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I looked down at the fruit in my hand.

At some point, before I woke up, Veyr had opened the food unit, eaten his miserable little nutrient packet, seen something I liked, and taken it out for me. The act was so small it had no business affecting me. It did anyway.

I set the fruit beside my place at the table, then looked at the empty packet. “You ate that?”

“Yes.”

“For breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not breakfast.”

“It contains nutrients.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

He glanced at me. “It is sufficient.”

I opened the food unit.

There were actual options. Not many. But enough.

I pulled out something that looked like flat bread and a container of sliced roasted meat. “You could eat real food.”

“I am eating real food.”

“No. You’re refueling.”

His eyes narrowed. “That is the purpose.”

I stared at him. “That is one purpose.”

He returned to the terminal. I made myself something anyway, then made more than I needed and set half on the table near him.

He looked down at it, then at me. “What is this?”

“Food.”

“I have eaten.”

“You consumed a packet.”

“It was food.”

“It was punishment in packaging.”

His mouth moved. Barely.

I sat across from him. “Try it.”

“No.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I have heard that.”

“From who?”