Torvyn took a step closer. “Do you see anything amiss? I think not. I run a tight ship.”
“Is that so? I guess that explains why your shield variance is out of focus.” I pointed toward the screens. “Your harmonics are twenty-two percent out of sync. Do you know what that means?”
Torvyn tilted his head but said nothing.
“I didn’t think so. Let me break it down for you. If another pirate ship—”
“We aren’t pirates,” he said.
It was my turn to wavehiswords away. “If another pirate ship fires on you, all they have to do is analyze the energy reflection feedback to figure out how to phase their next blast right through your shields. I don’t know who’s responsible for that, but you should probably fire them.”
Torvyn smirked. “Impossible.”
“Why would I lie? The last thing I need is to get killed because someone on your crew can’t do basic algebraic geometry.”
He walked to his desk and tapped on the keyboard.
I watched his jaw tighten. The glow in his yellow eyes flickered—Loss of composure? Anger? Then his expression went flat. Controlled. The kind of control that took practice.
"Oh, dear," I said, letting a grin spread across my face. "You're responsible for the shield harmonics, aren't you?"
He didn't answer. His fingers moved across the keyboard, running what I assumed were verification checks. Hoping I was wrong. I wasn't.
"How did you know?" he asked, still not looking at me.
"I know how to analyze data."
"You glanced at a screen for three seconds."
"Two and a half. But yes."
He turned to face me, and I saw something shift behind his eyes—not warmth, not yet, but reassessment. Like I'd moved from one mental category to another.
The silence stretched. I probably should have been more gracious about this. Probably.
"Look," I said, "can we start over? My entire life has been data analysis. My hab unit was supposed to come with a low-level shielding system, so I spent months getting smart on that."
"You had no shields when we found you."
"Yep. Another corporate lie. But that didn't change the fact that I basically became an expert on shield maintenance. That's what I do. I learn things, I remember them, and I apply them."
He studied me for a long moment. I couldn't read his expression—somewhere between irritation and something else I didn't have a name for.
Then he stepped closer. Close enough that the heat of his body rolled off him.
"I owe you an apology."
The words came out stiff, like they cost him something. I blinked. Men never apologized to me. Hell, they barely even acknowledged when I said something.
"You apologize?"
“Yes. I was hasty in my assessment of you. Please understand that my only concern is the safety of this crew. I did not want to rescue you. I thought you were bait.”
“Like a little worm or something?”
He blinked, confused. Okay, no more human analogies.
“No. Like something a corporation would use to flush out pirates.”
