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I noticed. Tried not to think about why that mattered.

Tried even harder not to think about the bed behind the partition.

Veyr had touched me just hours ago like I was something he wanted instead of something he had been ordered to retrieve. Now he was checking a ventilation panel as though none of that had happened.

Fine.

I could do normal. Probably.

“So,” I said, brushing dust from my sleeves. “What now?”

Veyr set the portable terminal on the table.

“I find out how the Veil located us.”

And just like that, the room changed.

I looked toward the terminal. “Can I help?”

His answer came immediately. “No.”

I folded my arms.

“Talia.”

“No.”

“I know what that tone means.”

“Good. Saves time. You do not have the clearance.” I tilted my head at him. “Your clearance was revoked the moment you defected.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

Score one.

I closed the distance to the terminal. “You said you need to trace the message.”

“Yes.” He didn’t look up from the screen.

“And the last time we did this, I noticed things in the timestamps you didn’t.”

His expression hardened slightly. That did not mean he disagreed.

I waited. Let him decide.

“Let me help.”

He looked at me for several seconds. I watched him weigh it—the risk, the time, me. Then he stepped aside.

That felt like a win. A small one. But with Veyr, small wins counted.

He opened a restricted diagnostic layer. The screen filled with Zunatorian text, routing identifiers, access codes, and timestamps.

I leaned closer. “This is the original mission architecture?”

“Part of it.”

“Can you open the packet?”