"He is designated victim and key witness in the ongoing investigation, not fugitive or criminal. The ankle tracker remains for his protection during active proceedings, but he is released to Courier Baxter's recognisance under STI protective custody."
Voss pauses. Looks at me.
"Mr. Ka'reen, for the official record: you are not property. You are a person, with all the rights and protections that designation entails under the Sentient Rights Accords of the Stellar Togetherness Initiative."
Something breaks open in my chest. Not the controlled cracking I've been managing for nine days. A full structural failure of every wall I've built to protect myself from hope.
Krilly feels all of it. Every wall falling. Every year releasing. And underneath both, the overwhelming, terrifying sensation of hearing an institution say what one small courier has been saying since she crashed into my jungle.
You are a person.
Vyrath's hologram is speaking. Threatening appeals. Counter-suits. Corporate remedies. Nobody is listening. Voss terminates the connection mid-sentence.
"This hearing is concluded."
The gallery erupts. Couriers cheering. Crash actually whoops. Zola nods with military satisfaction. Jitters is glowing solid gold, overwhelmed by the emotional resonance flooding the room. The junior courier in orange is wiping their eyes.
And Krilly.
Krilly, who staked her career on me. Who stood in front of a panel and saidevery time.Who grabbed my horns with both hands at oh-three-forty-seven and bonded herself to me permanently because she decided I was worth keeping.
She turns to me, face wet with tears, the smile breaking across her features the most radiant thing I have seen in a hundred and twenty years of existence.
"You heard her," Krilly whispers. "You're free."
I pull her against my chest. In front of everyone. In the hearing chamber, with the panel still seated and the gallery watching and Mother Morrison sipping coffee with an expression of unsurprised satisfaction.
My face in her hair. Her arms locked around my ribs. The bond singing between us, joy and relief and disbelief and love transmitted in both directions until neither of us knows whose feelings are whose.
"I've got you," she says against my chest. The same words she said the night she freed my harness. "We're okay."
"Little flare." Rough and broken. "I do not have words."
"You don't need words." Her hand presses flat over my heart, the scars where the harness sat, the place she calls her favourite. "I can feel it."
She can. All of it.
Mother Morrison approaches. "Well done. Both of you. Permanent quarters. Room 314, residential block C. Report for debriefs in forty-eight hours." She hands Krilly a data chip. "And Bebo? Remind me to requisition you a commendation."
"I would prefer a memory upgrade," Bebo says from Krilly's belt. "The biometric dataset from the bonding event is consuming a disproportionate amount of storage capacity."
Mother almost smiles. "Get out of here. Both of you."
The corridor outside is bright and busy. Krilly walks beside me, hand in mine, the claiming mark visible, the claiming color pulsing. Not hiding. Not covering.
My legs are unsteady. I fought Stompy without flinching, survived the corporate confrontation on the planet, endured seventeen minutes of deliberation without breaking. But walking through a corridor with a tracker on my ankle and the wordpersonringing in my ears, my body is acknowledging the magnitude of what just happened.
Krilly catches my arm. Steadies me.
"Hey." Soft. "You okay?"
"I don't know. I have never been free before."
She stops. In the middle of the corridor. Cups my face in both hands and tilts her head back to meet my eyes.
"It feels like choosing where to go," she says. "And who to go with. And what to do when you get there."
Her thumbs trace my cheekbones. Over the circuit traceries. Over the scars.
