“That’s not usually required,” I reply.
“Maybe it should be,” she says.
I let that sit for a moment, because there’s more in it than the words themselves, and I don’t feel like pulling it apart yet.
“You’re not asking what happens next,” I say.
“I’m waiting to see what you decide,” she replies.
That answer lands differently than it should, because most people would push for position at this point, trying to define their place before it gets defined for them. She doesn’t do that, and that restraint reads as either discipline or strategy, and I’m not convinced the distinction matters.
“I don’t like variables I haven’t placed,” I say.
“I’m already placed,” she replies.
“By me.”
“By me,” she corrects.
I watch her for a second, weighing the difference between those two statements, and I can feel something pushing at the edge of my focus that doesn’t belong there.
Objectivity.
It isn’t gone, but it isn’t where it should be either.
“That’s going to be a problem,” I say.
“For who?” she asks.
“For anyone who assumes I don’t notice it,” I reply.
She lets the silence sit after that, not filling it, not pushing it, just holding it in place, and I find myself doing the same without meaning to.
“Get some rest,” I say finally. “We land in two hours.”
“Where?” she asks.
“Moon base,” I reply.
She studies me briefly, like she’s confirming something internally. “And I’m still not confined.”
“No,” I say.
She nods once, accepting that without hesitation, then turns and moves toward the door without waiting for dismissal. I lether go, even though I know I shouldn’t, and that recognition settles into the back of my mind without resolving.
The base comesinto view as we drop out of transit, appearing at first like nothing more than a low-profile cluster carved into the surface. The illusion fades as we approach, revealing the scale in layers, defensive structures embedded into terrain, movement patterns that don’t register unless you know what to look for.
“Docking vector locked,” one of the crew calls.
“Bring us in,” I reply, my voice steady again, anchored where it should be.
Vihl leans against the console beside me, watching the approach with a familiarity that borders on casual. “You’re quiet,” he says.
“I’m working,” I reply.
“That’s not what I meant,” he says.
“I know,” I answer.
