Her gaze slides right through me.
“We’re not taking walk-ins.”
I blink. “Kiv, it’s me.” I laugh, nervous. “I’m not exactly?—”
“Not tonight, Kristi.”
Her tone is quiet. Final. Like a lid being closed over something dead.
I try to speak, but the door shuts before I can finish.
I stand there for a second, hands in my pockets, the warmth of the restaurant bleeding out through the glass. People inside are laughing. Eating. Living.
I turn and walk back to the station. I don’t cry. Not out here. Not where the air tastes like sour concrete and the neon hum won’t let you forget how artificial everything is.
At home, the silence is unbearable.
I talk to no one. Not even myself. I just… move.
Pour a drink. Don’t sip it. Pour another. Let it sit.
I open the zoning proposal again and stare at the lines that razed a hundred dreams. My name is still there on the roll call vote. Proud black ink. Immutable.
I slam the tablet shut and shove it off the table.
Later, I try to sleep. My sheets feel like paper. My body doesn’t settle. I toss, turn, kick off the covers, crawl back under. My mind won’t shut up.
You smiled when he kissed your wrist. You stayed quiet when they gutted his life.
The next day is a blur. I cancel two meetings. Dennis calls twice—I don’t answer. I make tea, let it go cold.
That night, a ping hits my comms.
A live protest feed.
Novaria Prime. Outside the Ministry.
I almost ignore it.
Then I see the name.
Kenron Sarai, featured speaker.
I open it.
The camera is shaky, but I’d know that silhouette anywhere. He stands at the edge of a platform, flanked by elders and organizers, and he’s wearing full ceremonial Vakutan armor. Black and silver, layered with history and weight. The chestplate catches the light like fire. A sash is tied at his waist in the mourning knot. My breath catches.
He doesn’t need a microphone. His voice is thunder.
“We are not contaminants! We are not intrusions! We built this district with our hands, our fire, our sweat!”
The crowd explodes. The chant rises—his name, over and over.
“You want to erase us? You will have to drag our names from the walls with blood!”
My heart beats like a war drum.
I lean closer to the screen. He’s radiant. Fierce. Alive in a way I haven’t seen since before the vote. His eyes are molten gold.
