Page 359
I closed my eyes.
Every Zunatorian male apparently shared the same medical vocabulary.
When I opened them, Veyr had stopped moving the couch.
Victory. Temporary.
I walked toward him.
His silver-white ŭre brightened faintly beneath his skin as I approached.
It still did that.
I had gotten used to it. Mostly.
He reached for me without hesitation, his hand finding the curve of my waist as if it belonged there. A slow breath left my lungs, one I hadn’t realized I was holding. The day’s tension—the administrator’s condescension, the endless flagged files—drained away under the steady warmth of his palm.
“How was work?”
“Boring.”
“Good.”
“One administrator tried to explain my own audit criteria to me.”
His expression changed immediately. “Name?”
I laughed. “No.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not allowed to kill people for being annoying.”
“I know.”
“That pause was too long.”
He looked offended. “I was thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
His mouth curved.
I tipped my face up and kissed him. It didn’t last long, but it lasted long enough—the familiar heat of his mouth, the plain, settled knowledge that there was nowhere else I was supposed to be.
When I pulled back, I looked around the room.
Boxes against the wall.
The crooked chair.
My work tablet still sitting where I had left it that morning.
One of Veyr’s new cups near the window.
His temporary identification credential had been replaced weeks ago by a permanent one.
It sat carelessly beside mine. He no longer hid it.
