The second I step through the threshold, my breath catches—and not from fear.
Tatek is already inside.
Sitting on the floor with his back to the door, legs folded, hands resting easy on his thighs. His presence is so quiet, so still, it takes a full second for my brain to register him as a person and not a construct someone left behind. His head tilts slightly, a nod. Acknowledgment. No apology.
My fists clench.
“You broke into my quarters,” I say.
“I anticipated your return.”
“That’s not a justification.”
His tone doesn’t shift. “You were vulnerable outside this sector. Your quarters are easier to secure.”
I step further in, letting the door slide closed behind me. “Do you normally let yourself into locked rooms uninvited?”
“I do when protocol is voided by risk.”
“Risk to who?”
He finally turns his head to look at me. There’s something unreadable in his gaze—but not cold. Not distant. Just…awake.
“You,” he says.
I drop my bag hard on the nearest flat surface. It lands with a dullthunkthat makes me wince, but I don’t apologize. My pulse is a war drum in my ears. Not fear. Not quite anger. Just a tight, tangled thing curling behind my ribs.
“You couldn’t have waited outside like a normal overbearing guardian?”
“I considered it.”
“And?”
“You were gone longer than scheduled. Communications are disrupted. Civilian IDs are being scrambled in real time.”
My blood goes cold. “Scrambled?”
He nods. “Data drift. No confirmation of deletion, but designation pathways are folding in on themselves.”
“In English, Tatek.”
“They’re erasing people without fully erasing them.”
I blink. “So they’re ghosting civilians.”
“Yes.”
I run both hands through my hair. My scalp tingles from the tension. “Gods. That’s why my compad went dark.”
“It’s likely your ID was flagged for reroute. They haven’t pulled you yet, but the process is… active.”
My knees give out. I sit on the edge of the bed, hard.
I don’t cry. I don’t scream. But my voice comes out thin. “They’re going to unwrite me.”
“No,” he says simply.
“How can you be sure?”
