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“Roxy,” he rasped. The Emperor’s wrath ignited anew. But it is holy. “Where?”

Her voice cracked. “I am ready to die,” she whispered, the belt falling from her mouth. Spat on her. It is not clean. She dropped to her knees, wincing at the shift in weight inside her. “You’ve already done enough.”

He locked the core into his broken plate. Stripped of weapons, armor, and all outward signs of sanctity, Roxy became a living vessel. “I am ready to die,” she whispered, the belt falling from her mouth. “This has never been done. 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. They threw her into a cell of rot and rust, where Brother-Sergeant Caelen hung in chains. Her pride shattered. A vessel. After long, hellish moments, the weight slid free. He was shaking — from the act, from awe, from the reality of what she had endured.