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My eyes opened. “There was a designation attached to the record.”

His knuckles whitened on the controls. “What designation?”

“I don’t know what it meant.”

“Tell me what you remember.”

I sounded it out slowly, shaping the unfamiliar Zunatorian word—technical, cold-sounding.

His face went utterly blank. Too controlled.

I stopped mid-word. “You know it.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw as he stared straight ahead.“No.”

My heart thudded hard against my ribs.“That was definitely a lie.”

He didn’t respond, didn’t move.

I leaned toward him.“What does it mean?” Silence.“What does it mean?”

Beneath the skin along his forearm, his silver-white ŭre glowed faintly—not bright, but there. A silent admission.

“Veyr.”

I froze. “What?”

His fingers tightened around the controls. “My name.”

For a second, I forgot the question. The transport hummed under my feet, and all I could do was look at him.

“You’re telling me your name?” I asked finally.

“You said you required one.”

“I required one ten minutes ago.”

“You have it now.”

“Veyr.” I said it slowly, tasting the shape of it.

Something moved across his face when I said it—a flicker, quick and unguarded.

Gone too fast for me to name.

I sat back against the seat and let out a long breath through my nose. “All right, Veyr.”

His eyes stayed on the route ahead. He didn’t look at me, but I watched his thumb tap once against the edge of the control panel.

I waited.

He knew I was waiting. His shoulders shifted a fraction, and he exhaled through his teeth like a male weighing a debt.

Eventually, he said, “The designation you saw is used for deceased military personnel whose records have been administratively sealed.”

My stomach tightened. I pressed a hand flat against it. “Why would Sera’n be comparing reproductive records to sealed dead warriors?”

“I do not know.”