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“External contact?”

“Unconfirmed.”

Another non-answer. I let my gaze drift back to her file, lingering on the reproductive classification attached to her profile. “She is fertile,” I stated.

A pause stretched thin between us before the reply came. “Yes.”

“Unbonded.”

“According to her registration.”

My eyes flicked back to the termination line glowing softly on my screen. Leaning forward slightly, I kept my voice even. “Then explain why I have permission to destroy something Zuna has spent years crossing worlds to obtain.”

This time, the silence felt heavier, almost tangible.

When the voice returned, it was firmer. “Her reproductive status does not supersede the threat.”

“It normally does,” I countered.

“Not in this case.”

“Why?”

“Outside your compartment.”

I leaned back in the pilot chair, the weight of that non-answer settling deeper than the termination order itself. “Has the Crown authorized the loss?” I asked, my voice low against the hum of the transport’s systems.

“That information is outside your compartment.”

“A fertile human female,” I stated, letting each word carry its full weight, “is not ordinarily disposable.”

“You have your orders.”

“That was not my question.” The channel remained silent, a void where answers should have been.

Then the voice returned, flat and final. “The subject is not to make contact with royal authority.”

There it was. Not simply recovery, but containment. I sat forward, my grip tightening on the edge of the console. “Why?”

“Outside your compartment.”

I frowned. “Then the instruction is incomplete.”

“The instruction is sufficient.”

I looked again at Talia Mercer’s face.

Brown eyes.

Neutral expression.

A human female in Zunatorian laboratory clothing.

And yet someone had escalated her from a records violation to a black-priority Veil operation.

The voice spoke again, lower this time.

“Ghost.”