Page 7 of Stars Don't Forget


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He doesn’t answer.

I rise to my feet, slower than I mean to, and stretch. My joints pop in protest. The air in here’s too dry. I want to be irritated, but it’s hard to hold onto anger when exhaustion still clings to my skin.

“You ever sleep?” I ask again, softer this time.

“Not while on assignment.”

“So… never?”

His head tilts, almost imperceptibly. “I rest when required.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“It is efficient.”

“That wasn’t what I said.”

This time, something shifts in his expression. Not enough to name. But enough to notice.

I step toward the wall screen and tap it. It flickers to life—basic access only. News feeds, time index, station map. I try to request outbound communication and get an access denial. Not unexpected. Still irritating.

“What’s the point of a ‘temporary housing unit’ if I can’t even call out?” I mutter.

“You are being held under provisional restrictions.”

I turn toward him slowly. “Still not arrested though, right?”

“No.”

“Then I want to speak to a Coalition liaison.”

“That request has been noted.”

“And ignored.”

“For now.”

I stare at him, arms crossed. “You’re really bad at lying.”

“I do not lie.”

I laugh again. It’s becoming a problem, this impulse to test him. “Fine. Let’s try truth, then. What happens if I push back?”

“You will escalate your classification tier.”

“Meaning what, exactly? More guards? Fewer rights? Different flavor of walls?”

“Closer observation.”

I raise a brow. “Closer than you already are?”

He blinks. Just once. No answer.

I should be furious. Part of me is. The bigger part, though, is busy trying to figure outwhy. Why this room. Why him. Why now. Something about this doesn’t line up—not with the logs, not with the manifest, not with anything the Coalition’s been pretending to be lately.

“You’ve got orders,” I say. “But you’re not executing them like a drone. That means you’re either off-script, or improvising. Which is worse?”

He doesn't speak, but something flickers in his eyes. Maybe surprise. Maybe approval. It’s hard to tell when someone’s been trained to have a poker face carved from stone.