'd kept tucked behind the headboard. Not standard issue. Just old. Familiar.

Raiden walked past, tossing him a sealed data tablet. "Handler sent this. Alternate map overlays."

Raiden raised a brow. "You're not going to check?"

Raiden didn't press further. But when he turned, he caught Anju watching from the far side of the room, brow slightly furrowed.

Meanwhile – Republic Academy, Communications Hub

Lena reviewed the squad's telemetry for the third time. Her fingertips hovered over the file labeled: Personal Logs – Spearhead 2142-2145. Files from a life no longer hers.

This version of them didn't know her. Didn't need her.

She couldn't afford to speak like she used to. Not yet. Her warmth—her guilt—was dangerous.

So instead, she stayed behind the glass. Quiet. Unseen.

Let them see only strategy. Nothing more.

It was evening again. The wind carried the faint hum of night patrols and Legion chatter in the distance.

Anju stood near the edge, her hands folded behind her back.

"You've been coming up here a lot," Raiden said, approaching.

He joined her. They stood there for a moment in silence.

"She's building something," Anju said softly. "But not in a way we're used to. She's not reaching for us. She's just... waiting."

"Like a handler who doesn't want to be one," Raiden muttered.

Anju tilted her head. "No. Like someone afraid to reach again."

Raiden was quiet. "You think she's scared?"

Raiden scoffed. "A Republic officer? Come on."

Anju smiled faintly. "Pain's universal."

> Shin remains silent. No deviation.

Chapter 8: Glass Walls