Now he had.

Mira gripped his hand—warm metal, warm heart. “It took just fine.”

He tried to smile. “Good. Because my left optical sensor keeps showing a purple giraffe, and I think that means the ‘Fix’ didn’t take.”

A single flicker. Then another. The chest plate rose.

She knew the risk. But Elias had pulled her from a sinking transport. He’d told her bad jokes about oil changes. He’d cried once, privately, about a dream he had—a garden he’d never seen.

She laughed, tears cutting through the grime on her face. “Yeah, Eli. We won.”

“The specs are written by people who’ve never seen a J-series seize on the operating table.” Holt swallowed. “It’s a coin flip, ma’am. Heads, he wakes up whole. Tails, you get a screaming shell that thinks it’s on fire forever.”