“And you’re not going after him,” she says.
“No.”
The word lands clean.
Final.
Her eyes narrow slightly, reading that, understanding it.
“Why,” she asks.
I close the remaining distance between us, stopping just short of contact.
“Because you’re here,” I say.
That answers everything.
For a moment, neither of us moves, the noise of the estate rising around us, alarms building, footsteps approaching, the situation expanding outward again.
“We need to go,” she says.
“Yes,” I agree.
Her gaze searches mine, not for confirmation, but for alignment.
“You didn’t bring the fleet,” she says.
“No,” I reply.
“Of course you didn’t,” she mutters, something like frustration and something like recognition threading through it.
“Can you move?” I ask.
She straightens slightly.
“I never stopped,” she says.
Good.
I reach for her then, not hesitating, my hand closing around her arm, grounding, confirming, and for a fraction of a second, everything else falls away.
Then it comes back.
Fast.
Loud.
Unresolved.
“Multiple hostiles inbound,” the system warns.
“Let them come,” I say.
But we’re already moving.
Back the way I came.
Out.
