“Fascinating.” He nods slowly, as if filing this information away for future reference. “Your species continues to surprise us, Captain.”
“We do our best, Envoy.”
He inclines his head again, then follows Harrison toward the lift. But just before the doors close, he glances back at me, and for a split second, his carefully neutral expression slips.
What I see underneath makes my breath catch.
Not disgust. Not disdain.
Fear.
The doors slide shut, leaving me alone with my honor guard and the lingering scent of ozone that seems to follow Zephyrians like cologne.
“Interesting first impression,” Blaine murmurs from behind me.
“That’s one word for it.” I turn toward the lift, my mind already racing through the possible explanations for Zylthar’s reaction. Cultural taboo? Physical incompatibility? Simple alien arrogance?
Or something else entirely?
As the lift carries me back toward the bridge, I catch myself rubbing my palm against my uniform jacket, trying to erase the memory of cool skin and that moment of electric contact.
This is going to be a very long Christmas party.
CHAPTER 2
ZYLTHAR
The human stationassaults my senses the moment I step off our ship.
Colors blaze too bright against surfaces that gleam with artificial light. The air carries a dozen different scents—cleaning compounds, recycled atmosphere, something organic and sweet that makes my crystalline neural pathways ache. But worse than the physical chaos is the emotional noise.
Fear-excitement-boredom-longing-duty-lust-homesickness-anticipation?—
The feelings crash over me like waves, each human mind broadcasting its emotional state without restraint or consideration. My people would be horrified by such lack of control. On Zephyr Prime, we’ve spent centuries learning to contain our feelings, to shield our thoughts from others. Here, these creatures practically scream their emotions into the void.
I focus on my breathing, drawing in the measured patterns taught to Zephyrian children from birth.In for four counts, holdfor seven, release for eight.The technique helps, slightly, but I still sense the psychic pressure building behind my temples.
“This way, Envoy Quoril,” the human called Harrison says, gesturing toward a transport pod. His emotions taste of nervous pride—he’s honored to escort us but terrified of making a mistake.
I follow, keeping my expression carefully neutral as we move through corridors that hum with alien energy. The station is massive, more complex than our intelligence reports suggested. Rotating habitat rings generate artificial gravity while quantum field generators pulse with barely contained power. It’s impressive, in a crude sort of way.
But it’s not the technology that disturbs me. It’sher.
Captain Selena MacGray.
Even now, walking through these corridors with my fellow diplomats beside me, I suffer her emotional signature like a distant star. Focused determination wrapped around something deeper—loneliness that cuts sharp and clean as crystal. Leadership balanced on the edge of isolation.
I’ve studied human psychology for decades, preparing for this assignment. I know their emotional patterns, their biological responses, their cultural variations. But theoretical knowledge didn’t prepare me for the reality of actuallyfeelingone of them.
When she extended her hand in that primitive greeting ritual, I had perhaps three seconds to decide: maintain diplomatic protocol or preserve my psychic shields.
I chose protocol.
The moment our skin touched, her emotions flooded through me—strength and vulnerability braided together, curiosity tempered by wariness, and underneath it all, a bone-deep exhaustion that she refuses to acknowledge. For those three seconds, I experienced her life from the inside: the weight of command, the memory of loss, the careful walls she’s built around her heart.
It was the most beautiful and terrifying thing I’ve ever felt.
“Your quarters are here,” Harrison announces, stopping before a door marked with Zephyrian symbols. “Dr. Yakamura has prepared everything according to your specifications.”
