“I am Becsul. And you are?”
The fact that he had introduced himself, let alone asked for her name, was so unexpected that she nearly stumbled. Robbie continued to wail against her shoulder, his distress ratcheting higher with each passing second.
“I’m Melissa,” she said reluctantly, her voice hoarse and edged with suspicion. “What do you want?”
He didn’t move any closer, remaining just inside the doorway as if giving her space. “I’ve been assigned to oversee this facility. I came to check on your welfare.”
My welfare.She almost laughed. It would have been hysterical, the kind of laugh that bordered on a sob.
“My welfare,” she repeated instead, the words flat and bitter. “You mean my value as a breeding subject.”
Something shifted in those black eyes. A flicker of… what? Discomfort? Shame? It was hard to read expressions on a face so unlike any she’d known, but something about his stillness suggested she’d struck a nerve.
“I mean your welfare,” he said quietly. “Are you injured? Have you been mistreated?”
“Have I been—” She cut herself off, swallowing the surge of rage that threatened to overwhelm her.Stay calm. Stay smart. Don’t give them any excuse.“I was taken from my home planet. I’ve been poked and prodded and examined like livestock. My son is terrified and won’t stop crying. And I’m supposed to believe you actually care about my welfare?”
“I understand you have no reason to trust me.”
“You’re right. I don’t.”
Robbie’s crying had reached a fever pitch, his small body rigid with distress. She bounced him automatically, rubbing circles on his back, but nothing was working. She was too tense, too scared, and he was absorbing all of it.
Becsul’s gaze dropped to the baby, and something in his expression softened. It was subtle—just a slight easing around his eyes, a loosening of the hard line of his jaw—but she noticed it anyway.
“How long has he been like this?” he asked.
“What’s it to you?”
“You look exhausted.”
“What a brilliant observation.”
He ignored the sarcasm, his attention still fixed on Robbie. “You haven’t eaten. The tray hasn’t been touched.”
“It’s hard to eat when you can’t put your baby down.” The words came out edged with the desperation she’d been trying so hard to hide. “But I doubt you’d understand anything about?—”
She stopped.Don’t show weakness. Don’t give them ammunition.
But he just nodded slowly, as if her hostility was entirely expected and completely reasonable.
“No,” he agreed. “I don’t have children. But I can see that you’re struggling, and I can see that your son is feeding off your distress.”
“He’s not?—”
“Your distress is bleeding into him.” His voice remained calm, unhurried. “The more agitated you become, the more upset he gets, which makes you more agitated. It’s a cycle.”
She wanted to snap at him again and tell him he had no right to lecture her about her own child. But the truth was, he was right. She knew he was right. She’d counseled enough new mothers to recognize the pattern, and had gently explained this exact dynamic to countless women in her office back home.
It was different when you were the one living it.
“What do you suggest?” The question came out before she could stop it, laced with exhaustion and grudging curiosity. “Do I just stop being afraid? Stop being upset about being kidnapped and imprisoned and?—”
“No.” He took a single step forward, then stopped when she flinched. “I’m suggesting you let me help.”
“Help how?”
“Let me hold him.”
