Footsteps echo through the tunnel behind me. I'm on my feet in a heartbeat, the creviks scattering, every muscle coiled for violence. No one comes down here. No one has reason to descend this deep into maintenance levels that serve no purpose anyone cares about.
Then I recognize the rhythm of the approach, the particular pace I've memorized through seven days of tracking her movements through my compound. Maeve appears at theentrance to the alcove, breathless from the descent, her dark eyes taking in the scene with the rapid assessment of a soldier.
“You followed me.” Not a question.
“You looked like a male about to do something stupid.” She doesn't apologize. Doesn't explain further. “I wanted to make sure you weren't.”
She approaches, her attention tracking the creviks that emerge from their hiding places again. They're bolder than I expected, drawn by the stillness she projects.
“They're hideous.” Affection threads through the observation, contradicting the words.
“The creviks exist because they learned to live in the cracks of a world that didn't want them.”
“Like humans in the Splits.” The comparison lands with more force than she intended. “Like anyone who doesn't have the luxury of being valuable.”
She crouches and holds out her hand the way she must have held it to a thousand wounded soldiers. Palm up. Offering rather than demanding. One of the creviks approaches, sniffing, its small nose twitching as it processes her scent.
“The most feared enforcer on Vahiri Prime.” Her gaze finds mine, and the corners of her mouth curve into a smile that burrows beneath organs I forgot I possessed. “And you're a soft touch for strays.”
“Tell anyone and I'll deny it.”
“Your secret's safe.” The smile deepens. I want to taste that smile. Want to lick it off her lips and swallow the sound she'd make. “I like strays too.”
A crevik nuzzles her palm, and she makes a soft sound in her throat that will echo through my dreams. She's not afraid of them. Not afraid of their ugly bodies or their hunger for warmth, and her acceptance fractures another piece of me loose. She'sbreaking me down, piece by jagged piece, and there's nothing I can do about it.
Do I want to?
“I found more in the compound analysis.” She speaks without looking up from the crevik she's stroking. “I told you the equipment came from off-world, but I've narrowed it further. The markers suggest military-grade manufacturing, sophisticated and designed for weapons-adjacent applications rather than medical or commercial use. Someone built this poison using equipment meant for warfare.”
Military-grade. Weapons-adjacent. The implications slot into place. “Korvan.”
She looks up, brows raised.
“House Korvan controls the weapons trade on Vahiri. If anyone has military-grade pharmaceutical equipment, it's them.” I process the implications. “You're saying the compound was manufactured using their technology?”
“I'm saying the signature is consistent with that kind of production capability. I'd need their records to confirm.” She lets the crevik go, observing it as it scurries back to its companions, then turns to face me. “If Korvan equipment was smuggled onto Vahiri, or sold off-book, there's a trail somewhere. Trade manifests and import logs would show irregularities if we knew what to look for.”
“House Vorn controls the shipping lanes.” I consider the politics of what she's asking. “They're not involved in this. They have no reason to want House Draven weakened, but they'll have documentation of everything that moves through Vahiri's ports.”
“Then we need to ask House Vorn.”
Getting records from another House is political. Complicated. It means revealing that House Draven has a problem we can'tsolve internally, vulnerability that our rivals would exploit if given the opportunity.
“I'll reach out to Chade Vorn.” The decision forms as I speak it. “He owes me a favor from the Sector Eight incident. If I frame it as reciprocity rather than weakness, he might provide access without demanding explanation.”
“Might?”
“House Vorn's honor code makes them more reliable than the other families, but reliability isn't the same as certainty. It's our best option.”
“Then we take it.” She nods once, accepting the limitation, and turns toward the tunnel that leads back to the upper levels. “I should return to the medical bay. There's more analysis to run, and I want to be ready when the shipping records arrive.”
She stops at the alcove's entrance. Looks back at me, and her expression holds a depth that wasn't there a week ago. Recognition, maybe. Understanding. “Thank you for showing me this.”
“I didn't show you anything. You found it.”
“You didn't send me away.” Her tone softens. “That's the same thing.”
She disappears into the tunnel, her footsteps fading, and I remain in the alcove where I've hidden for thirty years. The creviks emerge from their shadows and press against my legs again.
