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“And you’re not going after him,” she says.

“No.”

The word lands clean.

Final.

Her eyes narrow slightly, reading that, understanding it.

“Why,” she asks.

I close the remaining distance between us, stopping just short of contact.

“Because you’re here,” I say.

That answers everything.

For a moment, neither of us moves, the noise of the estate rising around us, alarms building, footsteps approaching, the situation expanding outward again.

“We need to go,” she says.

“Yes,” I agree.

Her gaze searches mine, not for confirmation, but for alignment.

“You didn’t bring the fleet,” she says.

“No,” I reply.

“Of course you didn’t,” she mutters, something like frustration and something like recognition threading through it.

“Can you move?” I ask.

She straightens slightly.

“I never stopped,” she says.

Good.

I reach for her then, not hesitating, my hand closing around her arm, grounding, confirming, and for a fraction of a second, everything else falls away.

Then it comes back.

Fast.

Loud.

Unresolved.

“Multiple hostiles inbound,” the system warns.

“Let them come,” I say.

But we’re already moving.

Back the way I came.

Out.