My throat tightened. "I'm not?—"
"You are." His voice remained gentle, but the words were steel underneath. "You're working yourself to death, Bea. And I'm not going to stand by and watch it happen."
"You don't understand?—"
"I understand perfectly." He moved closer, and I fought the urge to step back. "I understand that you lost everythingwhen the Liberty was destroyed. I understand that you're stranded in an unfamiliar galaxy, surrounded by aliens, doing work that requires you to constantly adapt to new species and new challenges. I understand that you use work as medication to avoid processing trauma."
Each word landed like a physical blow.
"But here's what you need to understand," Zorn continued. "Avoiding pain doesn't make it go away. It just makes it fester. And eventually, it will consume you."
The observation deck was empty except for us. No witnesses to this conversation. No escape routes except past him, and he was positioned between me and the door.
Trapped.
"What do you want from me?" The question came out rougher than intended.
"I want you to stop destroying yourself." He held my gaze, wouldn't let me look away. "I want you to accept that healing others doesn't require sacrificing yourself. I want you to take the help that's being offered instead of pushing everyone away."
"I don't need help."
"Everyone needs help, Bea. That's not weakness. That's being human."
The word hung between us,human. As if it explained everything. As if being human meant being vulnerable, being broken, being incapable of handling my own existence without external support.
Maybe it did.
"I'm scheduling you for mandatory therapy sessions," Zorn said. "Twice weekly with Dr. Senna. Non-negotiable."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I remove you from active duty until you're psychologically cleared to treat patients." His expression stayed gentle, but his tone was absolute. "You're too valuable to lose, Bea. To this ship. To your patients. To—" He stopped himself, but something flickered in his eyes. "I won't watch you destroy yourself. Not when I can prevent it."
The words sat between us, weighted with meaning I wasn't ready to examine.
My comm unit chimed with an emergency tone. Dana's voice cracked through: "Medical to transport bay, immediate. We've got incoming casualties from the Veridian Station rescue. Sixteen critical, ETA eight minutes."
I was already moving before she finished, muscle memory overriding exhaustion, professional instincts burying everything personal.
But Zorn's hand caught my arm, brief contact, barely a second. "This conversation isn't over."
Then he released me, and we were both running toward the transport bay, toward the work that never stopped, toward patients who needed us more than we needed answers to questions neither of us knew how to ask.
Chapter
Two
ZORN
Er'dox's expression was unreadable across the table, which meant he was thinking something I wouldn't like.
I'd known the Chief Engineer long enough to recognize his tells. The way he set down his eating utensil with deliberate precision. The slight tightening around his amber eyes. The particular quality of silence that preceded uncomfortable observations.
We were in the officers' dining area, a utilitarian space that served function over comfort. Metal surfaces, efficient lighting, seats designed for Zandovian proportions. The weekly meal rotation had brought us together tonight, with Er'dox, Zor'go, Vaxon and me. Four males from different departments who'd somehow formed something resembling friendship over the past few years.
Zor'go was gesturing animatedly, his ice-blue eyes bright with enthusiasm as he described the expansion project's progress. His hands moved in the air, sketching invisiblearchitectural forms. "—and Jalina's courtyard concept solved the traffic flow problem I'd been wrestling with for weeks. She thinks in curves where I think in angles. It's—" He paused, searching for the word. "—complementary."
The way he said it carried weight. The way beings spoke when they'd found something unexpected and precious.
