“Yes.”
My pulse jumps. “Then why are you here?”
“To prevent escalation.”
“And isolating civilians does that?”
“Sometimes.”
I shake my head. “You’re really bad at reassuring people.”
“I am not trained for reassurance.”
“That much is clear.”
Despite myself, a smile tugs at my mouth. I don’t fully trust it. Don’t trust him. But something about the way he admits his limitations, flat and unembellished, disarms me in ways I don’t like.
I sit on the edge of the bed again, exhaustion finally catching up. My limbs feel heavy. My eyes burn. I tilt my head back and stare at the ceiling.
“Are you going to watch me sleep?” I ask.
“If you sleep.”
“That’s creepy.”
“I am aware humans find it unsettling.”
“So… stop?”
He hesitates. Just a fraction. “No.”
I laugh weakly. “At least you’re honest.”
“Yes.”
The room settles around us, tension humming like a live wire. I close my eyes—not sleeping, not really. Just resting them. I feel his gaze like pressure on my skin. Not invasive. Not gentle. Just present.
And somewhere beneath the anger, beneath the fear, curiosity sparks—small, dangerous, impossible to ignore.
Because whatever he is… he’s not behaving like a pawn.
And that makes him the most unsettling thing in this room.
I sit down on the spartan sofa to take a load off. I don’t mean to fall asleep.
I don’t even realize I have until I jolt awake, heartbeat hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. My hands clench the edge of the mattress before I remember where Iam. Sterile room. Gray walls. No windows. Cold air that never changes temperature. Tatek. Right.
He’s still here. I don’t need to open my eyes to confirm it. I feel him—an ambient weight in the room, like gravity’s stronger wherever he stands.
I push myself upright, blinking hard. My tongue tastes stale. “How long?”
“Seventy-two minutes.”
That’s somehow worse than I expected. I comb fingers through my hair, trying to make sense of the dull throb behind my eyes. The last time I slept that deeply, I was drunk off station-issue synth cider and a bad breakup. This wasn’t that. This was… safe. Which doesn’t make sense.
Tatek doesn’t move from his post by the door. It’s like he’s trying to blend into the bulkhead. I can’t decide if that’s a strategy or just how he exists. When I meet his gaze, he blinks once. Just once.
“You ever blink twice?” I ask, voice rough.
