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Deeper records existed. I knew where they were—residence details, household changes, medical notices, birth records, family registrations—information I could have opened in seconds. I never did. Knowing they existed was manageable. Knowing the shape of the lives that had continued without me was something else.

I deleted the report. Contact would endanger them. That was the explanation I had used when I first disappeared, and eight years later it remained true.

Mostly.

The console chimed. I looked at it. A new assignment, arriving too soon.

Most missions came with a delay between them, even if only long enough for the operative to return to a safe location. This one had been pushed directly to me, marked with a black priority seal. My fingers stilled over the controls. That was unusual, though not yet concerning, and I opened the file.

A human female appeared on the screen.

Dark hair, brown eyes. No weapons training listed, no combat designation, no known affiliation with hostile factions. I read the name.

Talia Mercer.

The file identified her as an Earth-born human female, brought to Zuna through the reproductive acquisition program. Laboratory placement, medical support experience, restricted access privileges. I reread the last line. Laboratory placement. Not military. Not political. Not intelligence.

The Veil had used me against civilians before, but only those who posed legitimate threats. Weapons traffickers, informants, collaborators. Men who sold military locations to hostiles or rival colonies and pretended their lack of uniform made them innocent. This was different. I continued reading.

Mercer had accessed restricted reproductive records outside the boundaries of her assignment.

She had duplicated protected compatibility data.

She was suspected of removing biological information tied to sensitive warrior identities.

Potential transfer to an external actor could not be ruled out.

The language was clinical.

Careful.

Almost too careful.

I opened her movement history and found nothing that warranted alarm. There were no suspicious off-world transmissions, no unexplained wealth, no contact with known hostile groups. Her record was clean. No previous security violations, no criminal record on Zuna.

Scrolling further back, her Earth file held little of operational interest. Laboratory technician, civilian. No military background, no weapons history, no record of violent resistance during acquisition. She had been flagged as a strong compatibility candidate shortly after arrival, but the warrior connected to the preliminary result died before any bond was accepted, and the file noted her subsequent reassignment into laboratory support.

I stared at the image again.

A human lab worker?

And someone wanted a Ghost for this?

That discrepancy remained in my mind longer than it should have.

I opened the authorization level and found the order had been cleared through three internal checks and two compartmental approvals, the command seal still intact. I verified them again. All were valid. That should have been enough. It always had been before.

The Veil did not send operatives without cause. We did not investigate policy, nor did we argue legality once authorization was established. Compartmentalization existed for a reason. One operative saw one fragment, another saw another. No individual carried enough information to compromise the whole structure. It had kept Zuna safe, and it had kept us alive.

Mostly.

I had understood loyalty before I ever became Ghost.

As a Strike Commander, I had never required an order to be safe before I obeyed it.

Once, during a border assault, my unit had been ordered to hold a corridor long enough for civilians and wounded warriors to clear the sector. The position was already failing when the command reached us.

One of my males had looked at the incoming enemy count.