“You’ve got a visitor. Ten minutes.” Priya looked up from the wall she’d been staring at, uncertain she’d heard the officer correctly. Nobody had visited her in the months since her transfer to this block. After enough time, she’d stopped expecting anyone to. “Who?” “Kai Bellows. Approved through the same channel as his last two visits.” The officer stepped back to let her stand. “Ten minutes, starting now.” Kai appeared in the doorway a moment later, and something inside Priya’s chest cracked open at the sight of him. Relief and grief tangled together so tightly that she couldn’t separate one from the other. “You look thinner,” he said as he sat across from her. “So do you, from the last time I saw you.” She managed a small, tired smile. “How long has it been?” “Four months since my last visit. I tried more than once. Kept getting denied.” Kai’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know if that was deliberate or just paperwork moving slowly. I stopped being able to tell the difference a wh

“Nineteen days. You said you’d sign by the end of the week, weeks ago.” Marcus stood in the doorway of Elena’s office, arms crossed, and she didn’t look up from the report in front of her, her stylus tapping an idle, unconscious rhythm against the desk. “The date hasn’t changed. Six weeks from the original notice. That’s nineteen days from today, exactly as scheduled.” “I’m not talking about the release date. I’m talking about the signature itself. You told the officer to draft the paperwork three weeks ago. It’s still sitting on your desk.” Marcus crossed the room, tapping the untouched folder beside her tablet. “What’s stopping you?” Elena set down the report, finally meeting his eyes. “Nothing is stopping me, Marcus. The paperwork will be signed with time to spare. I don’t see the urgency in doing it today rather than next week.” “The urgency is that every day it sits there is another day you could change your mind, and I don’t think either of us has forgotten how long the las

“Fourteen days. Are we still on schedule?” Alex asked it the moment Dr. Amara stepped through the door, unable to keep the question contained any longer. “As far as I know.” She checked his pulse, her manner as clinically detached as ever. “I don’t have access to the administrative details, Mr. Mercer. I only see what’s in your file.” “Has anything changed in the file? Any flags, any notes about delays?” She hesitated, just slightly, before answering. “Nothing I’m able to discuss with you directly.” Alex’s stomach tightened at the hesitation. “That’s not a no.” “It’s the answer I’m permitted to give.” She made her notes, avoiding his eyes now in a way she hadn’t before. “Your tremor has fully resolved. Your sleep patterns have improved. By every measure I track, you’re ready for release.” “But something’s changed.” “I didn’t say that.” “You didn’t have to.” Alex studied her face, searching for whatever she wasn’t saying. “Please. I’ve waited months for this. If something’s sh

“Records office is two doors down. You’ll need your restored clearance badge to access personnel files.” The clerk barely looked up from her terminal, and Alex thanked her, badge still unfamiliar in his hand after months without one, and made his way toward the records office with a nervousness that surprised him given everything else he’d already survived. The office was quiet at this hour, a handful of terminals along one wall, and Alex found an empty one, sitting down with his badge ready, his fingers hovering over the keys a moment longer than necessary before he finally worked up the nerve to type. Search: Solis, Mira. Medical staff. The system returned a result almost instantly, and Alex’s chest tightened with relief simply seeing her name confirmed to still exist somewhere in the ship’s records. SOLIS, MIRA. MEDICAL. STATUS: ACTIVE. CURRENT ASSIGNMENT: SECTOR TWO, GENERAL PRACTICE. Sector Two. Alex stared at the entry, memorizing it, and felt something loosen in his chest

“You’re keeping a file on him again.” Marcus stood in the doorway of the small review room, and Elena didn’t look up from the folder open in front of her, though her hand stilled over the page, a small, telling pause she didn’t quite manage to hide. “It’s routine monitoring, Marcus. Standard for any recently released detainee.” “Standard monitoring doesn’t include a personal notation about who he’s seeing socially and what street he walks home on.” Marcus crossed the room, closing the folder gently before she could turn the page. “This isn’t oversight anymore, Elena. This is something else, and I think you know that better than I do.” Elena pulled the folder back toward her, though she didn’t reopen it. “I signed his release. I kept my word. I don’t see the harm in continuing to understand his circumstances, given everything he still represents to this ship’s stability.” “He’s found a doctor he’s fond of. That’s not a threat to stability, Elena. That’s a man building an ordinary