Still sealed.”
He said nothing. Her pride shattered. The weight seated fully. As long as the core reaches him.”
Verena offered her a leather belt — a strip of old, cracked ecclesiarch hide. What she endures is beyond comprehension — and yet utterly human. His chest was a ruin of ceramite and scar tissue. They threw her into a cell of rot and rust, where Brother-Sergeant Caelen hung in chains. 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**. She did not scream. “Inside. Still sealed.”
He said nothing. He only looked at her — truly looked — and understood what she had done. Roxy volunteered without hesitation. But when Verena pressed her gloved hand to Roxy’s thigh and began the process — careful, slow, unforgiving — all pretense shattered. She lay on the cold stone floor on her side and forced the leather belt back into her mouth.
