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Lirael and Cyrel stand over a glowing diagnostic table, and a third Avaren female stands beside them.

I stop.

White lab coat. Pale hair pinned tightly against her scalp. The woman from the spaceport walkway.

Cyrel gestures toward her. “Commander Elmsleigh, this is Dr. Vessa Korvann. Prince Kairen cleared her to assist us. She possesses extensive expertise in Ghorvek viruses.”

Orien halts beside me. His eyes narrow, and a quiet hum vibrates in his throat.

“I was under the impression that your primary focus involved reversing the Avaren fertility curse, Dr. Korvann.” He sounds nothing like my lover anymore. The cold spymaster is back. “Not Ghorvek virology.”

Vessa meets his glare with absolute neutrality. “The two fields intersect, Chief Orien. Analyzing a human immune response to the necrotic pathogen provides invaluable data for my own fertility research. The prince recognizes the overlap.”

“She will have no access to the Commander’s raw genetic sequence,” Orien states.

“The registry interface is sealed,” Lirael assures him. “It will compare the sample against the central database and return a binary result. Dr. Korvann cannot access Maggie’s genome.”

Vessa shifts her gaze to me.

But she doesn’t look at my face. Her eyes rove over my body with clinical detachment, evaluating me like a resource. A specimen.

A cold prickle crawls up the back of my neck. I despise the way she looks at me.

Orien takes a half step forward, his massive frame subtly shielding me from her view. He doesn’t trust her.

Neither do I.

But I refuse to let her presence take this choice away from me.

“Proceed,” I tell Lirael.

She picks up a fresh extractor tool, the silver metal catching the overhead lights.

“Whenever you are ready, Maggie.”

I unbutton my cuff and roll the sleeve up, exposing the jagged bite scar and the fresher parallel scratches. Vessa’s eyes track the movement, hungry and calculating. I ignore her, extending my arm over the metal table.

Lirael presses the device against my skin. A sharp pinch, and my dark red blood fills a small glass cylinder.

She withdraws the tool, applying a dermal patch over the puncture. “I will run the sequence against the central registry now.”

I pull my sleeve down and button the cuff. My fingers tremble.

I hold my breath.

Three weeks ago, the thought of this machine reading my genetics sent a spike of pure terror through my veins. I guarded my autonomy with everything I had. I refused to become a biological inevitability.

Now, a different fear claws at me.

What if it’s a fluke?

What if the undeniable chemistry, the bone-deep recognition, the sheer gravity pulling us together is nothing more than a biological anomaly? What if the console flashes a negative result, reducing the most profound connection of my life to a statistical error?

I stare at the spinning holographic rings on Lirael’s monitor. My chest aches. I spent my entire life building impenetrable ice walls to ensure no one could reach me. I authored my own survival. But standing here, waiting for a machine to dictate my future, I cannot fathom the alternative.

I don’t want the empty bunker. I don’t want the isolation.

I want him.