"I don't use credits." He was unbothered. "My resources are functionally infinite."
I blinked. "That's… gross."
"You could spend the rest of eternity shopping," he added, eyes flicking back to the screen, "and it would change nothing."
I smiled sweetly and added two more dresses.
"Worth a try," I decided.
He huffed—actually huffed—and pushed off the wall. "When you're finished bankrupting no one, come find me."
I glanced at the total, whistled low, and finally closed the interface. "Done."
As he turned to leave, I called after him, "You know, for someone who claims not to underestimate me, you're surprisingly tolerant of my coping mechanisms."
He paused, looking back over his shoulder, and a deeper gold flickered faintly through his blood red aura. "On the contrary, I find them… informative."
With that, he left me standing there with a full stomach, an overstuffed shopping list, and the unsettling realization that for the first time since all of this began, I didn't feel quite so powerless. A feeling that made me very, very dangerous.
The ship chimed softly behind me. Not an alarm. Not a warning. Just… a polite sound. Like a throat being cleared. I turned in time to see a small, sleek drone detach from a recessed port in the ceiling. It hovered for a beat, its surface rippled with faint blue light, then projected a calm, utterly smug message into the air.
DELIVERY COMPLETE.
My mouth fell open.
"No way," I whispered.
The drone pivoted, clearly expecting me to follow, and glided down the corridor with all the confidence of something that knew exactly where it was going. I trailed after it, half amused, half delighted, feeling absurdly like a kid chasing an ice-cream truck. It led me back to my quarters. The door slid open, and I stopped short on the threshold.
Boxes.
So many boxes.
They were stacked neatly, of course, because this ship had standards, but still, there were at least a dozen of them, some tall and narrow, others wide and flat, all labeled with softly glowing glyphs that resolved into English the moment I focused on them.
I let out a laugh I couldn't stop. "Oh my God."
Behind the last box, the drone hovered once more, then zipped back out through the open hatch. Through the viewport, I caught a glimpse of it slipping away from the ship entirely, a tiny speck darting off into the dark like a cosmic delivery fairy.
I stared after it, grinning.
"That," I nodded approvingly to the empty room, "is the coolest thing I have ever seen."
Definitely something I could get used to. I stepped from the threshold as the door closed behind me and turned to the boxes.
Well.
If I were going to be kidnapped by a dangerously attractive alien spymaster and dragged into a universe-spanning conspiracy, I was at least going to look good doing it.
I stepped fully into the room and crouched beside the first box. On Earth, shopping had always been… utilitarian. I bought lab equipment with enthusiasm. Telescope components. Simulation software upgrades. I could spend hours comparing spectrometer models without blinking. The anticipation of new data? That made my pulse tick up. Clothes? That had always been a checklist.
Required. Appropriate. Functional.
I'd never understood my siblings' delight over Christmas morning. The way they'd tear into wrapping paper as if the world hinged on what was inside. The way they'd gasp over sweaters or shoes or whatever seasonal thing was trending that year. Gift-giving had been worse. Nine times out of ten, I miscalculated. Bought something technically thoughtful but emotionally wrong. Too practical. Too niche. Too… me. The only time I'd gotten it right was when my mom told me exactly what she wanted.
Surprise had never been my strength. I sliced open the first box and froze. The fabric inside shimmered like liquid dusk, impossibly soft beneath my fingers. It shifted temperature as I touched it, calibrating to me. I felt something bloom in my chest. Not logic. Not analysis. Anticipation. I sat back on my heels, startled by the intensity of it. This wasn't necessity. This wasn't survival. This was… fun. The realization was so foreign it almost embarrassed me. Was this what my siblings had felt? That almost electric hum of wanting to try everything at once? To see how it fit, how it looked, how it made you feel? Anotherbox. Boots this time. Sleek. Adaptive gravity soles. I imagined walking across alien terrain without stumbling like a confused tourist. A laugh bubbled out of me, softer this time. Okay. This was different. For a moment—just a moment—I wondered. Was this the bond? Was this what Dravok meant by balance? Had I been so tightly wound for so long that I'd mistaken tension for identity?
Were my feelings and emotions changing? No. Not changing: Emerging.
