“Bureaucracy. They’re sifting through everything. Could take years. They might never reach your file.”
Kevari steps forward. “You understand what this means, yes?”
I nod.
But I say it anyway.
“If they flag anything—if my old ident comes up tied to classified logs—theneverythingcould unravel.”
Vael folds his arms. “What about the scrub?”
“Most of it held. But I don’t know what was archived in hard copy before Drel’s purge. I don’tknowwhat slipped through.”
Kevari looks to me. “And the child?”
I flinch.
“She wasn’t registered. But if they link her genetics to me?—”
“They won’t,” Vael says quickly.
But I can hear the doubt under his words.
Later, when Kevari leaves and Nessa’s still snoring, Vael and I stand by the back wall.
He’s pacing.
I’m staring at my boots.
“They’ll come here,” he says.
“Maybe.”
“Eventually.”
I don’t answer.
His voice tightens. “We could go east. Past the signal shelf. Hide under the old colonial network.”
I look up. “You want to run?”
He stops moving.
“I want her safe.”
“Same.”
“Then we should?—”
“No.”
He blinks.
I cross the floor slowly, every step anchored by years of not knowing who I was, what I wanted, where I belonged.
I place my hand flat against his chest.
His heart’s pounding.
