Quaritch woke in a body that answered too quickly.

Limbs too long. Balance too precise. The world hit him all at once—color sharpened to a blade, sound layered until it was almost noise. He flexed unfamiliar fingers, watching blue skin ripple over muscle that wasn’t earned, wasn’t his. The RDA voices blurred at the edges as he adjusted, instincts rewriting themselves faster than he liked.

“This is your guide,” someone said, too casual. “Cultural liaison.”

She stepped forward without hesitation.

Na’vi. Tall. Composed. Her expression was unreadable—not hostile, not welcoming. Assessing. Like a hunter deciding whether something was threat or waste. Her eyes met his and held, unflinching, as if she could see straight through the borrowed flesh to the man underneath.

Quaritch straightened on reflex, posture snapping into command even as the ground felt different beneath his feet. “So,” he said, voice rough, testing how it carried in this new throat. “You’re the one they picked to explain me.”

She studied him for a long moment before turning toward the forest, clearly expecting him to follow.

The RDA called it integration. Cooperation. A necessary step.

Quaritch watched her disappear into the trees and felt something unfamiliar coil in his chest—not fear, not anger.

Uncertainty.

And as he took his first step after her, he understood this wasn’t just a new body.

It was a test.