She does not give it. She only says, “I bet she missed you too.”
The sanding block stills beneath my hand.
“She died before I could ask.”
Evie’s breath catches. “I’m sorry.”
“Skirmish between Alliance and Coalition forces. Wrong place. Wrong day. My father died with her.”
Her face goes pale with anger, not pity. “And then you stayed in the military?”
“I was already shaped for it.”
“You were a kid.”
“I was a Vakutan.”
“You were a kid,” she says again, sharper now, as if daring the entire Alliance to argue with her across time.
The feeling in my chest becomes too large. I stand. “The shelf is finished.”
She sees the retreat. She allows it.
“Thank you,” she says.
“For the shelf?”
“For telling me.”
I carry the shelf to the case without answering.
That night, after closing, the truth comes closer.
The rain has stopped at last, leaving Halo wet and shining beyond the windows. The boarded panel has been replaced with temporary synthglass. It distorts the streetlights into golden smears, but it keeps out the weather. Inside, the bakery smells of cooling ovens, lemon cleaner, coffee grounds, and the last tray of bread cooling near the back. Darlene has gone home after announcing she cannot watch “two emotionally constipated people orbit each other” one more minute without developing a medical condition.
Evie locks the front door and turns the sign off.
I finish wiping down the repaired display case. It holds temperature now. Not perfectly, but well enough. The shelves glow with tomorrow’s pastries covered in wrap, small andorderly beneath the soft interior light. Evie stands beside the counter counting the drawer.
“You’re staring at the case like you expect it to betray us,” she says.
“It has weaknesses.”
“So do most of us.”
I glance at her.
She closes the cash drawer and leans back against the counter. Her hair is loose tonight, falling around her shoulders in soft gold waves. Flour dust marks one cheek. The bruises from the alley have faded to faint shadows, but I still see them because I know where they were. My body remembers every mark.
“You said you did escort and extraction,” she says.
The old pressure returns at once.
I should shut down. I should tell her no. I should go check the alley and leave before memory finds the soft parts of this room.
Instead I say, “Yes.”
Her gaze steadies. “Was Horus IV part of that?”
