Not again.
Notnow.
The last thing I need is a surge. I close my eyes and force myself to breathe deep, to push the rising current down, to lock it under skin and silence.
When the lift opens, I practically dive inside.
I don’t see the figure standing at the end of the corridor.
Motionless. Silent. Watching.
Tarek doesn’t blink.
Doesn’t speak.
Doesn’t move.
He waits until the lift door closes behind me before he steps out of the shadowed alcove.
His face is unreadable. Blank as Alliance stone.
He lifts his wrist compad and taps a secure channel open. The screen glows, casting faint light over his features.
He types one word.
Confirmed.
The device chirps quietly and locks.
Tarek turns away, footsteps muffled against the sterile floor, and vanishes down the hall without a sound.
Back in my quarters, I don’t turn on the light.
The dark feels safer. Like if I can’t see the truth, maybe it won’t find me.
I shed my jacket and drop it on the chair. Slide to the floor next to Nessa’s toy bin and let my fingers trace the curve of a worn plush raptor she’s slept with since she was two.
There’s a frayed spot near its jaw where she chewed the stitching loose during one of her first tantrums. I never fixed it.
It’s real. Honest. Like her.
And I’m none of those things.
I lean my head against the side of her bunk. Try to breathe through the knot in my throat.
Even after all these years. All the lies. All the careful distance.
It took one look, one pull of gravity between our broken pieces… and I caved.
But I can’t do this.
I can’t want him.
Not when I’m hiding the very thing he has every right to know.
A daughter.
Our daughter.
