"No," Kellat said quickly, holding up a hand without taking his eyes off the readings. "It’s more like her brain is… overactive. But if I pull her out of stasis now, without understanding the nature of this new activity …" He paused, jaw tight as he looked up to meet Harper’s eyes. "The neural backlash could kill her."
Her grip tightened on the bed rail until it bit into her skin. "So you can't wake her."
"Not yet." He drew a slow breath through his nose, then keyed the display to a different set of metrics. He glanced down at Delilah with an expression that looked strangely like longing.
"I need more time." He gestured at the readouts. "The crash triggered something I don't understand yet. Until I solve it, I’m going to have to keep her in stasis."
He couldn't wake her.
Harper’s knuckles turned white on the rail.
She had thought this was the one mercy. The one thing that would go right. Delilah would wake up, they'd face the separation together, and at the worst, they'd at least have a moment to say goodbye before the LMP tore their lives apart.
But no.
Of course not.
The logic locked into place.
First, her parents. Dead in a crash she’d survived. Then her guardians. Dead while she kept living. Then Kirr. His career was about to be incinerated because he was trying to save her from a match she didn't want. And now Delilah. Trapped in a coma, because Harper hadn't stopped her from taking that money. Because Harper had let her get in that flyer.
I am the common denominator.
The thought wasn't new. It was an old companion she'd carried since she was twelve years old. But now it had weight enough to crush her.
Everything she touched broke. Every person she loved paid the price for her survival.
If she stayed, Kirr would ruin himself trying to save her from a match she didn’t want. If she stayed, Delilah might never wake up.
She was poison. Utter poison.
Kellat bent closer to the nutrient feed line for Delilah’s bed, muttering to himself. "I need to check the enzyme levels. Perhaps there’s something there she’s reacting to."
Harper stepped back from the bed, pulse rabbit-fast against her ribs.
They’re all better off without me.
The thought was clear, sharp, and absolute.
If she was gone, Kirr wouldn't have to fight the LMP. He wouldn’t risk his rank or standing, and he could find a mate who wasn't broken, someone the matching system actually picked for him. Someone safe.
If she was gone, maybe the universe would stop punishing Delilah. Maybe without Harper's bad luck hanging over her, she'd wake up.
Which meant that she had to go.
She had to leave. Now. Before she took them all down with her.
She turned toward the door, movements were jerky and mechanical. Like she was watching someone else from a distance, she slipped out of Delilah's room and into the main corridor.
Kirr was there, his back to her as he argued with someone on the comm. He thought she was safe. He thought she was with Kellat and her cousin. Tears filled her eyes, but she brushed them away. He trusted her to stay put, and she was about to break that trust.
A healer moved past without seeing her, a dataflex in his hand and a harassed expression on his face. He was checking inventory, lips moving as he muttered about supplies and requisition forms.
Hanging from his pocket, clipped to a retractable cord, was a keycard, the same as the LMP staff used.
She didn’t pause. She didn’t think. Instead, she just brushed past him and feigned a stumble, her shoulder bumping his arm.
"Sorry," she mumbled, dipping her head, her hair falling forward like a curtain. "Sorry."
