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The memory came back with uncomfortable clarity: Registration, my reclassification meeting, two Zunatorian males positioned near the door. Neither had been military. Both had carried black restraints exactly like this one.

One of them had noticed me looking.

For those who refuse transport.

I took the band from Veyr and turned it over. Near the locking mechanism, almost invisible against the matte surface, was a small three-line insignia.

I knew that mark.

“That was on my reclassification order.”

Veyr crouched beside me immediately.

Darev leaned closer. His expression changed when he saw it.

“Review Enforcement.”

I looked up. “You know them?”

“Central Administrative Review's compliance division.”

Cold settled through me.

I looked around the yard again at the males Veyr had just put down.

Not soldiers.

Not Ghosts.

Enforcement.

Veyr's attention moved across their positions, weapons, and equipment. “That explains the formation.”

“What does?”

“They controlled the exits before engaging. Tried to isolate you instead of eliminating you. Restraints instead of military containment gear.” His gaze dropped to the male at our feet. “This was a retrieval team.”

Escort would be provided if necessary.

Apparently, I had just met the escort.

Darev handed Veyr the authorization strip.

He scanned it once.

Then again.

His expression changed.

“What?”

He held it out to me.

Most of the technical text meant nothing at a glance, but the header did. Same three-line insignia. Same administrative routing structure as my reclassification order. Different authorization number. Same source.

I looked from the strip in one hand to the restraint in the other.

The connection was no longer theory.