The food tasted like nothing. She chewed mechanically, swallowed, repeated. Her body needed fuel. That was all this was.
"Delilah."
The name came out before she could stop it. She set down the bread and stared at her plate. "My cousin. When can I see her?"
Silence. Then his chair creaked and she heard him stand. Footsteps approached, steady and unhurried.
He stopped at the counter across from her, his hands bracing against the surface. She looked up and found him watching her with an expression she couldn't read.
"Kellat updated me an hour ago." His voice was gentle. Too gentle. "She's stable. Still in the medically induced coma, but her vitals are holding. The internal injuries were extensive, but he's confident she'll recover."
The relief crashed through her, stealing her breath. Her eyes burned and she blinked hard, refusing to cry. "When can I see her?"
"Tomorrow. Medical bay has visiting hours." He studied her face. "I'll take you myself."
She nodded, not trusting her voice. Delilah was alive. Stable. She had time to fix this, to make things right, to?—
To what? Fix Delilah's reckless decisions? Stop her from being who she was? Harper had been trying to do that for twenty years and it never worked. Never would work.
But Delilah was alive.
That was enough. Had to be enough.
"Thank you." The words scraped out. "For... everything. The quarters. Taking responsibility for me. I know I'm not making this easy."
His lips quirked. Not quite a smile, but close. "You're dealing with a lot. I don't expect easy."
"Still." She picked at the bread on her plate. "I shouldn't be taking my shit out on you."
"You're not."
She looked up, met his golden eyes. "I am. I know I am. I just..." Her throat closed up. "I can't seem to stop."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he moved around the counter, closing the distance between them. Not crowding. Just... present.
"You survived a crash that killed multiple people," he said quietly. "Your cousin is in critical condition. You're on a space station with aliens you don't know, under supervision, probably terrified the LMP is going to reject you and send you back to a situation you were desperate to escape." His expression softened. "I think you're entitled to some hostility."
The understanding in his voice made her chest ache. She looked away, blinking hard. "I'm not terrified."
"Liar."
The word was gentle. Amused, even. She wanted to argue, but couldn't force the words out.
Because he was right. She was terrified. Of losing Delilah, of deportation, of going back to Earth with nothing. Of this—whatever this was building between them—that she couldn't afford to feel.
"Eat." He nodded at her plate. "You need your strength."
Then he returned to his desk, giving her space.
Harper stared at the food. Her appetite was gone but she forced herself to eat anyway, mechanical bites that filled her stomach without satisfying anything. When she finished, she carried the plate to the cleaning unit—another piece of tech she didn't quite understand but figured out through trial and error.
Kirr's attention stayed on his datapad. Not hovering. Not watching. Just there.
The steady presence she'd felt in the wreckage. The calm that had grounded her through panic.
He was doing it again. Being her anchor without making it obvious. Giving her space while making it clear he wasn't going anywhere.
It should have annoyed her. Should have felt like control.
