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Veyr glanced toward me. “I am not staring.”

“Of course not.”

I sat at the table and pulled the portable terminal closer. The chair gave slightly beneath me.

Luxury, apparently.

He had left the reconstructed records open. Not because he trusted me with them, probably. Because he could see the screen from the window.

I scrolled through the fragments I had remembered from Sera’n’s comparison.

VYR.

Two other partial identifiers. Sealed classifications. Dead warriors who might not be dead.

I still hadn’t figured out how to think about that.

My original assumption had been that Veyr belonged to some restricted military program. Then I had seen his official death record. That changed the shape of everything.

“You really are dead.”

He turned from the window. “We already discussed this.”

“No. You said your official status is deceased. That is not the same conversation.”

His expression barely changed. Which, with Veyr, usually meant I had hit something.

I rested my elbows on the table. “Does everyone think you died?”

“Yes.”

No hesitation. That almost made it worse.

“Everyone?”

His gaze held mine, then shifted away.

There it was. An answer disguised as silence.

I sat back. “You don’t have to tell me.”

That got his attention faster than the question had. His eyes returned to mine.

I shrugged. “I mean it.”

“You were asking.”

“I know.”

“And now you are not.”

“Correct.”

He looked suspicious.

I almost laughed. “You really don’t know what to do when somebody backs off, do you?”

“That is inaccurate.”