“And this breach,” I say slowly, “it’s stable?”
She shakes her head. “It’stimed.Not stable. There’s a thermal drop at 0400 station rotation. That drop kicks a failsafe in the panel’s isolation sequence. You get a window. A narrow one.”
I stare at her.
“And you found this in less than one cycle.”
She meets my eyes. “You’re not the only one who doesn’t sleep, Tatek.”
A beat.
She looks away. Her hand comes up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and for a moment I see the flicker underneath her certainty.
It’s not just strategy driving this.
It’s desperation.
“What’s the cost?” I ask.
She doesn’t speak for several seconds.
Then: “If the breach collapses mid-transfer, the station triggers a protocol cascade. We’d be flagged before we even hit the outer corridor. They’d shut every hatch between here and the port.”
“And if we make it?”
“We’re off the grid.”
“No tracking?”
“None I can guarantee.”
I nod once. The calculus is already forming behind my eyes. I can visualize the routes. I can draft five variations of the plan, three contingencies. But that’s not what she’s waiting for.
She’s watching me.
Silent.
Waiting for the question she hasn’t asked aloud.
Finally, she says it.
“If we leave…” Her voice drops. “We go together. Or we don’t go.”
I blink.
It’s not a question. Not an offer. It’s a line in the floor.
I study her—truly study her—and she doesn’t look away. There’s no defiance in her expression. No fire. Juststeel.Quiet. Absolute.
The room feels too small. The air heavy with things unsaid.
My first instinct is to back away. To create distance. I am trained for separation. Discipline. I’ve survived by it.
But this?—
This is something else.
This is bond.
