“You’re not asking. I’m telling you.” Closer. Our foreheads nearly touching. “We face this together. And I have a plan.”
“What plan?” Whispered. Desperate.
“Trust me first. Then I’ll show you.”
We’re breathing the same air. Her hands fisted in my shirt. My markings blazing gold across both of us.
I’m leaning in—closer, closer, her lips parted and waiting—
“Captain,” Pickles interrupts gently. “Incoming priority transmission from Junction One. Mother Morrison. She emphasizes extreme urgency.”
Dove starts to pull back. I don’t let her.
“We take this together,” I say firmly. “Both of us. No more running. No more plans to leave. Agreed?”
She searches my eyes. Looking for certainty. Finding it.
“Agreed,” she whispers.
“Good.” I release her, catching her hand instead. “Come on.”
Mother Morrison’s face fills the screen—stern, knowing, entirely unsurprised to see both of us.
“Specialist Storm. Captain Foxton. I assume you’ve compared notes on the situation?”
“Director Morrison,” I say, keeping my voice level. “Status on the evidence package?”
“Luzrak’s analyzing Pickles’s compilation now. Six hundred twelve slides of systematic fraud affecting forty-seven OOPS couriers.” Her expression is grim satisfaction. “The Commerce Authority can move in forty-eight hours. Full raid on Blackstar Collective operations.”
Dove’s sharp intake of breath beside me. Hope and fear warring on her face.
“That’s excellent news,” I say carefully. “However—”
“However, the collectors arrive in thirty-six hours,” Mother finishes. “Before the raid. Before any legal protection exists.”
“Which is why Captain Foxton was planning to run,” I say, and Dove flinches. “Lead them away from my station. From Tavia.”
Mother’s eyes sharpen on Dove. “We discussed this!”
“I won’t put them in danger—” Dove starts.
“You won’t put yourself in danger either,” I interrupt. “Because I have a plan.”
Both women look at me.
“This morning I received notification from the Planetary Development Committee.” I pull up the message on the secondary screen. “Routine expansion viability review offer. Inspection team available within forty-eight to seventy-two hours upon request.”
Mother’s expression shifts. Understanding blooms. “You’re going to request emergency inspection.”
“Immediately.” I meet Dove’s confused gaze. “PDC inspections require full documentation, safety protocols, environmental assessments. Minimum forty-eight hours of bureaucratic process on-site.”
“But the station isn’t ready for inspection,” Dove says. “You’d never pass—”
“I don’t need to pass. I need time.” I turn back to Mother. “Collectors won’t risk confrontation with PDC officials present. Too visible. Too documented. They operate in shadows, not in front of government witnesses.”
“It’s a shield,” Mother says slowly. “A bureaucratic shield.”
“Exactly. And if by some miracle we do pass inspection, the station qualifies for expansion funding. Which requires additional personnel.” I glance at Dove. “Legitimate job offers. Legal residence permits.”
