"Fear or profit?" Vaelix asked.
"Both. Always both." I stared at the web of connections, my mind running calculations I didn't want to make. "They're afraid of the corporations' reach and influence. So they've been given a financial incentive to do their bidding. Cheaper insurance premiums, most favored station training partnerships, the whole nine yards."
There was one more option. One contact who might be willing to help despite the risks. Someone who owed me, and who had enough resources to provide a safe harbor without needing to answer to shareholders or insurance underwriters. Someone who wouldn't have graduated from university without my help.
I opened a secure channel.
Vaelix stayed where he was. He didn't withdraw. Didn't offer me privacy unless I asked for it. The implicit statement was clear: he was here. Whatever happened next, he was staying.
The connection opened, and a face I recognized appeared on the screen. Older now, more cautious, but familiar enough that I felt a brief flicker of hope.
Leesa Hanscombe. A black market smuggler of ancient alien artifacts. Somebody who was on the exact opposite end of the archaeological spectrum from me. But also an old college roommate, with whom I'd worked professionally for a few years. Ultimately, we believed in the same thing. We just went about achieving those shared goals in different ways.
"Kira." The voice was warm but guarded. "I wondered when you'd reach out."
"I need somewhere to port. Twenty-four hours maximum. You have the facilities, and you have no love for the corporations."
A pause. The face on screen shifted; regret, calculation, decision.
"I can't." The words came gently, almost apologetically. "Kira, you know I would if I could. But the exposure, not just to me, to everyone who depends on this operation. I can't bring that kind of heat down on them. Not even for you."
"You're still moving artifacts through the Meridian corridor, right?"
The face on screen went dark for a split second before nodding.
"I get it. You can burn me. I hope you don't, but I understand if you do." Leesa's jaw tightened. "I'll tell you this: I owe you one for not pushing me here."
"I understand," I said. My voice was level. "Thank you for being honest, and for the future favor. When I call it in, you better deliver."
I closed the channel myself, before Leesa could offer hollow reassurances.
The room was quiet.
Vaelix didn't speak. He was still behind me, close enough that I could feel his presence like a physical weight.
I turned.
He was watching me with those steady eyes, waiting without expectation. Not waiting for me to fall apart. Not waiting to fix anything. Just present, in a way that felt both infuriating and essential.
I stepped into him.
It wasn't a collapse. It wasn't seeking comfort. It was claiming space, my space, and his, and the heated tension that had been building between us since we'd started working in this small room with its dimmed lights and locked door.
His arms came around me. Firm. Intentional. He pulled me closer without asking if I needed it, and the contact was grounding in a way that had nothing to do with comfort and everything to do with presence.
"They're not afraid of me," I said against his chest. "They're afraid of being seen helping."
His hand moved to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair. "Then we'll survive on our own." His voice was low, certain. "We've done it before. We'll do it again."
I pulled back enough to meet his eyes. The frustration was still there, sharpening into something I could use. "Voss is going to set another trap."
"Yes."
"And they'll expect me to walk into it."
"Yes."
"Then maybe we set one first."
