Not boarding.
Not fighting.
Not being useful.
“Try not to start anything.”
I can still hear my handler’s voice, flat and irritated.
I had leaned back in that chair like I didn’t have a care in the galaxy. “Define anything.”
“Anything that gets reported,” he snapped, eyes narrowing. “You’re here to observe.”
“Sounds boring,” I told him, letting a grin pull at my mouth.
“It is boring. That’s the point.”
I remember the way I tilted my head, studying him like he’d just said something profoundly stupid. “And if someone gets in my face?”
“Then you de-escalate.”
That’s when I laughed, low and rough, because we both knew that wasn’t happening.
Now, standing at the fence, I bare my teeth slightly at the memory.
Wrong assignment.
Or maybe the perfect one.
My gaze drifts across the Alliance side, cataloging movement out of habit. Smaller bodies. Tighter formations. Everything about them screams control instead of dominance.
Then I see her.
She’s already watching me.
She doesn’t look away when our eyes meet, and that alone tells me more than anything else could.
Most do.
Most flinch, even if it’s subtle.
She doesn’t.
I tilt my head, studying her openly now. She’s compact, built like tension has been carved into her frame and left there. Her stance is flawless—balanced, efficient, ready.
And her eyes?—
Sharp. Focused. Alive with something she’s trying very hard to keep contained.
Volatile.
I grin.
Easy to provoke.
I step closer to the fence, slow enough to make it deliberate. The current deepens as I approach, vibrating faintly against my skin.
“Hey,” I call, my voice carrying easily as I plant my feet. I hook my thumbs into my belt, posture loose and careless on purpose. “You the one who threatened to vaporize someone’s eyes yesterday?”
