“By the way,” he says lightly, “your daughter’s drawings are very… expressive.”
My heart seizes.
“What?”
“Kids on the station. They talk. They show things. Share things. Her little sketch of a Vakutan with scarred armor caught someone’s attention.”
I don't blink. I don't breathe.
He smirks. “You know how seriously the Alliance takes data security. And unauthorized offspring.”
“Tread carefully,” I say, my voice colder than I mean.
He lifts a brow. “Is that a threat, Doctor?”
“No. It’s a warning.”
He laughs. A short, sharp exhale of disbelief.
Then he walks out like he owns the air.
I don’t even bother sitting down.
I grab my compad, initiate a wireless wipe protocol, and bolt out the back.
Drel answers on the second ring, half-asleep.
“Rynn? You okay?”
“I need you. Now.”
He doesn’t ask why. “Medbay?”
“No. The old comms tower. Ten minutes.”
The tower’s dead cold.
Abandoned since the last solar burst cooked half the antenna grid. I duck through a rusted hatch, slam it shut, and seal it with a magnetic wedge. My breath clouds the air.
Drel’s already at the console, dust flying as he pries open the back panel.
“You look like hell,” he mutters.
“Tarek knows.”
He goes still. “Knows what?”
“Everything. Or close enough. Nessa. The logs. The drawings.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
He turns, typing furiously. “You want full erasure?”
“Not yet,” I say. “I want escape.”
Drel glances up. “Blackout protocol?”
