"Close enough as a comparison."
Oh god.
Harper's face went hot. She'd been defensive and prickly since they met. Had fled from him last night like he was a threat instead of—instead of whatever the hell a War-Commander was in the hierarchy. Had told him she didn't need a babysitter and he should leave her alone.
And he'd let her.
Hadn't pulled rank. Hadn't reminded her that he was apparently military royalty. Had just... taken it.
"Rank doesn't change how I treat people." His voice was gentle. Absolute, like he'd read her thoughts. "You've been dealing with trauma and grief and a situation you never asked for. If you need to be defensive or angry or prickly, that's fine. I can handle it."
Something tight in her chest cracked.
She looked away before he saw how much that undid her. "Still. You could've mentioned the whole general thing."
"Respect is earned." He started walking again, his long strides eating distance. "Not demanded because of rank."
Harper hurried to keep up, her thoughts spinning. A War-Commander. Responsible for the entire station's security, and he'd taken personal responsibility for supervising her because she'd breached her LMP contract.
The weight of that settled over her shoulders, heavy and uncomfortable.
They'd almost reached the residential section when Kirr spoke again. "I need to check on something at my ship. You're cleared for station access as long as you're with me." He glanced down at her. "Want to come?"
Her first instinct was to say no. To retreat to the guest room and hide from the way he made her feel seen and protected and terrified all at once.
But her mouth said, "Sure."
Because apparently she was done listening to her survival instincts where Kirr M'Aab was concerned.
The docking ring was massive—easily the size of three football fields, with ships of various sizes secured in berths along the curved walls. The ceiling stretched high overhead, dotted with work lights and maintenance equipment. The clang of metal on metal echoed from somewhere to the left where a repair crew worked on a damaged hull. Fuel vapor hung in the air, sharp and chemical, mixing with the burnt ozone smell of welding torches. The deck plates vibrated under her feet from the hum of idling engines.
Harper tried not to gawk like a tourist, but it was hard when everything was so damn alien. Literally.
Kirr navigated through the organized chaos with easy confidence, nodding to personnel they passed. His hand stayed on her back—not controlling, just grounding. Making sure she didn't get separated in the crowd.
They were halfway across the bay when a voice shouted from the left.
"Kirr M'Aab! Keep your eyes on your own ship and stop stealing other people's!"
Harper's head snapped toward the sound. A Latharian male stood near one of the larger vessels, his dark hair braided with what looked like precious gems woven through. A human woman stood beside him, holding a little girl who couldn't be more than four. The woman was smiling, clearly amused by whatever was happening.
Kirr's lips curved into a grin. "Says the male whose ship is smaller than mine!"
The other male laughed. "Size isn't everything, War-Commander!"
"Keep telling yourself that, Prince!"
Prince?
Harper's brain stuttered.
Kirr had just insulted a prince. Shouted an insult about ship size across a crowded docking bay. To royalty.
The prince and his family moved on, the little girl's laughter echoing as they disappeared around a massive cargo hauler.
Harper stared up at Kirr. "Did you just?—"
"What?" He looked confused by her expression.
