I tap the intercom. "That was a decent attempt."
She goes rigid. Spins toward the ceiling where the speaker grille is embedded, eyes narrowing as she searches for the camera she clearly knows must be there.
"The fork insulation trick was smart," I continue, keeping my tone neutral, letting the synthesized edge of the ship's comm system strip some of the warmth from my voice. "Most people don't think to protect themselves from electrical feedback. You've done this before."
"Go fuck yourself." Her voice is steady. No tears. No pleading. Just pure, crystallized anger wrapped in perfect diction.
"Eventually," I allow. "But first we need to discuss your situation."
"My situation?" She laughs, and it's sharp enough to cut. "You mean the situation where I've been abducted by a glorified kidnapper in a tin can who thinks fancy sheets make him less of a criminal?"
The titles she's assigned me echo through the bridge, glorified kidnapper, tin can, and I have to admit, they're not entirely inaccurate. Though the insult toThe Cerberusstrikes deeper than the one aimed at me. This ship is a masterwork of stealth engineering, every line and system refined over years of modifications. But I suppose to someone who's just woken up in an unfamiliar quarters, stolen from everything she knows, the distinction between a state-of-the-art vessel and atin canis rather academic.
I should be irritated. Should remind her who has the power here, who controls every breath she takes while she's aboardThe Cerberus. Should make her understand exactly how precarious her position is, how easily I could make her regret that clever mouth.
Instead I lean back in my command chair, reassessing. "You're not what I expected."
"What, you expected me to swoon? Weep prettily into these extremely expensive pillows while I wait for you to explain your tragic backstory and demand I save your dying planet?"
Every muscle in my body locks down. "What did you say?"
"Please." She's pacing now, gestures sharp and contained in the limited space. "You think I can't connect the dots? You show up at a diplomatic ball, bypass security that should be impossible to crack, identify and extract the one person at that entire party with bio-kinetic abilities strong enough to matter on a planetary scale. This isn't random. You didn't take me for ransom. You took me because you need something only I can do."
Clever. Too clever. This was supposed to be simple, take the asset, transport her to Erebus, let her see the dying world and the dying people and let guilt and compassion do the work fear couldn't.
But she's already ten steps ahead, already building the framework, already understanding the shape of the cage I'm building even if she doesn't know all the details yet.
"And if you're right?" I ask carefully.
"Then you're an idiot." She crosses her arms, glaring at the camera she still hasn't located. "Because whatever you think I can do, whatever miracle you're expecting, I can't perform it under duress. Bio-kinesis doesn't work like that. It requires connection. Willingness. You can't force someone to love a place into living."
Love. The word sits wrong in the sterile air of the command deck, too soft for the hard edges of what we're doing here, what I'm doing here.
"Who said anything about force?" I counter, keeping my tone deliberately neutral, as though we're discussing agricultural policy rather than kidnapping.
"You literally drugged and abducted me," she fires back without missing a beat. "Or did I imagine the part where I woke up on a ship I didn't board, headed somewhere I didn't agree to go?"
"I sedated you for transport purposes," I clarify, as if the distinction matters, as if it makes this any more defensible. "There's a significant difference between sedation for safe travel and actual force."
"Oh, well in that case, please accept my sincere apologies for being upset about the gentle, considerate kidnapping." Her voice drips acid. "Should I write a thank you note? Rate the experience on the galactic commerce network? Five stars, would be abducted again?"
Despite everything. Despite the mission and the stakes and the thousands of lives depending on this going according to plan. Despite knowing I should shut her down, remind her who's in control, establish the power dynamic before she gets any more ideas about fork-based rebellion.
Despite all of it, despite the mission parameters I'm supposed to maintain, despite the careful distance I've cultivated with every other person I've dealt with in my decades of military service, despite knowing that admiration is a dangerous thing to feel for someone you've taken against their will, I feel something that might be respect stirring uncomfortably in my chest.
"You're angry," I observe, watching her carefully, cataloguing the flush in her cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of her shoulders, the way her hands have curled into fists at her sides.
"Brilliant deduction, truly exceptional work." Her words could strip paint from the hull. "Do you want a medal for that? A trophy, perhaps? Should I applaud your astounding observational skills? Alert the academy that you've mastered the fundamentals of basic emotional recognition?"
"Most people in your situation would be terrified," I say quietly, and it's true. I've seen hardened soldiers break under less strain than what I've put her through. "Most would be cowering, or begging, or frozen in shock by now."
"I am terrified, you absolute—" She cuts herself off, breathing hard. Wraps her arms around herself like she's holding something in, keeping something contained. When she speaks again her voice is lower, more controlled, but no less furious. "I'm so scared I can barely think straight. But I spent my entire life being my mother's perfect daughter, smiling when I wanted to scream, graceful when I wanted to fight, and I am done. I am so spectacularly done pretending to be smaller than I am to make other people comfortable."
The air in her quarters shifts. I notice it on the environmental readout first—sudden spike in oxygen, drop in carbon dioxide, humidity climbing fast.
"Ksara." I use her name for the first time since bringing her aboard, let it carry the weight of warning, of command, of concern if I allowed myself to acknowledge it. The syllables feel strange in my mouth after hours of careful distance. "You need to calm down. Right now."
"Don't you dare." Her voice drops to something dangerous, something that would make a wiser man step back. "Don't you dare tell me to calm down. Don't you dare stand there like some benevolent authority figure and act like you have any right to, to dictate my emotional state after what you've done, after dragging me onto this ship against my will, after?—"
