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I had spent enough time around Zunatorian systems to understand when language was deliberately clean. Clean words were usually the worst ones.

Veyr stood in front of the dead terminal with one hand braced against the table. He had not moved since the connection ended. Not even to check the door. That scared me more than if he had reached for a weapon.

“What does hostile asset protocol mean?”

His shoulders shifted before he turned toward me. “It means the Veil no longer considers recovery desirable.”

His gaze held mine.

“It means they may kill me.”

There it was. Plain. No operational language wrapped around it.

I swallowed. “May?”

“They will if they determine I am a threat to continued operations.”

“You just told them you’re investigating them, you won’t give me back, and you’re keeping the evidence.”

“Yes.”

I folded my arms. “So I’m going with *will*.”

His mouth tightened. “That is reasonable.”

Normally, I would have told him I hated when he said things like that. I didn’t. The room felt too fragile for humor.

Or maybe I did.

I just didn’t know how to reach for it.

Veyr shut down the terminal manually even though the connection was already severed, then removed the isolated storage module and tucked it into the inner pocket of his vest. Only after that did he look at me.

“We should move soon.”

“How soon?”

“Soon as you're rested. We have a few hours at most.”

I nodded.

The Veil had already demonstrated it could reach him through systems he thought were isolated. Whatever safety this location offered had an expiration date.

He began gathering equipment with the same efficient precision he brought to everything else. Weapons first. Data second. Everything else only if it mattered.

I watched him for half a minute before something clicked.

“You were going to tell me.”

He stopped. “What?”

“About the prince.”

His expression shifted. Barely.

“You heard part of the conversation.”

“I heard enough to know you asked whether they knew about him.”