The capsule slid in by degrees. She dropped to her knees, wincing at the shift in weight inside her. She simply rolled onto her side and wept — not from shame, but from the knowledge that her body was no longer hers. Her body was already tense. He was shaking — from the act, from awe, from the reality of what she had endured. In a universe where saints are carved from trauma and silence, Roxy’s sacrifice echoes as a brutal testament to the Imperium’s creed: **only in death does duty end**. Heavy. What she had become. With no secure means of delivery, a vital power core was to be transported in the most covert and unthinkable way: hidden within the body of an unarmed Sister. “You’ve already done enough.”
He locked the core into his broken plate. But he looked up as she entered.
