I don’t let her finish. My hand flies before I can stop it. The slap cracks the air like a whip.
Her head jerks sideways, hair falling over one eye. For a second, no one moves. Then Korin lunges to grab my arm.
I rip free. “You have no right—none of you! He’s not your enemy!”
“Get security,” Korin says under his breath.
“I’ll go,” the captain says, lifting a hand. She wipes blood from her lip, glares at me like I’m a storm she’ll have to weather later, and leaves.
I stand shaking, chest heaving. My reflection in the glass wall looks like a stranger.
“Interview terminated,” Korin says quietly, tapping his pad. “Psych eval recommended.”
He leaves too.
The door locks behind him with a hiss that feels final.
They release me two hours later. A medic tries to hand me a sedative; I slap it out of her hand. Someone mutters the wordsunstableandevaluation.I don’t care.
They give me a temporary dorm — sterile quarters, bare walls, zero warmth. My old room on the Seeker is gone. My new one feels like a hospital ward.
I sit on the cot and stare at the wall for what might be hours. My hands are raw from clenching.
I keep seeing him — his body jerking as the stun rod hit, the light fading from his eyes as they dragged him away. The sound of his voice, low and rough, yelling my name until it cut off mid-word.
“Stop thinking about it,” I whisper to myself. “Stop. Stop.”
I press my knuckles to my temples. It doesn’t help.
When I finally lie down, my head hits the pillow and I start crying so hard I choke.
The next day, I throw a mug at the wall. It shatters. I don’t even remember picking it up.
The day after, I start asking questions again — corridors, decks, names. Every officer gives me the same script:“We can’t disclose the location of enemy detainees.”
By day three, I’m on a watchlist.
By day five, I stop sleeping altogether.
Marla finds me in the mess hall, hunched over a cooling plate of protein mush. She sits down beside me like nothing happened.
“You look like hell,” she says, picking up my spoon. “You eating?”
I don’t look up. “Where’s Takhiss?”
She sighs. “Ella, listen. You have to let this go. He’s Coalition. They’ll handle it.”
“Handle it,” I repeat, bitterly. “You mean bury him.”
“Don’t do this.”
I turn to her. “You weren’t there, Marla. You didn’t see him hold the hull shut with hisbody.You didn’t see him bleed just to keep me breathing. He’s not a monster.”
“I’m not saying he is. I’m saying it’s out of your hands.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Then you’re going to break yourself.”
