The simulator bay sat deep in the ship’s midsection, a long chamber lined with haptic floor panels and ceiling emitters that could render anything from open tundra to a burning colony street. Yeleth had already loaded the first scenario by the time the three of them arrived. I stood against the rear bulkhead with a tablet, trying to look like a captain who understood what he was looking at.

The first run was a basic Skarn skirmish in a ruined plaza. Maren went in hard, kinetic field flaring as she absorbed the first volley of chitin spikes and turned the stored force into a shockwave that staggered two of the constructs. Saya moved like a knife through the gaps, each true cut leaving a brief, flickering tear in the air that the Skarn had to avoid or be sliced by the vacuum edge. Wren stayed where they told her to stay—behind Maren’s left shoulder, hands ready.

It lasted four minutes. A flanking construct got past Maren while she was mid-release. Wren stepped forward to stabilize a simulated wound on Saya’s leg and the construct took her head off. The simulation froze on her collapsing avatar.

“Again,” Saya said, already walking back to the starting mark. Her voice was even. “Maren, delay the micro-quake until the second wave commits. I’ll hold the left flank longer.”

They ran it six more times before the break. Each iteration they tightened the formation: Maren absorbing the heaviest hits, Saya cutting the angles that threatened Wren, Wren only moving when one of them was already between her and the threat. Yeleth’s voice came over the bay speakers between runs, calm and precise.

“The current spacing leaves a 1.4-second exposure window when Ashworth banks kinetic energy. Recommend a staggered release: Voss creates a temporary rift-barrier on the left while Ashworth discharges. Larkin remains inside the resulting cone. Projected survival probability increases to 68 percent under these parameters.”

It helped. The next three runs Wren survived. In the fourth she still died, but only after she had closed two major wounds and kept Maren on her feet long enough to finish the last construct.

I watched from the wall. Most of the tactical language slid past me. I caught the broad shapes—protect the healer, don’t let her get isolated, use Maren’s stored force as a shield rather than pure offense—but the timing windows and angle calculations stayed noise. When Yeleth asked if I had adjustments to the engagement doctrine I just shook my head and said I’d defer to them.

By the last session of the day the pattern was obvious even to me. Wren was useful when everything went perfectly. The moment the Skarn adapted or the formation bent, she became the weak point the simulation punished. Maren and Saya never said it out loud. They just kept adjusting, kept running the numbers Yeleth fed them, kept putting themselves between Wren and the constructs until the system called the scenario complete. Wren apologized after every failure. Soft, hurried, eyes on the floor.

“I’m sorry. I moved too early. I’ll wait longer next time. I’m sorry.”

No one told her to stop saying it.

The ship’s night cycle had already dimmed the corridors when I got back to my quarters. I sat on the edge of the bed with one of the combat theory primers Priya’s people had stocked, the tablet glowing on my knees. The diagrams made more sense on the page than they had in the simulator. I was still only halfway through the section on staggered defensive rotations when the knock came.

Soft. Hesitant.

I set the tablet down and opened the door.

Wren stood in the corridor in an oversized sleep shirt and soft pants, ash-blonde hair still damp from a shower. She had her arms wrapped around herself. Her pale green eyes flicked up to my face, then away, then back again like she was forcing herself to hold the look.

“Captain,” she said, voice small. “I— can I come in? Just for a minute.”

I stepped aside. She slipped past me and stopped a few feet inside the room, still hugging herself. The door slid shut.

“I watched the numbers,” she said. “After the runs. Yeleth left the projections up. I’m the reason the survival percentages drop. Every time. Maren and Saya have to change how they fight just to keep me from dying, and even then it only works if nothing unexpected happens.” Her fingers tightened on her sleeves. “I don’t want to be the reason someone else gets hurt because they were protecting me. I don’t want to be the liability.”

She took a shaky breath.

“I know how the Anchor works. I know what you did with Maren and with Saya. It made them stronger. Faster. Harder to kill.” Her cheeks were already flushed. She looked at the floor again, then forced her eyes up. “If… if we do that. If you buff me the same way. Then maybe next time I won’t need them to stand in front of me for every single second.”

Her voice cracked on the last word. She stayed where she was, small and rigid, waiting for whatever I was going to say.