Page 127 of Commander’s Mate

“Also because she should still be part of the room.”

That did it.

His eyes closed briefly.

When they opened, he looked at me with the kind of love that hurt because it had grief inside it.

“You understand memorials.”

“I deliver mail.”

He frowned.

“That is not related.”

“Everything is related if you work for the postal service long enough.”

He shook his head.

I touched Meya’s projected face.

Not real.

Not dead.

Not found.

Still a person.

Maybe that was what the registry was trying to do too.

Keep someone present long enough for truth to catch up.

The next sandwich will be better.”

I laughed.

“Now that is commitment.”

Chapter Twenty

Zared

I had fought Sargans in burning corridors. I had held defensive lines under artillery fire. I had carried wounded soldiers through smoke so thick the filters in my armor clogged with ash.

Nothing in my life had ever required more discipline than keeping my hands gentle on Harper Avery.

She stood between my knees, her fingers in my hair, her mouth open under mine as if she had decided hesitation was a door and she was finished standing on the wrong side of it. Every breath she took pressed the soft curves of her body against me. The thin shirt she wore was one of ours, oversized on her, and I hated it for hiding her while thanking every god for the barrier because without it I might have forgotten language entirely.

She drew back, lips flushed, eyes bright with heat and grief and something that looked dangerously like trust.

“I don’t want to go back to the conference room,” she said.

“You do not have to.”

“Where would I sleep?”

The answer my body gave was immediate: with me, under me, around me, claimed and safe and mine.