"Now."
They go.
The bay doors cycle shut behind them, and it's just us in the blue-lit space, standing three meters apart like the distance means anything when he can feel everything I'm feeling if he reaches.
He doesn't reach.
Six years, and he still remembers that about me. What I told him the first time his abilities brushed mine during a combat drill:Don't. Not ever. I'll know if you try.
The restraint should mean nothing. It means everything. It's the only reason he's still breathing.
"Astra." My name in his mouth. He says it like he's tasting it, testing if it still fits. "You're faster than you used to be."
I touch my knife handle. The blade I just sheathed. His blood is drying on my palm, sticky and warm. "I've had time to practice."
"On anyone I know?"
"Three of them."
That lands. His marks flicker, the tell of surprise, of emotion breaking through whatever tactical filter he runs on. "Three."
"Same height as you. Same walk." I step closer. One meter between us now. Close enough to smell him, gun oil and the antiseptic ghost of violence, exactly like I remember. "Wrong face. But close enough."
His jaw tightens. The only visible reaction.
But his marks pulse brighter, just for a second, and I know what he's feeling even without his abilities telling me. Shock. Guilt. Something that might be grief.
Good.
"Did it help?" His voice is quieter now. The question genuine.
"No."
"I didn't think it would."
"Then why ask?"
He meets my eyes. Electric blue to my green. "Because I needed to know what I did to you. What you became because of what I did."
The honesty is a knife I wasn't expecting.
I want to cut him again. Want to see more blue blood. Want to hear him explain in that clipped tactical voice exactly what equation spat outleave heras the optimal solution.
Instead, I turn. Walk toward the bay exit. "We have a briefing in thirty minutes. Don't be late."
"Astra—"
"Security Chief Venn." I don't stop walking. "On station, that's what you call me."
Behind me, silence. The kind that presses against your spine. The kind that says he's not done, that this conversation is paused, not finished.
I don't look back.
Looking back six years ago is what got me here.
My office is exactlyhow I left it this morning. Screens showing every corridor, every junction, every vulnerable point. The security hub hums with data streams andsurveillance feeds, and it's mine. Every system, every protocol, every invisible wire holding this station safe.
I built this.
