“He’s threatening to kick you off the planet,” he says flatly.
“He’s threatening to kick me off the planet, revoke my press credentials, make sure I never work in this sector again, and ban me from every Xylan colony in the four sectors. Yes.”
“When?”
“Immediately. Next available transporter.”
“He can’t.”
“He absolutely can. He’s the CEO of the entire mining operation. He has the authority. He’s also really, really upset that I pitched him a fluff piece and then did something else with it, which — fair. I did do that.”
Texon’s jaw tightens. “We don’t leave until this is finished.”
“Agreed. But he doesn’t know that.” I look down at the tablet. “He thinks I’m out here running a rogue investigation to destroy some poor member of his administration, and he has no idea it’s actually Kryzon and that Kryzon has been orchestrating attacks on your family for rotations. From Grytel’s point of view, I’m just an off-planet journalist who lied to him to get access and is now trashing one of his people.”
“Grytel is not innocent.”
“I’m not saying he is.” I rub my temples. “I’m just saying he sounds like a man who genuinely believes he was betrayed. Not like a man covering for a conspiracy.”
Texon grunts, unconvinced.
I tap out a quick reply. Professional. Apologetic in tone but not in substance. I tell him I have received his message, that I will depart Timbur on the transporter tomorrow morning, and that I appreciate his patience. It’s a lie, more or less, we have no idea what tomorrow morning will actually look like, but it buys us tonight.
I hit send.
“Bought us time,” I tell Texon.
“Good.”
I set the tablet down. And the waiting resumes.
The compound isquiet by late afternoon. The cleaning bots whir through the rooms on their regular patrol. The cats have curled up in odd corners like they can sense the tension in the air. Jasper watches me from the top of a shelf with his tail twitching. Abby is under the kitchen table pretending she’s invisible.
I’ve packed a small bag with my tablet, my research files, and a spare change of clothes. Not that I expect to go anywhere. But when I was a kid my mom used to sayalways keep a bag ready, just in case life throws you a twist,and the habit has stuck with me into adulthood. Old journalists’ instinct. Old refugee’s instinct, too, since my grandmother fled the Hurlians twice before she made it to Singapore for a new life.
Texon comes in from the yard. His braided hair is pulled back and he’s dressed in dark clothes and boots with his blasting tools strapped to his belt. He looks devastating.
I do not say this out loud.
He crosses the room and stops in front of me. Close enough that I have to tip my head back to see his face. “I don’t like this. I would much rather have you secretly hiding in employee housing with the others. ”
“I know.”
“I want you safe. What if I can’t protect you again? Last time you were?—”
“I know. Don’t worry. I’ll follow all instructions and I’ll be careful. This is our opportunity to end this, tonight, so that we can be together and the rest of you can live in peace.”
His gloved hand comes up and he cups my cheek. He leans in, so close, almost kissing me. He inhales my scent and then let’s go and stands back. “When this is over,” he says quietly.
I almost melt into a puddle on the floor. “When this is over,” I agree.
He gives a curt nod. Already, he’s shifting into whatever version of himself kills trained attackers. My sweet grumpy male disappears behind the face of a miner who will do whatever it takes to keep his family alive.
Gods, I love him.
Oh.
Huh.
