“Amsterdam then,” I agree.
“That works. Leave is hard right now,” he says, more serious. “We’re stretched thin.”
“I’m aware.”
“But,” he adds, watching me carefully, “you never ask. You cover shifts,” he continues. “You take extra rotations. You don’t disappear unless it’s operational. That matters. People notice.”
“I don’t do it for leverage.”
“No, but it still gives you leverage nonetheless.”
From the kitchen, something clinks too hard against porcelain. I hear Cassie muttering to herself, then laughing softly, like she’s correcting her own clumsiness. Niko glances that way instinctively, then back to me. “I can probably get you four days next month,” he says. “Maybe five if I move some things around.”
“I don’t want it to cause problems.”
“It won’t,” he says, firm. “You’ve earned it whether you think so or not.” He studies me again, more quietly now. “You’re serious about him then?”
“Yes.”
He nods slowly. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll speak to the CO tomorrow. I’ll frame it as overdue leave.”
Cassie steps into the doorway then, drying her hands on a towel. “You two look very conspiratorial,” she says lightly.
“He’s finally taking leave,” Niko replies.
Her eyebrows lift. “Really? Where are you going?”
“Amsterdam,” Niko answers before I can.
Her mouth curves slightly. “That’s nice.” She leans lightly against the doorframe. “You’ll like it,” she adds. “It’s open. It doesn’t feel... unsafe.”
Niko watches her carefully. “Are you okay?”
“Of course,” she says easily. Too easily. Her gaze drifts just slightly past us, toward nothing in particular. Her lips part, she blinks, refocuses, then smiles, bringing herself back to the conversation.
Amsterdam.
Five days in a month’s time. Which is good; Caiden will need notice. From what I know, leave is easier there, and he won’t have to justify crossing a border the way I would. That part will be simple.
Simple is good.
Tomorrow I’ll go into town and use the same terminal I always use. I don’t need to tell him tonight.
Back in my room, Cassie’s voice lingers in the back of my mind. I replay the moment in the doorway and the way her eyes shifted. It could have been nothing; it probably was nothing.
She laughed, ate, and held Vladimir steady. She looks better, but better is not fixed.
I spend too long turning it over anyway, trying to work out whether I actually noticed something or whether my brain is just refusing to let the subject go.
Eventually, I force myself to stop thinking about it and get ready for bed.
THIRTEEN
CAIDEN
Mason’s door looks the same as every other door in this corridor. Beige paint, cheap number plaque, scuffs at the bottom from boots, kit bags and people who don’t care what they damage as long as it isn’t their face.
I knock, there’s a pause. Then the bolt slides back, and he cracks it open just enough to look at me through the gap.
