No voice. Just the shape of it. Carried in a breath that doesn’t belong to me.
I exhale. Deep. Slow. Center.
Paranoia is normal. Surveillance environments train you to second-guess your own instincts, and trauma finishes the job. Still, I swing my legs off the bed, pad barefoot across the floor. Cool surface beneath my skin, smooth as water-glass. I don’t make a sound. Don’t want to.
The door isn’t open.
But I feel him.
I don’t know how—Ishouldn’tknow how—but I do. He’s out there. Tatek. I can feel the shape of him behind the wall. The way pressure shifts when he’s nearby. Like the room is adjusting itself to fit around his presence.
I hover there a moment, palm resting against the wall panel, not pressing anything. Not yet.
He doesn’t knock. He doesn’t have to.
The door slides open anyway.
He’s standing there.Of course he is. Rigid as ever, posture impeccable, face blank like a tactical interface. But something’s different. His shoulders are tight. His eyes—well, it’s hard to call it eyes when they’re that unreadable. But theywatch. He’s watching me like I’ve done something unexpected.
I probably have. I’m not good at playing safe.
“Can’t sleep either?” I ask, voice hoarse.
“There has been a recalibration protocol initiated,” he says.
I blink. “Come again?”
“Station-wide recalibration. Security systems are updating on staggered cycles. During these windows, risk of misclassification increases.”
“Uh-huh.” I lean one shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed. “So naturally, the solution is to send the brooding death-eyed guard to my bedside.”
He doesn’t rise to the bait. Just stands there.
I narrow my eyes. “Let me guess. This sudden ‘security protocol’ requires you personally to babysit me?”
“It is protocol that individuals under provisional observation receive manual oversight during recalibration events.”
“That’s a mouthful of nonsense.”
“I did not write it.”
I step back, letting the door stay open longer than I should. “So you’re here to… what? Watch me sleep?”
His brow lifts slightly. “To ensure you are not misidentified during the interval.”
“Sounds like a long-winded way of saying I might get shot by accident.”
“That is a possibility we seek to minimize.”
“You’re a real comfort, you know that?”
Still, I don’t tell him to leave.
Still, he steps inside.
He doesn’t movebeyond the threshold. Just stands inside the doorway, hands behind his back like he’s about to recite the tenets of some ancient warrior code. He doesn’t speak unless I do. And I don’t speak unless I’m sure it won’t make me sound like Iwanthim here.
I do.
