I left her.
I chose correctly.
And I've hated myself every day since.
But I'd do it again. That's the thing she'll never forgive. Not that I left her. That I would leave her again. Given the same situation, the same math, the same impossible choice between one life and the mission's success, I would make the same decision.
That's who I am.
A man who can love someone completely, feel theirpain as his own through the empathic connection we all carry, and still sacrifice them if the numbers demand it.
My marks flare without my permission. Bright enough to light the room. The Empri tell for strong emotion breaking through control.
I force them down. Breathe until the glow dims to nothing.
She deserves better than what I am. She deserved better than what I did.
She's not going to get it.
The console on my desk chimes. Priority message. I cross the room, open it.
Security briefing. Twenty minutes. Conference room seven. Attendance mandatory.
I'm going to see her again. In a professional setting, surrounded by witnesses, where she can't pull a knife without consequences.
She's going to hate that.
I'm looking forward to it.
Conference roomseven is smaller than I expected. Tactical displays on three walls. A table that seats eight, currently occupied by five. Astra's at the head. She doesn't look up when I enter.
I take the seat at the opposite end. Maximum distance. Her emotional frequency hits me anyway—copper and ice and something underneath that tastes like old grief.
Six years of grief. I did that.
The others present are mid-level security personnel. Faces I don't know, names I'll memorize later. They're watching me with the careful neutrality of people whoknow I'm important but aren't sure what kind of important. Threat or ally. My brother's weapon or his weakness.
Fair question.
Astra starts the briefing without preamble. Professional. Clipped. Every word chosen for maximum efficiency and minimum feeling.
The Vex attack. Three breach points. Coordinated timing. Inside knowledge required. She's identified twelve potential sources. Surveillance is ongoing. Interrogations scheduled.
She's good. Better than good. The analysis is flawless, the tactical assessment sound. Six years ago, she was competent. Now she's exceptional.
I made her that way. Not because I left. Because of what happened after.
"Questions?" Her green eyes scan the room. Pause on me. "Torrence?"
Using my family name. Not my first name. Never my first name, probably.
"The breach points," I say. "You're assuming inside knowledge. Could be external surveillance."
"Already checked. The shield rotations were changed four hours before the attack. The only way to know the new pattern was internal access."
"Who has that access?"
"Seventeen people. I've cleared twelve."
