Page 154 of Commander’s Mate

Except there was no home to return to. Not as we had known it.

Now we had become mercenaries, rescuers, transporters of the displaced, political irritants, keepers of names, and protectors of women who thought safety might be another word for ownership.

“I need to see her,” I said.

Degatu sighed.

“I will not interfere,” I added.

“You breathed judgment.”

“I have known you since before you had command insignia. I am allowed.”

I stood. “I will bring the declaration.”

“That is a legitimate reason.”

“And after?”

I looked at him.

Degatu’s gaze did not soften. “After you bring it, let her keep doing the work.”

That should not have felt like an order.

I found Harper two hours later in the conference room, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a clerk tablet balanced on her knees, surrounded by women.

My shirt hung on her frame, too large and somehow more intimate than nakedness. Her hair was tied back with a strip of torn cloth. Her face looked tired, pale, and alive with purpose.

She glanced up when the room quieted at my entrance.

Then I saw the women around her watching me, and I made myself remain by the door.

“Harper Avery,” I said formally.

Her eyebrows rose at my tone.

I held out the tablet containing the declaration. “You requested written assurances. I have brought them.”

Harper stood and crossed to me. She did not take the tablet immediately.

“You wrote them?”

“I ordered them written. Then I changed half the wording.”

“Does it say we’re free?”

“Does it say we don’t owe payment?”

“Yes.”

“Does it say no one gets sent anywhere without consent?”

“Yes.”

The words struck deeper than praise from admirals ever had.

I handed her the tablet. Our fingers brushed. Recognition surged between us, hot and immediate, reminding me that my body did not care if we stood before a room full of refugees and exhausted soldiers.