Everything she'd tried to escape. Everything the LMP was supposed to save her from.
Gone.
"Please." The word ripped out of her. "I know I messed up, but I need—we need?—"
"The decision has been made." Not unkind. Just final. "You'll be provided with return transport and basic necessities. The signing bonus will be reclaimed from your Earth accounts."
The signing bonus. The money she'd already spent on rent. On keeping them both fed. On staying one step ahead of homelessness.
They'd take it back. Of course they would, and she'd owe money she didn't have for rent she'd already paid with funds that would be clawed back from her account.
She'd be worse than broke. She'd be in debt.
"I understand this is difficult," the woman continued, her tone gentling slightly. "But the program has strict policies regarding contract breaches. We can't make exceptions?—"
"She stays."
Kirr's voice cut through the woman's explanation like a blade. Two words. Absolute authority.
The LMP officer's attention snapped to him. "Commander, with respect, this is a Mate Program matter. Unless you have official grounds to intervene?—"
"She's under my protection." Kirr moved, placing himself between Harper and the officer. Not aggressive. Just immovable. "That gives me grounds."
Her pulse hammered in her temples. Under his protection. What did that mean?
The officer's jaw tightened. "Commander, taking personal responsibility for a flight risk requires?—"
"I'm aware of what it requires." Kirr's tone didn't change. Didn't need to. The command in it was bone-deep. "I'm taking responsibility for her supervision. She'll remain on station pending LMP review of her eligibility."
Silence filled the medical bay. Even the machines monitoring Delilah seemed to quiet.
The officer's fingers moved over her datapad. "That's... highly irregular."
"But within my authority." Not a question. "Unless you'd like to escalate this to station command?"
The threat hung in the air. Harper didn't understand the politics, but she understood power, and Kirr had it. The kind that made bureaucrats think twice about pushing back.
The officer's lips pressed into a thin line. More tapping on her datapad. "If you take responsibility for Ms. Sawyer, she'll be required to stay under direct supervision. Restricted station access. No unauthorized departure. You'll be personally accountable for her compliance."
"Understood."
"She'll need to reside in your quarters."
Her stomach dropped. "Wait, what?—"
"Standard protocol for supervised flight risks." The officer's gaze flicked to Harper, then back to Kirr. "She can't be left unsupervised. Your quarters or deportation. Those are the options."
Live with him. In his quarters. Under his supervision.
The same man who'd pulled her from wreckage and made her feel safe. Who'd grounded her through a panic attack with nothing but his steady presence and his heartbeat under her palm. Who looked at her like she mattered.
The same man who was now offering to be her warden.
Her throat closed up. She wanted to protest, wanted to argue, wanted to scream that she wasn't some criminal who needed supervision. But the alternative was deportation, debt and poverty.
"Ms. Sawyer?" The officer was waiting. "Do you agree to remain on station under Commander M'Aab's supervision?"
Her voice wouldn't work. She managed a nod.
